Icestorm

by Theresa Dahlheim

  Dear God. Merciful God. Help her. Save her.

  Josselin’s mind vanished from the link. She was shapechanging. She was on her way. Contare stayed, watching through Jeff’s eyes and telling him and Rose what to do. The neural path from Brigita’s brain to her heart had to be repaired so that oxygen particles could get to her brain and keep it alive. Neither Jeff nor Rose had ever treated such serious injuries, and they focused intently on Contare’s words while everyone else hovered around them.

  Errie stepped close to Graegor. “Why aren’t you helping?” she whispered, her blue eyes wide with panic and confusion.

  “I can’t,” he whispered back with fierce frustration.

  “Why?”

  “It’s complicated.” He couldn’t explain right now. This was so much worse than Rond. There had been another way to stop Rond’s bleeding. Here, he was utterly useless. He had the magic of all races, but here it was useless.

  “You can’t feed them power or something?” Errie asked.

  “No.” He could draw power from them, but they couldn’t draw power from anyone or anything but themselves. It was stupid. He should be able to feed them power if they needed it. Breon’s blood, he had so much earth magic laced into his gen now, he should be able to do anything. But they didn’t need power. They needed skill, and time.

  “Ready,” Jeff sent then, and Rose agreed. They were going to turn Brigita’s head to realign the bones, muscles, blood vessels, and nerves. Contare had them carefully place their fingers and start the turn.

  Long, tense seconds later, both Jeff and Rose gasped. “It’s dimming,” Rose sent in panic, and Graegor felt it like a cold hand on his throat. They were losing, losing the sense of her. They’d lost it—lost her—they’d lost her. Their healing senses couldn’t reach her. Her brain had no more oxygen. Her brain was dead.

  “We can try it mechanically,” Jeff sent.

  “No,” Contare snapped. “Stasis. Koren, start counting from three hundred.” If Josselin could get there within a count of three hundred, she might be able to revive Brigita. Koren started counting, still holding the weight of Brigita’s body just off the ground.

  “But stasis spells are for food,” Rose whispered in the link. “So meat won’t spoil …”

  “Patrick!” Jeff called, in the link and out loud. He wanted Patrick’s help since Patrick was very good with spellcasting. Patrick started to push forward.

  Then Graegor sensed something else. It was a soft sphere of dark red, drifting toward the earth magic, toward his gen woven into it. It was … diffusing, stretching slowly apart …

  “Catch her,” Contare sent to him, quiet, urgent. “Gently.”

  Graegor lifted up the woven threads like a basket, and the wine-red cloud moved toward it.

  “Careful. Don’t absorb her.”

  Her. Brigita. Brigita’s gen.

  As it drew closer, he saw her pattern. Adelard like Ferogin’s, but wispy as spider silk beside the dark purple ribbons of his own. Her pattern was too simple, the lines too fragile, to lay against the dense and complex earth magic. But his own pattern, his own gen, provided the bridge. Barely touching the wine-red sphere, he was able to hold it in place.

  Was he holding Brigita’s life?

  Oh God. Dear God. Let me hold it. Don’t let me lose it. God in heaven, don’t let me lose it.

  He heard Patrick ask for Logan’s medallion to use for the spellcasting. Contare’s split attention had already refocused entirely on Jeff and Rose, answering their question. “Josselin is on her way, and stasis will extend the time for her to get there. If you try mechanical manipulation, you’ll interfere with the stasis spell and you’ll be working blind.”

  “Surgery,” Rose sent. “Make a cut, we’ll be able to see—”

  “Get a knife. We’ll try it if the stasis spell doesn’t slow the tissue death.”

  Rose scrambled to her feet and ran for the horses and the saddlebags. Patrick knelt in Rose’s place and set Logan’s medallion on Brigita’s dress, between her shoulderblades. He framed the tiny disc with his fingers and began murmuring, and he slipped out of the group link as he concentrated.

  “Please, sir, how can I help?” Graegor asked Contare again. “Can the earth magic help? Can it freeze everything in place until Josselin gets here?”

  “It can’t stop time. Graegor, you are helping. You’re holding her magic. I don’t know if that means you’re holding her life, or her spirit, but you’re keeping her magic from being drawn into yours, and from being drawn into the Circle’s. That’s what it would do otherwise. You’re doing what we need you to do.”

  But he wasn’t keeping Brigita’s body from decaying. “Can I help Patrick?”

  “It’s easier for a skilled magus to cast spells by himself.”

  Suddenly Patrick broke off his chanting. “It’s too small,” he said of the medallion, closing it into his fist. “It can’t hold a spell big enough to help.”

  “Does anyone have pure thaumat’argent?” Jeff sent, broadening the link to include everyone.

  No one did. No one else had wanted to risk losing any jewelry in the pond, so no one else had brought any thaumat’argent, or gold, or even silver.

  “Copper ounces,” Koren sent between one count and the next, with an image of an orange suede coin pouch. Logan and Selena ran to find it in her saddlebags. But though a copper ounce was bigger than the medallion, Patrick wasn’t sure the copper itself would work well enough.

  “Can Patrick use the earth magic?” Graegor asked Contare, but he knew the answer. Magi couldn’t reach earth magic—most couldn’t even sense it. Only sorcerers could use earth magic for spellcasting.

  But Contare sent, “Koren, tap the earth magic, and blend yours with it. Hold it steady and solid. Imagine squeezing it down in your hand. Imagine that it is a charm that you’re holding.”

  Graegor felt Koren’s pull on the earth magic against his own, but then she adjusted, and her pull felt more distant, like she was tugging from another direction. In the link, he sensed what she was doing, her dark green ribbons flowing into the dense white lines, but her pattern was so much less complex than his own that she couldn’t bind the earth magic nearly as tightly as he could.

  “Patrick,” Contare went on, “direct your spell there. Can you sense what she’s doing? Can you extend toward it?”

  Graegor sensed Patrick’s spellcasting, Patrick’s pattern. Its yellow-green lines were as thin and wispy as Brigita’s, barely even there, but the pattern itself was much more intricate. Graegor had sensed Jeff’s magic before, and Logan’s, and both their patterns were as simple as Brigita’s gen—as simple as Koren’s, actually. Patrick’s magic was different.

  Koren sent, “I can’t pass it to him,” at the same time that Patrick sent, “I can’t touch it.”

  The brief pause seemed years long. “Graegor,” Contare sent then, “don’t let go of Brigita. Think of it as holding onto her with your left hand. Patrick, extend your spell toward Graegor, and Graegor, imagine you’re reaching with your right hand, holding the earth magic in it.”

  Patrick’s magic didn’t hover in a cloud like Brigita’s had. It stretched, coming closer from a clear starting point, and Graegor studied the pattern of the fragile strands. Where should he place the lines? How could he join Patrick’s magic to his, not just hold it? Join it so Patrick could use it?

  “There,” both Patrick and Contare sent, and Graegor saw it too, though he knew each of them was “seeing” something different, something each of their own minds interpreted. The crossing here was the same as the twisting there, and then that one matched this one. He touched the patterns together, and the earth magic …

  It held. “It’s solid,” Patrick sent, awed. “It’s huge … how …”

  “The spell!” Contare reminded him.

  Graegor heard Patrick’s voice with his ears and his mind. “Dear Lord Abban, God of the universe, bless this spell, hold it and bind it. Let there be no decay. Let there be no
decay …”

  It was getting harder to grip everything, harder to see. Graegor had to keep a firm mental eye on controlling the earth magic, but also had to keep checking on Brigita, like constantly trying to focus on something in his peripheral vision. If he directed his full attention on Brigita, her lines shivered and blurred into his; if he stared too long at Patrick’s spell, the earth magic surged and tried to rage across it. The different patterns and different pressures were straining him.

  Then Koren’s gen flowed around his, pulsing dark green. Her pattern was simple but strong, and as long as Graegor was there to bridge the earth magic to Patrick, she could constrict it and keep it from rising more than the spell needed. It was a relief, but it was also a warning—the pulsing light of Koren’s gen was the countdown.

  They all sensed it when Patrick’s stasis spell caught, a yellow-green spark that tightened all the strands together. Contare cut through their relief. “Don’t stop casting,” he told Patrick.

  “Is Josselin almost here?” Graegor asked.

  “Almost.”

  But there was something wrong. Graegor’s next sending went to his master alone. “Is she?”

  “It’ll take too long,” Contare admitted grimly. “Rose and Jeff will need to try mechanical surgery. You’ll have to make as bright a light as you can manage, so they have some hope of seeing what they’re doing.”

  Rose pushed past Graegor, carrying a sheathed knife. Fear filled her, and that fear infected the group link. Neither she nor Jeff was well-practiced at this. In fact, they’d only practiced on animals. There would be so much blood, and they had no suction bulbs. They had no time.

  He had to make as bright a light as he could manage.

  So much blood …

  Blood was mostly water.

  For a self-sustaining light, the metaphor was see-saws with sandbags, the ends flying up and down, raising a cloud of sand. Every grain of sand was a particle of light. All the particles were contained within a sphere of water.

  All contained within a sphere of blood …

  Graegor shouldered past Errie and Marcus and fell to his knees beside Jeffrei. On the other side of Brigita, Patrick leaned over her with both hands gently pressing to her back, his eyes closed, and next to him, Rose was unsheathing her knife. In their link, Contare was giving instructions, and Jeff was placing his thumb and forefinger at the base of Brigita’s skull.

  Koren’s quiet count gave Graegor a rhythm, and her hold alongside his on the earth magic gave him room to focus. See Brigita. See Patrick. See Brigita. See Patrick. See light.

  Jeff shouted a curse, jerking his hand back from Brigita’s neck. It was glowing.

  “More,” Contare sent, understanding. “As much as you can, as bright as you can.”

  More see-saws, more sand. All to Koren’s count. Glancing from Brigita’s gen to Patrick’s spell and back. Focusing on light. Watching the light grow beneath Brigita’s skin. The individual vertebrae were becoming individual shadows, and the carotid artery was showing as stark red.

  Rose and Jeff both shook themselves out of their shock and listened to Contare’s instructions. With precise telekinetic touches, they began to nudge the bone and the blood vessels back into alignment, continuing the work they had started with their healing senses. But in comparison to that, this felt like their eyes were behind veils and their hands were wrapped in wool, despite the light glowing under Brigita’s skin.

  “Marcus,” Contare sent, “start compressing her heart.”

  It was basic trauma care—try to get the patient’s heart beating by beating it for them, pushing the blood toward the brain. Marcus had the healing talent and he knew the steps, but—”She’s on her stomach,” he sent. “How—”

  “Telekinetically,” Contare answered. “Focus and compress. You know where her heart should be. Second to fifth ribs.”

  Graegor could feel all of the magi around him, all of their colors folding into him. Selena and Logan were back with Koren’s coin pouch, but the coins weren’t needed, and instead Selena took the knife from Rose and cut the back of Brigita’s dress, all the way down to her waist, and folded the fabric away from Brigita’s back. Patrick moved his hands to the base of Brigita’s spine to make room for Marcus, who now positioned his own hands over her back, over the second through fifth ribs. Brigita’s entire upper body was lit from within, making her pale skin translucent, and Graegor could see her heart when Marcus’s mind squeezed it.

  The movement of the blood let Jeff and Rose see the arteries even better. More light, Graegor told himself. More light. Brigita’s gen, Patrick’s spell, more light. Koren’s counting. What was the count? How much longer?

  “One hundred four. One hundred three. One hundred two …”

  “Push again,” Contare told Marcus.

  Marcus did, and Graegor saw the red mass under the dark lungs flex. Jeff shouted, “There!” and Rose sent, “I see it,” and Contare told Marcus to push again.

  Brigita’s gen, Patrick’s spell, more light, Brigita’s gen—

  Brigita’s gen—

  It was resisting his.

  “Contare,” he sent, suddenly terrified.

  But Contare’s thought was simple and steady. “Let go.”

  Jeff sent, “I can sense her!” at the same time that Rose shouted aloud, “It’s back, it’s back!” Graegor held his breath, and then spread the threads of earth magic apart to let go of the wine-red cloud.

  “Marcus, keep up the compressions, one every count of five,” Contare sent.

  Brigita’s gen was stretching between him and … and her, its origin, where it belonged. He’d let it go, he knew he had, but somehow it had become part of him. Like the light, and Patrick’s spell, and Koren’s count.

  “Patrick, you can stop casting,” Contare sent.

  “I did,” Patrick sent. “Graegor needs to untie his magic.”

  He had let go of her, so how …

  “Graegor.” Contare’s sending was firm. “Stop.”

  “Her magic’s still with me. I let go but now it’s between us both.”

  “Don’t worry about her for the moment. What you need to do is stop tapping the earth magic.”

  “I’m sorry!” It was Koren. She’d bound her gen to the earth magic as much as she could, in order to keep Graegor from needing to focus on it. Now the green ribbons loosened and slipped away, and they seemed to pull the fear away from his mind. The earth magic unraveled itself from his gen, and he let it drop and sink. For a moment he closed himself to all his senses, and thought of nothing.

  Gradually, he became aware again of Brigita’s gen, still trapped between her and him. He could sense other colors, other people, anxiously waiting. Rose was asking Contare about the damage to Brigita’s lower spine. Contare told her that she and Jeff needed to continue to concentrate on the neck vertebrae and the depressed fracture. There was still a risk of brain damage, of blindness. Josselin would arrive soon. They kept working. Patrick and Marcus watched the healing through Jeff’s eyes. Selena and Logan sat close together. Koren’s magic supported Brigita’s body just off the ground. Errie hovered behind Graegor, looking past his shoulder to see.

  Brigita breathed and her heart beat. But her magic was balanced between her mind and his.

  He hoped Contare knew what to do about that.

  “I think that’s good,” Jeff sent, and Contare and Rose agreed. The depressed fracture was lifted and sealed now, and the cartilage between the repaired vertebrae was regenerating. Brigita was still comatose, and Contare wanted her to remain that way until Josselin could lift her from it. Koren allowed Brigita’s form to relax all the way to the grass. Rose said she would keep watch on her heartbeat and breathing, and Jeff pulled out of the link and slumped in place, closing his eyes.

  “Graegor,” Contare sent, just to him. “We need to separate her magic from yours now.”

  “What happened? Why didn’t it just go back to her?”

  “She died, and her magic f
loated free. It was attracted to you because your magic is part Adelard. It was also attracted to the Bond of the Circle, for the same reason, but you were physically much closer. You didn’t absorb it, but you had to hold onto it for a while. When she revived, and you let go, it was attracted to both of you.”

  “What do I do?”

  “You’ll have to rip yourself free. I know it sounds brutal and unsophisticated, but that’s essentially it. Remember what I told you about Sorceress Khisrathi’s spell on the castle?”

  Graegor did remember, and it did sound brutal and unsophisticated, to say the least. “She had to leave most of her gen behind to set the bloodspell.”

  “It was very painful for her, but this shouldn’t be too bad for you. You’re not tearing at your own gen, and Brigita’s is more fragile than yours.”

  Which meant he had to be careful for her sake, not his own. “Will it hurt her?”

  “Not while she’s comatose.”

  “Is a coma like hibernation?”

  “No, a coma is distinct from both hibernation and sleep. I’ll explain another time.”

  “Yes, sir. What do I do?”

  “Focus very close, where her gen touches yours. Imagine twisting it down to as small a point as possible.”

  Brigita’s wine-red magic met his bruise-purple magic in a dark pink meld, and he twisted it tight, against the weft of the Adelard pattern. When he felt his hold was firm, he asked, “Do I just … pull?”

  “As hard as you can, as fast as you can. It may take a few tries.”

  It only took one, and it stung, but the intensity faded quickly, settling into a mild headache. Brigita did not stir. Though it seemed that her magic was back with her, he did still feel a connection—a strong one, wine-red. “Do I have a telepathic bond with her now?” he asked Contare.

  “Undoubtedly. On a much smaller, much finer level, this is what happens in all telepathic bonds—you exchange magic.”

  Contare had explained that to him before, after he had bonded with Tabitha. “I hope she doesn’t mind.”

  “You did help save her life,” Contare pointed out.

  Brigita wasn’t the only maga newly bonded to him. As they all sat close together, he could sense Errie and Selena now too, as shades of lapis blue. The group link around him was a multihued swirl of relief. Marcus told Rose that he could take over watching Brigita’s heartbeat and breathing, and Rose nodded wearily. Patrick flopped onto his back with a long sigh.