by JD Monroe
“I’m Hallan,” the woman said, giving her a shy smile. “It’s my honor to meet you, sister.”
“The honor is mine, Hallan,” she said. “I’m very glad you came.”
Outside in the courtyard, she saw a familiar flash of blonde hair. Veraxa crouched on the stone next to a patient, a woman with a sheet tossed over her for modesty. The younger healer was wreathed in a gentle golden aura as she poured healing energy into the unconscious woman.
Half a dozen people lay on the stone terrace. Two were far too still, and she couldn’t have guaranteed they were still breathing. She knelt by the male figure closest to her. Another man paced at his side, staring down with wide, fear-filled eyes. Deep clawmarks slashed across his bare chest. “I saw him go down. I tried to catch him, but I just couldn’t get there fast enough,” he stammered. Biting cold emanated from him as his emotions went wild. “He just fell right out of the sky.”
“It’s okay. Let me take a look,” she said, giving him a gentle look. She pressed her hands to the fallen man’s chest. A tiny spark of life lingered in him. Closing her eyes, she slid into the healer’s trance to examine his al-hatari, the life energy that flowed through all living creatures. A deep, sharp pain bloomed in her belly. She visualized herself closing the shutters on a small, cozy house, blocking out the distracting sensation.
In the trance, her mind flowed through him, finding the tangles and breaks where his body was injured. Like a hook in her lip, her mind was snared low in his belly, where blood and bile pulsed into his abdomen. His liver was ruptured. There were cracked ribs and other lesser injuries, but this would kill him if untended.
“Can I help somehow?” the pacing man asked. “I feel helpless.”
“Pray to the Skymother with me,” she said. She gestured for him to kneel next to her. “Blessed mother, see your fallen warrior who lies in your sight. Your eyes have never left him, and your spirit flows in him still.”
The other man repeated her words. Sohaila rested her hands on the man’s ribs. A gentle golden glow surrounded her hands as she visualized tiny threads, weaving into the torn tissue and mending it. His muscles went taut as he arched into her touch, eyes still closed. As she worked, the man continued praying, repetitive and mindless, but no less fervent for it.
Satisfied with her preliminary work, Sohaila slid her hand up his chest and gave his heart a little jolt. The man’s eyes flew open, and he gasped for air. Bright green eyes met hers. “What…oh, fuck,” he groaned, pressing his hand to his chest.
“Hello to you, too,” she said with a laugh. She patted his cheek lightly. “Just stay here. Shout for me if something changes.” She lowered her head to kiss the man’s brow, imparting the Kiss of Mara. A burst of energy flowed from her, sinking into him to continue healing in her absence.
“Thank you, sister,” the other man babbled. “Are you okay? I’m sorry, I tried to get there, and—”
She hurried to the next patient, leaving the pair to their reunion. Veraxa had already moved to the other still figure. A dark-haired woman knelt next to him, hands pressed over her mouth. The man’s face was bloody and misshapen, but the Marashti always kept hope. Veraxa pressed her hands to the man’s chest, then to his face. She shook her head gently. The woman let out a sharp cry, cut short as she clapped her hands over her mouth. Sohaila met Veraxa’s eyes from across the courtyard and nodded grimly. Veraxa squeezed the woman’s shoulder and moved on. There were lives still to be saved.
Her next patient took longer, as she worked on a hybrid who’d been knocked from a dragon’s back and landed hard on the stone. He was still conscious, lips clamped down to keep from crying out. His companion had to hold him down while she carefully maneuvered a shattered rib, then healed his lung to keep him from suffocating.
She sat back on her heels, breathing hard from exertion. Precision work was difficult. She was about to move on when a woman’s voice rang out from the darkness. “Someone, come help him! He’s not breathing!” A blue-scaled dragon landed just at the edge of the courtyard, gently depositing an unconscious man on the ground. The armored woman leaped off the dragon’s back and shouted again. “I need help!”
Sohaila grabbed her bag and dashed toward them, falling to her knees next to the naked man. As she glimpsed his ashen face, jaw slack and eyes closed, she nearly fainted from surprise. Impossible. She’d asked for a sign, but this was more than she’d bargained for.
Deep claw marks raked across his broad back. The flesh was blistered around the ugly slashes, as if it was boiling. Clearly, he’d met the Talons.
“I’ve got it,” Sohaila said. He’s mine, she thought.
The armored woman scrambled toward her. Her eyes were red and ringed in dark veins. “I don’t know what it was, but he got burned and he couldn’t breathe. He shifted back without warning.”
Sohaila ran her hands up his spine, trying not to let the familiar sensation distract her. “Was it one of the dark green dragons? Green fire?” The woman nodded. “Their fire is poisonous.”
The woman scowled. “How?”
“Later,” Sohaila said. She braced her hands against Kaldir’s back, letting her energy surge through him. The injuries on his back were ugly, but they weren’t the real threat. His lungs and throat were seared and coated with the Talons’ poison. She focused her energy on his lungs first.
“Is he—”
“Shh,” Sohaila hissed. As she poured healing energy into him, she prayed under her breath.
Mother, if this is a sign, I see. I hear. Please heal him. Let your power flow through these hands. Do not let my lack of strength and skill fail him. Let your power flow through me, your imperfect but devoted servant.
Her energy clashed with the poison, sending a prickling sensation down her spine. She didn’t know which one of the Talons he’d met, but it helped to think it was Adron or Firsa. She imagined them cowering before her blinding light as she ripped victory from their claws.
You can’t have him.
His lungs were clear, but he still didn’t breathe. She pressed her fingers under his jaw.
Let him breathe. Let the air flow.
She didn’t know if the Skymother listened to such specific prayers, but she prayed them anyway. Letting her lips brush his ear, she whispered, “Breathe, Kaldir.” Like she had with her first patient, she jolted him slightly. Even with the stinking poison of the Talons in his blood, he smelled so painfully familiar.
His body arched, and he gasped violently. He didn’t wake, but he breathed, slow and even.
The woman let out a manic laugh that trailed into a sob, rubbing his arm gently. “Oh, thank the Mother,” she said.
Sohaila watched, a pang of jealousy tightening her chest as this strange woman touched Kaldir. Her Kaldir. She controlled her voice carefully. “Get him inside.”
With help from the Kadirai soldiers, Sohaila and Veraxa moved the injured into the main hall and the few vacant chambers. Now that the life-threatening injuries were handled, they could begin the less stressful work of bandaging wounds, applying ointments, and brewing teas.
She had just left a soldier sleeping peacefully with a nasty burn slathered in thelveran when she intercepted an older woman with salt-and-pepper hair. Her regal bearing and formal coat marked her as someone important. Two younger men flanked her as she swept down the hall.
The woman bowed deeply. “Sister,” she said. “I am General Ralna Iceborne. I’m glad to see that you’re well.”
“Was this rescue your doing?” Sohaila asked.
“With help,” she said. “I only regret that it came so late.”
“It’s much appreciated,” Sohaila said, bowing politely. “Sohaila Mara.”
“I believe you spoke to my Edra scout,” Iceborne said. “Your information was helpful. Do you know where Sidran was going?”
“You didn’t find him?” she murmured. Fear prickled through her.
Iceborne shook her head. “We have a hunting party tracking them. One of the
white dragons carried a number of people with it. With wind dragons to cloak their passage, we lost them quickly.”
Her belly tied in a knot. How had they let him escape? “Sidran said they were going north,” Sohaila said. She tilted her head. “Did you find a third Marashti healer? Blue garments like mine, long black hair.”
Iceborne shook her head. “I’ll ask my men, but I don’t think so. I appreciate you and your sister attending to my people. Have you seen my comrade, General Dawnblaze?”
Her heart kicked against her ribs. General? Kaldir had moved up in the world, which was no surprise. “Follow me. He was wounded.”
Iceborne frowned. “Show me.”
With her heart thumping like festival drums, Sohaila hurried down the hall with the older woman in tow. Until a few hours ago, the room had housed several of the Chosen. There was still a wooden chest at the foot of the bed, filled with neatly folded clothes and a short sword in a leather scabbard.
Kaldir lay on his belly, allowing the deep clawmarks across his back to heal in the open air. She had liberally applied thelveran to purify the wounds. If not for the ugly slashes, she could have believed he was just sleeping.
“I’m surprised such a wound felled him,” Iceborne said.
A flare of unexpected anger sparked in her belly. “He was attacked by the Talons. Sidran wasn’t just toying around with the Aesdar. He enhanced some of the Shadowflight dragons and weaponized their corruption. Their breath and their claws are poisonous. He nearly died.”
“I see,” Iceborne said. “And you can neutralize it?”
“I can, and I already have,” Sohaila said. “He’ll be fine after some rest.”
“See that he’s taken care of,” Iceborne said. Her brow creased, and she bowed politely. “Please tell me if I can do anything for you. My resources are yours.”
“Thank you,” Sohaila said. “Go with the Skymother’s blessing.” She followed the older woman to the door and closed it gently.
Sohaila had asked the Skymother for a sign, and clearly she’d received one. She’d thought the little bird was her sign. But now, here was Kaldir Dawnblaze, six and a half feet of divine intervention sprawled over a too-small bed. Even if she hadn’t seen his face, she would have recognized that backside anywhere, not to mention the tiny constellation of freckles on his left shoulder.
Fifty years, and he’d barely changed. Maybe a few more scars and a bit more muscle across his shoulders. But he was the same Kaldir Dawnblaze that haunted her memories, a phantom sculpted in bronze and fire. Her fingers drifted to her face, tracing the twisted scars beneath the silken veil. He hadn’t changed, but she had. She was no longer his little light, his beautiful comet racing across the night sky.
Sohaila Mara had never met Kaldir, and he had never met her. But Falmina Flamewrought, a foolish, naïve girl, had loved Kaldir Dawnblaze more than life itself. He said he loved her, and he had never lied to her. The last time she’d seen him, she had thought it was merely another evening, when she’d awaken to the possibility of another day with him.
And by the next dawn, he proved that he didn’t love her anymore, maybe never had. With nothing to hold her back, she’d reluctantly gone to the Shrine of Mara and gave up her old life for a divine gift and a rebirth.
For fifty years, he was a memory of a life that had ended long ago, of a silly girl who lived in the past. And yet, here he was. And here she was, gripped by the same fluttering desire she’d felt the first time she ever laid eyes on him.
After checking that the door was still closed, she rested her hand on his neck, gently toying with the soft curls at the nape of his neck. Even though her dragon was long gone, something in her still sang out with the joy of touching him. His hair was longer than she remembered, long enough to wind around her finger. With the poison gone, he smelled warm and smoky again.
He smelled like Kaldir. Like home. Like summer nights in Ironhold, when she was half of an us and her entire world could fit in her arms.
With her heart thumping from exhaustion, she let a thin trickle of healing energy flow into him. Warm light trickled over his skin, like glowing water that ran into the deep slashes on his back and knit them together. His arm shifted slightly, and she nearly broke away in surprise. His lashes fluttered, like he was dreaming.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” she murmured. “Please come back to me.”
Music and laughter echoed in the cavernous halls of Ironhold. Crimson banners and brilliant sprays of orange flowers decorated every surface. The midday sun poured in through the stained glass windows, painting a fiery kaleidoscope across the dark stone floors.
He wandered through the grand entrance hall, staring in confusion. Why was he here? The halls were filled with people, all dressed in glittering gold finery. He stared down at himself, surprised to find only a loose cloth tied around his waist. His bare feet were dirty, leaving muddy tracks across the pristine stone.
“What’s going on?” he asked a woman passing by. As she turned to him, her face blurred and her voice disappeared in the din. He asked again and again, but everyone laughed and smiled without replying. Increasingly confused, he headed for the stairs, taking them three at a time until he reached the top floor of the palace.
The Grand Terrace overlooked all of Ironhold. A woman stood at the edge of the balcony, her back to him. Her red silk train spread over the expanse of the terrace. Stylized flames were embroidered onto the silk, sparkling in the sun. Long, coppery-red hair streamed over her back, adorned with small golden beads.
Little comet, he thought inexplicably.
His heart thumped as he approached. Before a greeting could tumble over his lips, the woman turned. The sun blinded him, obscuring her face.
“I can’t believe you’re here.” Her voice, clear and high like a bell, cut through the noisy music and boisterous laughter from the palace. Something caressed his neck, sending a shiver down his spine. “Please come back to me.”
Her face was cast in shadow, but he knew her voice, had heard it a thousand times in his dreams. “I’m right here,” he said. He just needed to see her face to be sure.
A loud drum beat rose from the crowd, steady and growing louder. “Come back to me.”
“I’m right here!” He tried to run toward her, but the terrace stretched out, keeping her at a distance. With a grunt of determination, he crouched to shift. If he couldn’t run to her, he’d fly.
As his wings began to form, sharp pain stitched through his back.. He jolted awake, sitting bolt upright. The bright, familiar halls of home faded into the dingy stone walls of a tiny room. Fear rolled through him in a sickening wave, and he launched himself off the narrow bed.
No windows. Closed door. Unfamiliar smell.
A cell.
“No, no, no,” he protested. Not again. He lunged for the door and yanked it open, breathing a sigh of relief to find it unlocked. Half a year ago, he’d spent an unpleasant few days in a dank cell, anticipating his own death at the hands of the Stoneflight. He leaned against the doorframe, breathing hard as he regained his composure.
Outside the door, a young woman in a dark blue uniform was posted with a spear at her side. “Oh, sir!” she exclaimed. “You’re up. Good.” Her eyes drifted down, then snapped back up to his face. “The General told me to let her know when you woke.”
“What’s going on?” he blurted. He tucked himself behind the wall, leaning out just enough to speak to her. “Did we get Sidran?”
The woman shook her head. “We tried, but—”
“Vazredakh,” he cursed. His voice echoed off the stone walls. The woman winced. “Did we send a hunting party?”
“All I know is someone told me to keep watch. I’m sorry, sir. I’ll get the general, and you can talk to her.”
He growled in frustration. “Send someone with clothes, and I’ll find the general myself.”
Ten minutes later, Kaldir was dressed in an ill-fitting pair of pants and a tunic that chafed across th
e raw slashes in his back. The young soldier who’d been posted at his door led him to a small dining area. Discarded dishes with half-eaten meals were strewn about, like their attack had interrupted dinner. Azeria sat at the end of one table, brow furrowed. General Iceborne sat next to her, listening calmly as a woman in blue ranted at her.
“The longer you wait, the further away they get,” the woman protested. Silky reddish hair was braided and coiled around her head like a crown. He couldn’t see her face, but her voice was oddly familiar. His heart thumped. It was impossible.
“I’m aware of how travel works,” Iceborne said politely. Her expression was impressively neutral. “I’ve sent scouts, but we can’t afford to split our forces any further at the moment.”
“They have a Marashti healer,” the woman protested. “A holy woman.”
“And I’m very sorry about that, sister,” Iceborne replied. “But this incursion was more costly than we expected. I will join you in prayer for the safety of your sister, but we will do her no good at the moment.” Her eyes drifted to Kaldir. “Ah, General. Good to see you on your feet.”
The Marashti healer turned to look at him. A blue silken veil covered the lower half of her face, but he would have known Falmina from the tinest glimpse of her amber eyes, bright and inquisitive as ever.
And with no more concern than if she’d glimpsed a fluttering insect, she turned away from him.
He felt like she’d punched him in the gut. “Please, catch me up,” he said, tearing his eyes away from Falmina. He sank into a seat next to Azeria, giving him a full view of Falmina’s veiled face. An intricate swirl of blue was tattooed on her brow in the tradition of the Marashti.
Azeria nudged his calf with her foot. “Are you all right?” He nodded without looking at her.
