17. Tapestry of life
Tapestry of life
I t was nearly nightfall, and there was no sign of Felix or Luella.
Garren had asked around the village, but nobody had seen them.
He told her not to worry; they would turn up.
They could take care of themselves. Isolde knew that, but the knots in her stomach did not.
She wanted to see Felix, to apologize. To make sure nothing was irreparably broken between them.
She paced the cabin, stepping outside to look around every few minutes. When the sky was almost completely dark, she heard voices. Isolde threw open the door and barged out to find Felix, covered in blood, half-dragging an injured Leif along.
“Felix! Are you hurt? Where have you been?” she stammered, rushing to his side. “What happened? Where’s Luella?”
“Long story,” Felix said grimly. “Luella is looking for the elder.”
Together they carried Leif inside and laid him down. Felix checked the bandage, his face tight and pale.
“Felix,” Garren said. “Tell us what happened.”
Felix sank down heavily on a bench, resting his head in his hands .
“We went out into the forest to hunt,” Felix said, his voice muffled against his palms. “Luella spotted a group of mercenaries heading for the village. We were behind them. We were too far to warn you in time, so we ambushed them. Leif got hurt. We took out a few and drove off the rest. Their leader is injured, but still alive.”
“How many were there?” Garren asked.
“Eight.”
“Eight. Why did you fight them?” Garren’s voice was sharp and cold. When Isolde caught his eyes, they said it all: You see? See how right I was about him and his recklessness? She bit her lip and looked away.
Felix did not look up. “I told you. We couldn’t let them get to the village.”
Garren scoffed. “No. You left here aching for a fight. When the opportunity presented itself, you didn’t even consider an alternative, and you dragged an unblooded boy into it with you.”
“No, that wasn’t… Damn it.” Felix pushed the palms of his hands into his eyes. “It was bad luck, Garren. We had a solid terrain advantage, but one of them got past me to Leif.”
“And Leif paid the price for your recklessness,” Garren said coldly.
Felix didn’t answer. Before Garren could interrogate him further, Luella and the elder entered. The old woman peeled off Leif’s bandages, but as soon as she saw the wound, her face fell. “Would someone please bring Asara?” she asked. “She should be here for this.”
With a last glare at Felix, Garren volunteered and left the cabin.
“This injury is severe,” the elder said. “I will try my best, but it may not be enough. Deep wounds to the abdomen…” Her voice trailed off, and she looked down at Leif with a pained expression.
The elder focused on her work. Asara burst in soon after, her face stricken with fear.
She rushed to the bedside, clutching her brother’s arm.
A rush of guilt overcame Isolde, for having been jealous of her, for still, still being unable to banish the slight edge of vindictiveness she held towards this woman, whose only sibling’s life hung in the balance tonight .
Felix sat on his bench, staring into nothingness.
Isolde couldn’t help herself; she felt bad for him.
He radiated misery and guilt. She didn’t think Garren was right.
It was obvious, to her at least, that Felix cared.
Maybe he was reckless, but he wasn’t heartless.
Isolde joined him and looked him over. There was a long, jagged-looking cut on his shoulder.
“You’re hurt.”
He startled at her voice, his eyes meeting hers. They were pools of deep, dark blackness, full of turmoil. He turned away just as quickly, staring at Leif, lying there still and pale. “I’m fine. Worry about him.”
Isolde reached out and tentatively placed her hand on his arm. “They will help him, Felix. He’ll be alright.”
Felix closed his eyes and gave a tiny shake of his head. “You heard what she said.”
She squeezed her fingers around his wrist, scooting closer.
He turned to face her again, and something in his gaze was so intense that she wondered for a brief, wild second if he was going to lean in and kiss her, like he almost had that night under the stars.
But he didn’t, of course. Instead, he traced the faint lines of the blue marking on her hand with a fingertip. She shivered, but did not pull away.
A whispered but heated exchange between Asara and the elder drew her attention. They spoke in the Crovan tongue, their voices low but sharp. Isolde did not speak their language, but she unmistakably caught the word Aelithar . Asara scowled and crossed her arms.
They were talking about her. But why?
When the elder came to sit beside her, Isolde removed her hand from Felix’s arm.
“We have done what we can,” the elder said, her voice calm but heavy.
“The injury is too deep; the insides torn. I cannot simply close the wound. There will be rot, and then death.” Her matter-of-fact tone contrasted with the grief etched on her face.
“Sometimes, this is the way of the earth. However,” – and at this she took Isolde’s hand – “you might attempt what I cannot.”
The story the elder had told her rushed back to the forefront of her mind, about the Aelithar who had healed an entire city.
Surely they did not think she could do that?
It was just a story, a myth. Her heart beat furiously in her chest, in her ears, and the current of magic stirred. It wanted to be used.
Leif lay motionless, his shallow breaths barely audible, his face white as a sheet.
Isolde stared at him. How could she possibly succeed where the elder, an accomplished healer, had failed?
“I… I’m not sure I can,” she said, her voice unsteady.
“I don’t have that much control – what if I hurt him even more… ”
Asara’s scowl deepened. The elder kept her grip firm on Isolde’s hand. “My dear,” she said gently, “Leif will cross to the other side – this is certain. You cannot do more harm than has already come to him.”
“I have never attempted something like this before…” Isolde said, her voice wavering, unable to take her eyes off Leif’s still form.
“Yes, you have,” Felix said quietly.
“What?” She frowned at him. Of all people, he should know this was far beyond her abilities?
“The flower.”
The flower. He said it so casually, but her magic surged at the words. She had done that. But that was just a flower. Leif was a person.
“Yes, but that was…” she trailed off, looking over at Leif again. How could a human body possibly compare to a little plant?
“I know nothing about magic,” Felix said with a shrug, “but I would guess the basic principle is the same.”
Isolde looked first at the elder, who squeezed her hand. Then at Asara, who set her jaw and kept her gaze firmly on the wall. Finally, at Felix.
“You have to do what you think is right, Isa,” he said. “No one else can make that decision for you.”
But it was never a choice at all. She couldn’t let Leif die, not if there was even the smallest chance she might save him. She exhaled a shaky breath, then stood up and moved to the bedside. The room fell silent, all eyes focused on her.
Isolde touched Leif’s side gingerly. The current rose eagerly, waiting just below the surface.
She recalled that day with the flower. She had drained it of magic, then fed it back.
But Leif had no magic to drain. So how was she supposed to do the same?
Her hands brushed his skin, tentative and unsure.
Nothing happened at first, but when she tried to reach out, there was something. A thread.
Without thinking, she removed the bandage. The cut was awful, a jagged, mangled tear in Leif’s side that ran down from the bottom of his ribcage to his hip. Isolde had read enough medical texts to realise it was a miracle he hadn’t already bled out.
Placing her hands on the torn flesh, she closed her eyes and tried to feel for the thread.
To her shock, it was there right away, waiting for her.
A web, broken. A mess of tangles. She reached out, shaking, and poked.
The threads responded, like the strings of an instrument, and it was beautiful .
Her eyes snapped open again with a gasp.
The now-familiar blue glow surrounded her entirely, her ley markings shining brighter than ever.
She was only dimly aware of the others in the room.
All that mattered was the thread, the ripped tapestry of life before her.
“Alright then, Leif,” she whispered. “I think we can do this.”
She plunged back into the current, drawing in the threads, reconnecting them where they were broken. Her own magic poured into the web, strengthening it where the strands were gone, knitting new ones to bridge the gap.
Pain gradually built in her skull. At first she was not aware of it, but it increased relentlessly until it was a spear right through her brain.
But she wasn’t done; there were still loose threads.
Tangles, frayed ends. The current raged, no longer gentle.
Her breath hitched, and her limbs trembled.
She poured more of herself into Leif than she knew she had.
More than was wise. Then something snapped in her head, and her knees buckled.
Her bloodied hands slid down Leif’s side as she fell, slowly, sluggishly.
Strong arms caught her around the waist before she hit the floor, and then there was nothing but darkness.