by Aldrea Alien
Quick as she had landed on him, the bear was gone. Torn from his person. Searing heat followed, flying over him. The orange blaze of fire filled his tear-blinded vision.
Dar…
The spellster wasn’t supposed to be out here now. The bear… It—
The heat and glow of fire faded, leaving the world to grow increasingly cold and dark.
“Gods,” Darshan blurted. “I should never have let you bring me out here.” The words were soft, cracked and weary.
Hamish struggled to breathe. The cloying stench of burnt fur and charred meat invaded his nostrils. He tried again. His efforts produced only a gurgle. It was as if his lungs strained through swamp water.
“ ‘Mish!” Darshan’s voice came brokenly. Closer now. “No…” Hands grasped him, frantically patting over his body. “Come now.” Those same hands patted Hamish’s cheeks. Words he couldn’t understand poured from the man’s mouth, jumbled with a mixture of Udynean and Tirglasian. “Spiro! Just breathe. Aperi oculos tuos. Come back to me.”
Blackness sucked at his consciousness. Only a thin corona of white remained in his sight. Hamish drifted deeper on the current. No struggle, no floundering. Why fight? He deserved it. This death. Clean. Honourable. No one else needed to suffer for his flaws, for his inability to obey.
“I do not give you permission to die.” Fingers pressed to Hamish’s neck, tearing a fresh spasm of pain through him. “Do you hear me, ‘Mish?” A warm jolt of magic pierced him much like the bear’s tooth. “Not here. Not today. I shall not allow it.”
He was vaguely aware of the stuttering beat pulsing through his head. Distant. Fading fast and unimportant.
Then gone.
The terrified scream of a horse jolted Darshan from his fitful slumber. He sat bolt upright, groping for the little velvet-lined box containing his glasses. “Hamish?” he whispered. His lover would be able to determine the severity of a threat far quicker than himself.
A glance at the tussled blankets next to him revealed a marked lack of anyone.
Outside. With the whatever-it-was that had frightened the horses.
His fingers found the box. He flung aside the lid and fought with the square of silk holding his glasses captive. Hastening to tuck the wire earpieces in place, he burst through the tent flap and—
—clapped a hand over his mouth, barely containing his own cry of terror.
A bear, a small mountain of bloody fur and muscle, stood over Hamish’s inert body, its mouth wrapped around the man’s neck. There was no sign of his lover fighting back.
Gods. Tears fast obscured his view of the scene. He blinked them back, staggering forward. Was Hamish… dead? “No,” he mumbled. It couldn’t be true.
Unthinkingly, he raised his hand.
A blast of air tore the beast from Hamish’s body, spraying blood everywhere. Fire flowed from Darshan’s fingers, blazing across the clearing. It slammed into the bear, molten and lethal.
The creature fell in seconds.
He growled wordlessly at the smouldering lump. How had it happened? His gaze fell on the bow lying well out of Hamish’s reach. Several arrows dotted the forest. None appeared to have hit their mark. What had thrown off such a marksman? “Gods.” He halted beside Hamish’s body. “I should never have let you bring me out here.” If they’d stayed in the castle, then—
An answering gurgle came from the man.
Hamish still lived? He had thought for sure that no one could’ve survived such an attack.
“ ‘Mish!” Darshan collapsed next to his lover. So much blood. It poured from his neck and chest. Alive for the moment, but not much longer for the world. “No…” He ran his hands over Hamish, his magic dipping in and out of his body in search of the worst wound. “Come now.” He patted Hamish’s cheeks, hoping that would be enough to stimulate a response. “Breathe!” he commanded. “Just breathe. Open your eyes. Come back to me.”
Whether through involuntary or conscious effort, the man’s blue eyes rolled open. They stared at the canopy, glassy and vacant.
Darshan pressed his fingers to the deep-red wound in Hamish’s neck, summoning his healing magic. “I do not give you permission to die.” His power slipped into Hamish almost hesitantly, most unlike the draining pull from the last man he had healed.
He pushed harder. “Do you hear me, ‘Mish? Not here. Not today.” He clamped his teeth and grated through them, “I shall not allow it.”
And yet…
Where was the tug on his magic, the parasitic pull of another’s body feeding off his power? He should’ve been feeling the effects by now. Had he not—?
Was he too late?
Darshan lifted his finger from the wound, swiftly replacing it as blood erratically pumped out. Too much. The flow was ebbing—he could feel the wound shifting and growing smaller beneath his fingers—but it was all so slow. Hamish had already lost more blood than was ideal. His body wasn’t trying to wrest all Darshan was from him because there was simply too little left to fight.
Darshan was going to have to do that for him.
Swallowing hard, he forced his magic a little deeper. Careful. A faint twitch was all it took to aid the thump of his lover’s heart. Forcing the lungs to breathe was harder and required the greater bulk of his concentration. His lover’s chest was a mess of lacerations and broken bones. If he could just fix a few, stop further blood loss by mending Hamish’s chest, then maybe…
Control over his magic was ripped from his command as soon as the skin had knitted back together. Darshan swayed, momentarily stunned, then sagged over Hamish’s still inert form.
His own body strained to keep up. His heart pulsed to the same erratic rhythm. He gasped open-mouthed, saliva shamelessly dribbling out. The mere flickering thought of pausing to swallow was lost in the battle to keep breathing.
Through each tremble and gut-wrenching breath, he struggled to regain control, to turn his magic towards what needed it most. The neck wound was sealed, it would be an ugly scar, but posed no threat to Hamish’s life. His chest was whole, the ribs and organs beneath heeding Darshan’s touch.
He was done. The injuries were gone. Finally.
So why did Hamish’s completely whole body continue to drain him? His power funnelled into his lover like water over a cliff. But unlike a river, it wasn’t endless. He needed to extract himself before it took a greater toll.
Keeping one hand on Hamish’s neck, Darshan tugged his magic free. The second he did, the pulse under his fingers faltered.
Unthinking, he dove back in. This wasn’t like any other healing he had done. There was no clear cause, nothing he could focus on. It dragged at him, sapped him of all thought beyond maintaining the flow of his magic.
It wasn’t enough. Hamish needed more than Darshan had to give. Everything that made up his lover cried out for his strength. He was the air. He was power. Blood…
Life.
The wisp of a thought that could think beyond just existing fastened onto the previous night’s conversation. The legends. There were theories, so many studies that had never born fruit, but all agreed that the power needed would be immense.
Had he the strength left to try?
Must. Letting go consigned Hamish to death, whereas continuing like this meant they would both die. Neither option was at all palatable.
But where would he get the extra life-force?
The bear? His head wobbled as he peered at the charred remains. No. Not even a spark. He’d been thorough there.
The horses? They’d need at least one once he was done. If…
With bleary eyes, he searched the clearing. Both mounts had broken their tethers. It was unlikely he could’ve reached them anyway.
Darshan licked his cracked lips. Maybe he was thinking about this all wrong. The legends came from a place where lifeless dunes stretched for miles. He was in the middle of a forest. They were surrounded by life. The ground pulsed with it.
A conduit. That was what he needed to be, n
ot the source. Feed the life in the very ground through him and into Hamish.
He hadn’t done such a thing before, not latching onto anything’s life-force with the intention of taking. The idea of delving into plant life was entirely absent from any of his academic studies. Seeing anything more in the forest than wood and leaves was supposed to be at the core of dwarven souls.
He cringed from the thought, even as he dug his fingers into the soil. Udynea had her own legends of people skirting death—monsters who had worn the skin of humans as a thin disguise—and this, as much as it pained him to think it, came very close to what they’d done. Just this once. Just for him. You can’t let him die here.
He wound a root of grass around his finger, careful not to let it snap under his touch. If plants absorbed what they needed through these strands, then he should be able to siphon what Hamish required back the other way. If he could just find the right focus to—
The fresh source of energy was like a slap in the face. The heartbeat of a new world thundered through his chest. The scream of a thousand—a million—voices roared in his ears.
Pain ripped through his veins and out his throat. The source fought him, necessitating that he actively tear the life from the surrounding foliage. It drew bile up his throat between gasps. Every inch of his body—from the root of his hair to the tips of his toes—felt afire.
But it was working.
Through the flashes of white and red blinding him, he spied the grass shrivelling as if it baked under a summer sun. The leaves on a nearby bush withered and fell, leaving only a stark, dusty twig. Like a plague, the circle of death spread, pulsing with his efforts.
It grew harder the further he needed to seek out life. Each heartbeat rippled through the dead foliage, the constant exchange from one blade of grass to the next exhausting him all the more. The screams in his head grew weaker with every ripple.
If only he could move… But no, he barely had the strength to remain upright. Anything more would be impossible without rest and he couldn’t dare to stop until Hamish was beyond the crisis point.
The sluggish, ever-widening growth of the circle sputtered to a halt. Had he reached the limit of his range so soon? He clawed at the ground, using what minute strength he had in reserve to drag his arm as far from Hamish as he could physically manage. No matter how hard he stretched his magic, he could go no further.
Praying he had done enough, Darshan withdrew his touch from both the ground and Hamish. His body shuddered to his core.
He collapsed onto his side, barely able to keep his eyes open. His gaze fastened onto Hamish, seeing only the rise and fall of his lover’s chest. He lives. Or breathed, at least. Only time would tell if he awoke. “Wake up,” he commanded, the words barely a whisper on his lips. “Just open your eyes, mea lux. Please?”
Closer… Another shudder passed through him. I have to get up. Not possible. Much like the grass, his limbs buckled at the slightest pressure. He needed rest, to grant his body the time to repair what damage might’ve been done.
His eyes slid closed, very much against his will. The world was far too cold. Please… Even as he tried to lift just one eyelid, the absolute fog of exhaustion slipped over his brain, throwing him into dreamless sleep.
~~~
Hamish’s limbs jerked involuntarily. Pain wracked his senses like lightning and fire rushing through his veins. Was this what being torn apart was like? Must be. He had thought for sure that bleeding out would’ve taken him first.
The searing pain burrowed deeper, gnawing on his bones. In the lull between bites, another thought shook free. Should he be able to think at all if he were dying? It had been sinking blackness and fog only moments ago, he was certain.
And yet, anguished screaming continued to fill his ears. His lungs hadn’t the power to produce such a sound.
All at once, the pain vanished, leaving silence in its wake.
Hamish drifted in the dark. He was faintly aware of a presence to his right, but hadn’t the strength or will to discover what. Or who. Hadn’t he heard Darshan? Hadn’t he attacked the bear?
Was the bear attacking Darshan? Was that what the screaming had been? Did his lover now lie dying?
Dar…
Battling against the snail-like reaction of his limbs, he rolled onto his side. Prone, he could move no further as a body-shaking cough took hold.
“Careful now,” Darshan whispered, his voice thin and weary.
“What?” he croaked. Gunk filled his mouth. He spat out the glob of black muck to join a similar pile on the nearby ground and wobbled into a sitting position. All around him, the grass was dull and brittle. The very ground seemed parched.
“You are safe,” Darshan continued, his voice sounding no stronger. “Healed.”
Hamish’s gaze lifted to where the bear lay nearby, charred and very much dead. “What have you done?” He patted his chest. His shirt was torn and blood-soaked, but the skin underneath showed no sign of injury beyond faint scars weaving through the hair. “You brought me back to life?”
“No.” Darshan sat nearby, one arm draped over a raised knee. A sickly, pallid tint had taken his face. His chest heaved as if each breath was a great labour. “You did not die. A minor detail in the greater role of it all.” He swung his hand in a limp circle. “You came close, but I pulled you back before then. Just as well, for I rather doubt I have it in me to push that far.” His grin was one of forced gaiety. “Still quite the feat, if I do say so myself.”
Hamish idly traced a finger along his neck as his lover talked. There were two smooth patches either side, one bigger than the other. A flash of the bear’s teeth filled his thoughts and he shuddered. “You should nae have bothered,” he murmured.
“Should not have—? What? Saved your life?” Darshan shook his head. “Were you taunting it by not firing directly?” He flapped a hand in the direction of the arrows littering the ground. “I know you are a better marksman than that. Anyone would think you wanted to die.”
“I do,” Hamish whispered. As soon as the words left his mouth, he wanted to push them back down his throat. Hunching his shoulders, he closed his eyes, not wishing to see Darshan’s expression as he waited for the ridicule he had faced the last time he had tried. “I cannae do it anymore,” he mumbled. “Living this lie. It was different before you came, I couldnae miss what I didnae have. But I ken what it’s like now and I cannae go back.”
Beset upon only by silence, Hamish slowly peered through his lashes. He half-expected to find himself alone with the bear carcass.
Darshan had leant back and now eyed him as if he hadn’t encountered Hamish before now. But rather than the condemnation he had expected, all emotion had fled the man’s face to leave only a heart-aching concern shining in Darshan’s eyes. The little bump at his throat bobbed and he opened his mouth every now and then, but nothing came out.
Laughter, loud and mirthless, burst from Hamish’s mouth. Of all the things to render the man speechless, he never thought this would be it.
Darshan wet his lips. His gaze flicked to the surrounding woods and back. Did he think Hamish might bolt like a skittish deer? “What happened to have you think this was a reasonable step to take?”
That hadn’t been the response Hamish had expected. His last attempt had left him facing anger, accusations and, above all, his mother’s disappointment. “You wouldnae understand. Naebody does.”
Darshan sat silent and still for some time. Then, with a frown furrowing his brow, he scooted across the ground to halt only once the toe of his boot touched Hamish’s, seemingly unable to summon the strength to move closer.
“What are you doing?”
“Waiting for an explanation.” Darshan slowly crossed his legs and steepled his fingers. “With all due respect, you have lived in your current state for some time. To choose now speaks of a catalyst. I merely wish to know what that was.”
Hamish huffed. He was tired of explaining himself. “What’s the point?” No one
ever listened.
“Well, I believe we have established I lack the understanding behind your reasoning to…” His gaze drifted over his shoulder to the deceased bear. “…to take your life. Refusing to even attempt an explanation seems counterproductive towards any sort of comprehension on my part. Trying can only serve to help.”
Hamish remained silent.
Darshan took up one of Hamish’s hands, linking their fingers. “Just talk to me. Even if I cannot fully comprehend what you are going through, I am still here to listen. To help you however you need me to.”
“Help?” Hamish pulled his hand free. Darshan had said the same words back in the castle and seemed no less sincere. But how could he possibly help? “This is nae some wee matter. There is nae magical fix. You cannae just wiggle your fingers and make things better.”
Darshan’s gaze dropped. Although he didn’t voice it, the hurt on his face was plain enough.
Great. He hadn’t meant to lash out like that. Hamish wobbled to his feet, trying to put some distance between them. “I’m sorry. You didnae deserve that, this is nae your fault.” He could blame the healing on Darshan, but not the reason they were out here in the first place.
Taking a step back had his legs dump him unceremoniously onto his backside.
“Slowly!” Darshan’s hand was outstretched towards him, but he had made no attempt to move. “I rather doubt I am capable of healing more than a few scratches right now.”
Hamish slammed his fist into the ground, the withered blades of grass crumbling beneath his fist. What had Darshan done? Was all this dead plant life his doing? To heal me? He squeezed his eyes shut. Of course he did. Darshan had pushed himself in healing that man back at the cloister. Why had Hamish thought his lover wouldn’t go further with himself?
Tears trickled into his beard. He wasn’t worth saving. “You dinnae even ken what it’s like,” he whispered. “There were times when me mum locked me up for days. Sometimes weeks. I’d lay there wishing, praying, there was a way—some method, even a spell—to fix this.” He thumped his chest. “To fix me. All so I wasnae such a burden.”
