Chapter Twenty-Three
Asha?” River calls, limping toward me, shaking me out of the stunned haze I’d fallen into.
His eyes stay glued to the cleaved body of the tenari, as if he can’t quite believe the monster is actually dead.
And to be honest, I can’t either. I’m half expecting it to fuse back together and come for us all over again.
“River!” I rush to him, the sword now hanging loosely at my side. “Are you okay?” I ask, scanning him head to toe. He’s favouring his right leg, barely putting weight on it, but it isn’t twisted or broken.
“I’ll live,” he says, breathless but attempting a grin. His gaze drifts back to the bisected creature, and he lets out a low whistle, admiration threaded through disbelief. “Remind me not to mess with you.”
I roll my eyes as relief loosens something tight in my chest.
“Making a weapon from nothing… Is there anything you can’t do?” he adds with a smirk, and my lungs finally settle into something close to a normal rhythm.
“I need some help over here!” Ryder’s voice slices through the clearing, urgent and sharp—and my stomach plummets.
Oh Gods.
What if I hadn’t been fast enough?
River and I bolt toward him. We round the creature’s ruined head, leaping over a twitching antenna, and skid to where Ryder is crouched. His white shirt is soaked in streaks of metallic blues and greys—tenari blood smeared across the fabric like violent watercolour.
He looks up at me, tension carved into every line of his face.
It isn’t Ryder who’s hurt.
It’s Nala.
She lies unconscious, legs pinned beneath the massive belly of the beast. My breath stutters painfully as I drop the sword beside her and press trembling fingers to her throat.
“Shit,” I whisper, leaning in, praying for movement—anything.
I may have brought her back once, but that power feels distant now, unreliable as smoke. If her pulse doesn’t—
“She’s alive,” Ryder says quickly. “I already checked.”
My lungs collapse in a rush, relief flooding me so fast it nearly knocks me over.
Thank the Gods.
“Just—help me with this,” Ryder grits out as he braces himself against the beast’s hide. “We need to get it off her.”
River and I dive in beside him. The tenari’s skin feels like rough stone beneath my palms. We push hard, every muscle screaming.
My arms pulse with sharp pain under the weight, and my vision flares at the edges, but we keep pushing until the carcass finally shifts just enough for Ryder to pull her free.
The moment her legs slide from beneath the weight, I drop to my knees beside her, breath ragged.
Blood stains her trousers, crimson pooling and streaked where the creature crushed down on her, one of its legs piercing through her thigh like an oversized dagger.
I place a hand on her shoulder, trying to steady myself—trying to steady everything—as a cold wave of fear curls up my spine. I don’t think I can heal her—not in here—not in the place Gifts come to die.
I press my lips together to stop them from trembling.
“Shit… t-that looks bad,” River mutters, wiping sweat from his brow as he points to Nala’s mangled leg.
“What the hell are we gonna do?” His voice cracks beneath the panic.
But I made the sword… Maybe there’s a chance I can heal her. Gods, please let there be a chance.
I swallow hard, sliding closer to Nala’s leg. Her clothing ripped and soaked through. The wound is angry, deep, and pulsing with every weak beat of her heart. My own pulse stutters.
I grip the injury with shaking hands, terrified of making it worse, terrified of pulling anything loose. If I can forge a weapon out of nothing, surely… surely I can call on the same power now.
“Let’s just… see if it’s there,” I whisper to myself more than anyone.
My trembling fingers press to her skin. I pull everything inside me forward—every scrap of energy, every shred of hope.
Nothing.
Come on.
Please.
This has to work.
I push harder, until my head throbs, until I can taste metal at the back of my throat.
Still nothing.
“Asha, it’s not working,” River says quietly.
“Don’t you think I know that?” I snap, louder and sharper than I meant. The words crack into the open air, brittle and raw, and his expression falls.
“Sorry,” I murmur. “I just… she needs a healer right now.”
I breathe, guilt burning my throat. I rest my palms on my knees to steady myself. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” River says gently. He adjusts Nala against his leg, brushing hair from her forehead. “There has to be something we can do.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting the pounding in my skull, fighting the helplessness clawing its way up my spine.
Think, Asha.
Think.
For once in this Gods-forsaken forest, do something right.
“Ryder—do you still have your blindfold?” My voice trembles, but he doesn’t question it. He digs into his pockets with quick, frantic movements.
“Here.” He hands me the black handkerchief, and I take it, noticing the dark streaks of Nala’s blood smeared across his hands.
“Hold her up,” I say, already moving. River shifts behind her, propping her head on his knees, his breath coming fast with worry.
I wrap the fabric high on her thigh, my fingers shaking, tightening the makeshift tourniquet. Blood flow slows, but not enough. My stomach twists.
“I can’t pull the leg out—she’ll bleed out. I need to… snap it so I can wrap it properly.” The words taste like metal in my mouth. I slide my hands around her leg, bracing myself, bracing her, bracing for the sound.
My fingers hesitate.
What if I make it worse?
What if this is the wrong choice—
Ryder kneels beside me, eyes steady despite the subtle fear burning behind them. He places his hand lightly over mine—a brief, grounding touch.
“We’ll do it together,” he says.
I nod.
Then, on a silent count, we break the leg.
The crack rips through the air and through me. My whole body locks, nausea surging up my throat.
“I-I need a bandage,” I manage.
“Here,” River says immediately, tearing the hem of his white shirt and handing the strip to me. It’s just long enough to wrap twice around Nala’s crushed leg.
I take it with shaking hands, forcing myself to focus—because losing control now could cost her far more than a broken bone.
I tie the knot as tightly as my trembling hands will allow.
The fabric bites into my fingers, slick with blood—Nala’s blood—and I don’t even notice the tears streaming down my cheeks until they drip onto my wrists.
I draw my hands back, resting them on my knees, and the dark stain spreading across my leggings makes my stomach twist.
“W-what now?” River asks. His voice is thin, stretched tight around the worry etched into his brow.
I swallow hard, forcing my thoughts into something usable. My hands won’t stop shaking.
“I… I guess we wait for her to wake up,” I say, though the words feel fragile, barely holding themselves together. I shrug off my jacket and drape it over Nala’s torso, tucking it around her sides as gently as I can. “We have to make sure she stays warm.”
River nods, but his eyes stay locked on her face, scared in a way I’ve never seen him.
I brush a strand of hair from her forehead, my fingers lingering just long enough to feel the faint rise and fall of her breath. It steadies something in me—barely—but enough to keep me from collapsing under the weight of it all.
All we can do now is wait.
Wait and pray that she opens her eyes.