“Acid,” Menerchel said starkly. “They threw acid in her face.”
Kellen closed his eyes for an instant, fighting back the images Menerchel’s words evoked. Acid was a favored weapon of the Shadowed Elves. He’d seen the wounds they caused. Armor was no defense—acid ate metal, slipped through every crack.
And the unicorns went into battle only lightly armored.
Kellen peeled back the edge of the bandage, exposing raw burned flesh slick with numbing ointment. Gritting his teeth, he wiped a small patch of skin clear. Blood beaded to the surface. He soaked the hairs—his and hers together—then quickly replaced the bandages.
He picked up the knife—a small Healer’s knife, wickedly sharp—to cut himself, then realized he’d almost forgotten to ask the vital question. No Wildmage could ever assume that help would be offered. It must always be asked for.
“Who will share the price of this healing with me?”
“We will—all of us,” Menerchel said.
Kellen looked up at those waiting, making sure that all agreed. Then he cut his hand, mingling his blood with Gesade’s.
Quickly now, he summoned the brazier alight, and added the proper leaves: willow, ash, yew. A thin coil of blue smoke began to spiral upward.
Leaf and Star, let this work!
He motioned for Menerchel and the others to move back—Gesade’s struggles were weaker now—and gently dropped the knot of bloody hairs onto the coals. Then he laid his hands on Gesade’s exposed neck and shoulder.
She quieted at last beneath his touch, and for a terrible instant Kellen thought she was dead, until he saw the slow steady rise of her ribs. The peace that filled her gave him a moment of calm as well; when he saw the shimmering dome of protection form around them all, he felt a spark of hope. The Gods of the Wild Magic had heard.
“Forgive. Forgive and forget”
The words filled his mind, and Kellen knew that this was the price They set upon Gesade’s healing—and that it was twice now that the Wild Magic had commanded him to forgive. His previous Mageprice was still unpaid, but that wouldn’t matter. Idalia had told him that prices could run unpaid for years; all that mattered was that you paid them willingly when the time came. He did know that you knew when the time had come to pay a Mageprice, although figuring out how to pay it was left up to the individual. But none of that was important now. He would have accepted the price if it had been far higher. I will, he promised.
The sense of listening departed. All that was left was the work of healing.
It was the hardest yet, as if he tried to lift the weight of the earth itself from beneath his feet. Again and again he struggled to become a conduit for the Healing Magic, feeling as if he tried to touch something just out of reach.
And every moment he struggled, he felt Gesade growing weaker.
“Don’t try. Be!”
Master Belesharon said that in the practice circle. Only when you could step aside from your thoughts of what you should be doing, and do the thing itself, was the thing accomplished.
He stopped trying.
He thought of Gesade, whole.
He remembered her looking down at him in the snow, the night he’d tried to escape from camp to scout the nearer cavern.
He remembered her—yes, and Petariel—running at the head of the Unicorn Knights on a day that was bright and clear. Powdery snow had sprayed up from beneath her hooves as she ran, and the sunlight had sparkled off their armor…
He realized he was lying curled around her body, his face pressed against her stomach, breathing in her warm scent. It was an awkward position, and Kellen straightened with a stifled groan. He didn’t remember moving, or closing his eyes.
He blinked. He felt as if he’d been asleep, though he was sure he hadn’t. The protective shield was gone, so whatever was going to happen, had happened. He felt hollow and light-headed, but that was normal after a healing, for Healer and Healed alike.
“You… glowed,” Menerchel said.
That was encouraging, Kellen decided, but he was still reluctant to lift the bandages and see what lay beneath. At least Gesade was sleeping now, not writhing in heavily-drugged agony.
He lifted the lower edge of the bandage again.
White fur. Thickly soaked in ointment, but there was no trace of burn or scar. Eagerly now, Kellen lifted away the rest of the cloths—they had not truly bandaged her, only wrapped soft cloths loosely over the terrible burns. The flesh beneath was perfect. Whole.
Then he reached her head.
It took him a few seconds to understand why what he was seeing looked so wrong. Her horn was unblemished. Her soft muzzle was whole.
But her eyelid was sunken into its socket. Frantically, Kellen lifted her head. The other side matched exactly, the eyelid sunken over an empty socket.
She had no eyes.
—«♦»—
SHALKAN found him several hundred yards from the unicorn’s clearing. He was kneeling beside a tree, gagging up what felt like every meal he’d ever eaten in his life.
“Kellen—”
“Go away!” He couldn’t bear to see anyone right now. Especially Shalkan. Not after what he’d done.
“Kellen—”
“I hurt her! I blinded her!”
How could a healing have gone so wrong? Was it because he’d come here straight from the caverns? What had he done to her? It was all his fault—
“I saw her before the Healers got to her.” Shalkan’s voice came to him, harsh and rasping, as if the unicorn had been weeping until his throat was raw. “You didn’t. She was already blind. Shall I tell you what a bucket of acid in the face does to a person—or a unicorn? I could describe it in great detail, if you’d like.” Shalkan’s words were cruel, but they penetrated Kellen’s own grief and horror.
“Stop it,” Kellen said wearily. “I already know. I’ve seen it too.” He sat back, scrubbing his face with snow. “But… I healed her. Or I could have. If I’d been good enough.” And that was what was so horrible. He hadn’t been good enough, not nearly good enough, and he had been her only hope.
“No.” An Elven Healer Kellen didn’t know came and knelt in the snow beside him. “I am no Wildmage, but I have aided them in their healings, and I have heard them speak among themselves. The power of the Wild Magic to heal is indeed great, but it cannot create that which is not there. That which will—or might—grow with time will grow at a Wildmage’s touch. But that which is lost is lost forever.” The Healer took his shoulder in one hand and shook it. “Look at me, Kellen Knight-Mage. See the truth in me!”
Kellen studied the Healer’s face. She regarded him with grave compassion and faint puzzlement, as if she had never seen anything like him before. Kellen knew without having to ask that she was from Ysterialpoerin.
She’s right. The storm of rage and grief—and guilt—that had filled him a moment before was gone, leaving only aching numbness.
It isn’t fair! he thought wearily. Would Gesade want to live without sight?”
But that’s her decision to make, isn’t it? Today you’ve given her the power to make her own choices again.
“Now, if you’ll accept the Lady Arquelle’s word that you did all you could do, perhaps you’ll be sensible, come inside, and rest,” Shalkan said crossly, his voice still sounding hoarse. “Or perhaps you’d like to give the Healers even more to do?”
“No,” Kellen said, getting stiffly to his feet. His bare hands were numb and aching with cold. “I’m coming.”