The Weaver's Source

Chapter 92

"Take her upstairs. Get her clean, fed and warm." Wilson ordered stiffly.

Jen nodded eagerly and she helped Wilson put Nanat on the floor. Taking her sister's hand, she guided her slowly around the stains of blood and up the stairs, whispering soft comforting words constantly.

"This way." Wilson said gruffly and dragged Grigore up the stairs, taking him into his bedroom.

I shadowed them both, wringing my hands in worry and uncertainty of what to do. I stayed by the doorway, gazing inside. In the large bed and beside the room's fire lay Lynda with an elderly narrow faced man looking over her, trying to get her to swallow the contents of a wooden cup.

My heart instantly sunk with dread at the sight of her. Her normal vibrant skin was ashen and white and the blanket covering her was stain with blood. I quickly realised whose blood had been smeared over the kitchen floor.

"I can't get her to sallow much." The doctor said to Wilson sadly. "She's very weak." He looked down at Lynda. "There's not much I can do. Her stomach has been punctured in several places."

Wilson turned to Grigore with desperation in his eyes. "Can you heal her?"

I watched Grigore warily, aware he was more a warrior than a healer, often just relying on his magic to heal him. I didn't want this burden on him. If he failed, the guilt he would feel would be intense. But, with No-Tongue and Remus gone, Grigore was the only one who could.

"I can't promise I can save her. I've told you, my old partner was the healer, not me." Grigore said warily.

"I know but either we do nothing and she dies or we at least try." Wilson begged. "Please."

Grigore looked down at Lynda. Her chest barely moved and her eyes remained closed, not even opening once.

Without a word, he knelt down beside the doctor and pulled the blanket away. She was naked beneath it apart from a thick layer of bloodied bandages over her stomach. He cut it away and I couldn't help but stare at seven ugly gaping wounds in her belly. They had been cleaned and sewed but they continued to weap blood.

The doctor stepped aside, his face a picture of disapproval and concern as Grigore touched the ragged wounds.

"Who did this?" He asked as he place his palm over Lynda's stomach and closed his eyes as if he were listening.

Wilson didn't say anything at first. His gaze grew thick with panic and he sat himself in the chair he stood beside.

"It was Rhye."

"Rhye?" I echoed with shock, whirling about to the smaller bed and finding it empty.

"Jen made a mistake. She hated Rhye being chained up and sat with her often. When Rhye woke up, she spoke normally, acted normally and seemed terribly confused about why she was locked up in my bedroom." Wilson paused. "Jen unlocked Rhye's chains, thinking she was better. Rhye then tried to flee, shoving Jen aside but found herself trapped by No-Tongue's ward. Rhye became furious. She shoved me aside easily and I smashed my head against the table." He tapped his wooden leg regretfully. "Lynda desperately tried to calm her but Rhye...she attacked her. She didn't stop until No-Tongue's ward failed."

I was hugging myself. Rhye was gone now. I had brought Nanat back but another sister had been lost, worse No-Tongue's ward had failed. It made me worry for the safety of the Weaver.

"How long ago was this?"

"An hour or so."

"She would be gone by now." Grigore said calmly. "I'll focus on Lynda."