The Fickle Winds of Autumn

57. From a Hillside

What had happened?

What was that spell?

Where were Kira and his master?

Perhaps the convulsive blast had killed them both?

Perhaps they were both trapped in there and needed his help?

The dark blood oozed out from his shoulders and arms - but he could heal himself later - the patient always comes first - Aldwyn had taught him that much - he must reserve his strength to help his friends.

He levered himself along the wall and stared into the silent gloom. Aldwyn emerged through the dark shadows, from behind a foetid, lumpy mound; Kira was draped across his arms, pale and lifeless.

Sinister, forbidding doubts stabbed at him.

He tried to run to them - but his legs refused to carry him to where his thoughts had already flown.

Was she alive?

Her fragile body dangled limply.

She obviously wasn't conscious.

His heart thudded distantly, sweating coldly within his chest.

Had Aldwyn got to her in time?

Was he even trying to save her?

Perhaps the blast from his spell had killed Kira as well as the swarming plague of haemagiles?

But when had his master ever tried to harm anyone?

But that spell?

What was that tone and hue?

Not the purity of sky blue that the Magik that Heals usually produced - but something deeper - a strange violet taint, tinged with yellows and greens around its burning edges.

Surely she would survive?

She could not die - not now - not when there was a chance of happiness, a future.

Aldwyn had not brought him up to pray to the Surrounder - 'a verbose superstition' he called it - but Kira seemed to put great store in it.

Perhaps he could try, if only for her sake?

His exhausted mind scrambled for some suitable words - something to help her, to make her safe - but his panicked head did not know how or where to begin.

Aldwyn's heavy footsteps staggered out; he laid Kira on the grass a little way from him.

Ellis squinted back into the daylight; he fought to focus at the brightness of their arrival.

He crawled to her limp body; his taut ears strained for the reassurance of her breathing.

Aldwyn flopped down nearby.

Perhaps this was a sign of hope?

If Kira's life had been in any peril, the old man would already be acting to heal her - it was not his custom to leave patients alone if they were still in danger - he had known Aldwyn sit up through the night and refuse to eat if his patient required it.

But perhaps he was still fatigued from the haemagiles and the tunnel? Or perhaps the star-taint had made him forgetful of his duties?

Or perhaps he knew it was already too late?

An insipid, shallow breath rose and fell within her.

A relieved pulse spiked through him.

She was alive!

Aldwyn had saved her - somehow.

Perhaps she was still in danger or pain?

Aldwyn might be too exhausted to heal her properly?