Reaching out one more time, understanding that to draw on the Weave again would be fatal, he drew in the power for one last spell. There was no regret in the action. The rage had subsided, leaving behind an emotionless sense of awareness that judged an action only by its rightness, and what he was going to do could not be any more right. He leaned over and put one paw on Miranda, and the other on Sisska, then closed his eyes. The black metal amulet around his neck flared into sudden incandescence as he wove together Water, Air, Earth, Divine energy, and token flows of the other spheres so that his weaving carried the power of High Sorcery, and then released them into the two females. His touch became a searing flash of light, and both females suddenly bowed their backs and snapped their jaws tightly shut. The weave of healing literally attacked the ghastly wounds which had killed both of them, reknitting flesh, smoothing away burned bone, reconstructing entire sections of body, and then infusing them both with the pure energy of the Weave. That spark of power incited their hearts to beat, their diaphragms to flex, reawakened the souls that had been preparing to depart this world and move onto the next. The power of his touch was more potent than any spell of destruction or battle, as if the Weave itself responded to him with a complete surrender that was missing when he used it in anger or to destroy, magnified by the utter saturation of energy that the new strands allowed him to bring to bear.
As one, both Miranda and Sisska drew in a ragged breath, on their own. They would make it.
He had no more. Still connected to the Weave, he no longer had the power to sever himself from it, or to let go of it. But it did not rush into him as he thought it would have. He was utterly defenseless to the Weave, yet it did not seek to fill him with its power. Instead, it simply drained away, evaporated, letting go of him with a gentleness that made him blearily wonder what had happened. But no matter how gently it happened, it still generated a backlash within him, one that his body simply could not tolerate. Eyes rolling back into his head, he collapsed forward, and knew no more.
"By all that's holy!" Dar said in utter awe, crawling out from his hiding place. Keritanima stood not five paces from Tarrin, Miranda, and Sisska, hands held out. He could feel her, feel the tremendous effort it had taken her to cut Tarrin off from the Weave. Dar wasn't an expert on Sorcery, but he was positive that she just saved his life. He was being Consumed, had drawn too much power to handle, and had she not stopped that, it would have killed him. His body was burned, blackened, as if he'd walked through a fire, but Dar knew that those were only the injuries that they could see. The same thing had been done to him inside, almost like he'd been cooked in an oven. She stood there for a long moment, a look of terror and hope in her eyes. It would have to have been Keritanima to do that. Not even Dolanna had the raw power necessary to try to overwhelm Tarrin, even when he was in such a weakened state. Keritanima was a powerful Sorceress, and would be among the very strongest, if Tarrin's power did not eclipse her. Only she had both the power and the ability to even hope to cut Tarrin off from the Weave.
He had never- never- thought that he would ever see anything like that. He had felt it in his soul, a power so immense that anyone who could touch the Weave could not help but feel. Tarrin had created new strands, built them out of flows pulled from existing strands, and for no reason other than the fact that he wanted to draw more power, faster. Dar stood there and stared in mute shock as Keritanima rushed over the the inert trio, stared dumbly as Miranda took in a shuddering breath, and then sat bolt upright so quickly that it nearly scared him into wetting himself.
"A Weavespinner," Dolanna said in reverence, coming up beside him, and seeming to know what he was thinking. "That, my young pupil, is what being a Weavespinner truly means." She touched the shaeram around her neck delicately, then grabbed hold of it in a strong grip. "Come, Dar, Tarrin is badly injured, and there are many in need of our aid. I will need the power of a circle to help mend them."
Crying.
Someone was crying. Someone was dead.
Miranda!
"Miranda!" Tarrin gasped, eyes fluttering open as consciousness flooded into him with a speed that left him disoriented. He felt as if he'd been baked in an oven, and his entire body itched. And it ached with a weariness that seemed to have infected him like a disease, leaving him feeling feeble. The recent past was lost in a haze of weariness and a memory of rage. He had lost control of himself again, he remembered that, but as was normal for him, his actions during that period of frenzy were murky and indistinct. Time would sort them out. As if he really wanted to know what he had done this time. He was too tired to brood about it, but he distinctly remembered what triggered it. Seeing Sisska and Miranda laying dead on the deck.
He was in his cabin. Keritanima sat on the edge of the bed, Allia stood at her shoulder, and much to his eternal relief, Miranda sat on a plush chair that had not been in his room before, right at the head of his bed. She had a blanket in her lap and was dressed in a soft blue dressing gown, and on her face was a look of profound relief. The scents of his other friends were still strong in the room, hinting that he was being visited often, as was the smell of some kind of hot broth.
That was an expression shared by all three women. Keritanima's hands were on his shoulders, pushing him down, and Allia had a hold of one of his paws. Both of them looked just a little haggard. "You put yourself right back down, brother," the Wikuni princess said sternly, but the tears in her eyes gave away her concern. "Don't you ever do that again!"
"Wh-what happened?" he said in a bare whisper. "I, don't remember very much. Only seeing Miranda laying on the deck. Everything after that is a blur."
"Brother, let us just say that you avenged Miranda," Allia said gently.
"As you can see, I'm just fine, Tarrin," Miranda told him, a voice that sang like music in his ears. "A bit weak and a little tired, but otherwise fine." She took a sip of that broth he had smelled earlier. "Kerri's been babying me almost as much as you. She won't let me walk ten steps by myself."
"And if you do, I'm going to chain you to your bed," Keritanima said with a steely expression at her maid.
"What happened?" he asked again.
"Zakkites," Keritanima replied. "Six of them. They came out of a fogbank and hit us before we even knew what was going on. They were about to sink us, but you showed up and destroyed them with Sorcery." She shuddered. "You nearly killed yourself, Tarrin. If I hadn't been there to cut you off from the Weave, what's left of you would be in a little jar. Don't ever scare me like that again!"
"Azakar," he recalled blearily. "I never saw Azakar. Is he alright?"
"We had to fish him and a few others out of the sea," Miranda replied, drawing a glare from Keritanima. "He was thrown overboard after the first assault."
"Sisska?"
She's fine," Keritanima assured him.
"Binter is tending to her," Allia told him. "She is still recovering from her ordeal. Binter agreed to allow me the honor of defending Keritanima until he can resume his duties."
"That couldn't have been easy," Tarrin said weakly. "I'm really thirsty, sisters. Can I have something to drink?"
Keritanima picked a cup of broth up from a small table, and Tarrin sensed her touch the Weave. It began to steam slightly, heated by her magic, and she allowed him to take small sips. The liquid was flavored with chicken, and tasted sweeter than any wine ever could.