R’shiel waited until she knew she was alone, except for the one person she was certain would not leave her while she was drawing on this much power. She didn’t know if it was loyalty or distrust that kept him there. Nor did she care.
“I can’t do this, Brak. I don’t know enough about healing.”
“I’ll not be much help to you, R’shiel. Like yours, my talent lies in the other direction.”
She looked up sharply, wondering how he could be so callous.
“I have to try.”
“Have you considered the possibility that this was meant to be?”
“What do you mean?” He could not meet her eye. “Brak! What do you mean?”
“Death decides when one’s time is up, R’shiel, not you, or me, or anyone else for that matter.”
“You’re telling me Tarja’s time is up?”
“I’m telling you Death doesn’t negotiate.”
She pushed the hair from Tarja’s forehead gently. “What if I speak to Death? Can’t I ask him not to take Tarja?”
“Not without offering a life of equal value in return.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because that’s what happened when the Harshini healed you, R’shiel. Death demanded a life in return.”
“Whose life? Who could make that kind of decision?”
When he did not answer she looked up, her face drained of colour. “It was you, wasn’t it?” R’shiel looked down at Tarja for a moment then slowly climbed to her feet. “Was it Tarja, Brak? Is that why you want me to let him die? So you can fulfil your bargain with death?”
“R’shiel —”
“Tell me, Brak!” she cried, turning on him angrily. “Who is going to die? Whose life did you trade for mine? You bastard! How could you do such a thing?”
“I couldn’t let you die, R’shiel.”
“You think I want to live knowing some poor sod carries a death sentence so I can keep breathing? Who, Brak? Who did you condemn to death? It was Tarja, wasn’t it? Tarja has to die, so I can live. A soul of equal value, you said...”
Brak grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. Hard. She stopped her tirade and threw her arms around him, sobbing.
“It wasn’t Tarja,” he told her gently as he held her.
She pulled away from him and wiped her eyes. “Who was it, Brak?”
“You don’t need to know.”
“Yes I do.”
“No, you don’t. And I’m not going to tell you, at any rate. See to Tarja. Perhaps he’s destined to die, perhaps he isn’t. I don’t know.”
“I don’t believe in destiny.”
“Which accounts for most of the trouble you’ve found yourself in lately.” He led her back to the pallet and knelt beside her, studying Tarja’s unconscious form with a much more experienced eye. “He’s close to death, R’shiel. Even Cheltaran would find it hard to bring him back.”
“I have the power to flatten mountains, Brak, you said that yourself. If you could just show me...” She stroked Tarja’s clammy forehead, her desperation almost severing her hold on the power. “Can’t you do what Glenanaran did for me? Stop time?”
“And hold him on the edge of death to what purpose, R’shiel? The problem isn’t the wound, it’s the blood he’s lost. You can knit bones and flesh easily enough, but not even the gods can manufacture blood out of thin air.”
“But I can feel him dying!”
“I know.”
“Then tell me what to do!” she cried. “Should I call Cheltaran? He’s the God of Healing. He should —”
“He won’t come, R’shiel,” Dacendaran told her miserably, as he appeared at the foot of the bed. “Zegarnald won’t let him.”
Anger surged through R’shiel, its edge honed by the power she held. How dare Zegarnald deny Tarja his only chance at life? “What do you mean? He won’t let him come?”
The young god shrugged uncomfortably. “He said something about you taking the easy way too often.”
“You mean Tarja is dying as some sort of test?” she gasped furiously. “What sort of sick breed are you, Dace? That’s inhuman!”
“Now you finally begin to understand,” Brak said.
Dace tugged on a loose thread on his motley shirt, avoiding R’shiel’s accusing eyes. “It’s not my fault. I’m not even supposed to be here. But Kali likes Tarja, so she’s keeping Zegarnald busy.”
“What did Kalianah say, Dace?”
R’shiel looked at Brak, wondering at the question.
“She said to tell R’shiel that love will prevail.”
“Oh, well that’s a big help,” R’shiel scoffed.
“Don’t be like that. I’m just the messenger. She said to tell you that you have guardians that protect you and that protection will embrace all who love you truly. That’s why she did what she did, I think. She knows things sometimes...” Dace trailed off with a sigh. “I’m sorry, R’shiel. I have to go. I wish you’d been a thief. I could have helped you a lot more.”
R’shiel felt the god leave, but she was too concerned about Tarja to care much. She was terrified that he would slip away before she could intervene, and afraid of what would happen if she did. Living without him would be hard enough; contributing to his death would be intolerable.
“You should never ignore a message from the gods, R’shiel,” Brak warned. “Particularly one as powerful as Kalianah.”
“Love will prevail,” she repeated caustically, in a fair imitation of Dace.
“She also said you have guardians that protect you, and that protection will embrace all who love you truly.”
“What guardians?”
Brak did not answer. He merely waited for the answer to come to her. When it did, she could have cried, but whether from anger at her own stupidity, or sheer relief, she could not tell.
“The demons!”
She had barely framed the thought when Dranymire popped into existence at the foot of the bed. His appearance was followed by a high-pitched squeal, as the little demon who had grown so fond of sleeping in their bed scrambled thoughtlessly across Tarja and jumped into her arms. The little demon appeared to have recovered from her ordeal in the Citadel. She hugged the creature and turned to Dranymire.
“We were wondering when you would remember us,” the demon said in his unnaturally deep voice.
“I’m sorry, Dranymire. But after the Gathering... so much has happened...”
The demon shrugged. “You have nothing to apologise for, except perhaps for not thinking of us sooner. What grieves you, demon child?”
“Can you show me how to heal Tarja?”
“Did you learn nothing at Sanctuary?”
“But he’s lost so much blood!”
“Don’t human bodies make their own blood?” Dranymire asked curiously. “They certainly spill enough of it to make one think it was readily replaced.”
“He’ll die before his body can replace what he’s lost,” Brak explained.
“Then you need blood to keep him alive, long enough for his own body to repair itself.” He looked at R’shiel with his too-big eyes. They were filled with compassion. “This human’s death would cause you much pain, I suspect.”
“More than anything I have ever suffered.”
Dranymire nodded solemnly. “We could do nothing to protect you from pain the gods imposed on you, but we can do something to prevent this.”
“What can you do? I don’t understand.”
“We shall be his blood.”
“What?” R’shiel began to wonder if she had slipped back into the realms of her living nightmare.