30. Faylinn
Chapter 30
Faylinn
I woke sometime later to the feeling of Sharol shaking me awake by my shoulder.
“Up! Wake up, Fay,” her voice was whispered and urgent and my eyes flew open, my body quickly following.
“How long was I asleep?” I yawned and rubbed my eyes, trying to massage the sleep from them.
“It doesn’t matter. A few hours, maybe?” She was rushing around the first floor moving tables aside and laying large swathes of cloth down. “I put the box of your things behind the counter. It’s safe,” she added as I went to grab it, “but I suggest you leave it there for now. We’re about to have company, and a lot of it. Help me spread these out, would you?”
I worked with her to quickly shove the chairs and tables to the walls and corners of the room before covering the wood floor in a variety of stained sheets. What the stains were, I really didn’t want to think about. She threw a few larger, more padded quilts at me and I watched as she deftly folded them to create what looked like small beds. I quickly followed her movements, spacing the makeshift beds a few feet apart.
Satisfied that I would continue the work, Sharol moved to the fireplace, the size of which dominated the majority of the wall opposite the bar. Sharol deftly stoked the flames, allowing them to climb almost to the top of the opening, and the room quickly filled with heat. Unconcerned, Sharol moved a large pot of water over the open flame and walked back to the bar, her long brown skirt swishing about her booted feet, avoiding the beds that we had just laid out.
“Help me pull out the alcohol bottles, Fay,” she commanded, never looking up from her work. I stood up quickly from the floor, sweat already trailing down my back from the heat of the roaring fire, and made my way to stand next to Sharol behind the bar. We worked in silence, quickly pulling every bottle of liquor from the shelves and placing it open on top of the bar.
“Why are we doing this?” I finally asked as we finished with the alcohol.
Sharol stopped and stood from where she was crouched under the bar, the remaining three liquor bottles in her hands, and my eyes were immediately drawn to her face. Her gaze was hard, a steel glint reflected there. She set the last bottles down on the counter and pushed them to the edge before she spoke.
“The rebellion is here.”
“How do you know that?” Just before she answered, I heard the sounds of shattering glass and high-pitched screaming. As one, Sharol and I ran to the same window where we watched unspeakable things happen to the Librarian.
What I saw through the window made me gasp and I covered my mouth in abject horror. It seemed like the entire street was awash in flame—businesses completely engulfed in a fiery blaze, thick, black smoke billowed, and fire licked the sky from smashed windows. Shadows of figures hanging from the jagged glass, faces awash in pain highlighted by the light of the fire would forever be etched in my memory, their screams of pain and horror a soundtrack that would replay over and over.
And what I saw in the street made my stomach turn, threatening to empty its nonexistent contents. Mages, though not the same ones from earlier, had villagers surrounded and corralled into small groups lining the streets, while other Mages continued to set buildings alight and unceremoniously throw anyone left alive into one of the guarded groups. Women wailed and children screamed as they were separated, whether on purpose or unwittingly I didn’t know .
“What is happening? And why can we hear them?”
“I lowered the Air Wards on the windows,” Sharol explained, “we need to be able to hear what happens so we can help when the time comes.” She gave me a pointed look.
Suddenly our purpose here dawned on me, and I was awash in shame that I didn’t figure it out earlier. “The beds . . . the boiling water, the alcohol,” I stammered, “we’re the healing quarters, aren’t we?”
Sharol set her lips in a grim line and nodded once. “Can you handle that, Healer?”
I dropped my hands from my face and shook the tension from my shoulders.
“Yes,” I mumbled, and Sharol raised an eyebrow. “Yes, I can,” I said with more confidence.
Sharol and I watched the scene play out in front of us and I eventually had to separate my mind and emotions from what I was seeing. It was a place I went when I treated anyone, really, because if I let emotion guide my actions rather than logic, I could make decisions that harmed my patient, or worse, killed them.
“Why aren’t they attacking here?” I wondered out loud.
“Protection Runes, Deterrent Runes. You name it, it’s probably etched and inked on this building.”
I eyed my mentor. “Any other secrets you want to tell me before we die?” I gestured to the street, the city still awash in flames and screams.
Sharol’s smile was slightly unhinged and full of darkness when she turned to me. “Many. But we’ll start with one. Blood is magic, Fay. You’ll learn that soon enough.” Then she turned back to the window.
We watched as businesses crumbled from the weight of burning roofs and walls. We watched as men, women, and children were wrenched from each other, covered in ash and screaming in desperation. We watched as bodies were pulled from burning buildings, scorched beyond recognition. We heard the cries for help, the cries for parents from terrified children, the dying cries of adults seeking their mothers in the last moments of their lives.
And through it all, we simply watched and listened.
A part of me was selfishly glad that we were out of harm’s way and that the damage was concentrated on this part of the street, away from Holt’s store. My stomach churned at the thought of him being one of the people on the streets. He couldn’t leave well enough alone and definitely wouldn’t be able to sit by while others suffered, especially those he considered family.
“Why aren’t we helping ?” I was growing restless, unease trickling through my veins at our inability to act.
“Patience, our time is coming.”
I went to retort something relatively unkind when movement from down the street caught my eye.
Through the thick black smoke, a group of people marched together. Some had their hands out in front, preparing to cast their magic. Others carried hoes and pitchforks, a few even had butcher’s knives. All wore expressions of pure, unadulterated hate. As they emerged through the dense smoke, the light of the fire cast them in an eerie glow, making their faces seem even more murderous. They came to a stop right at the edge of the destruction, and I gasped.
There, at the front of the group, was Holt. He carried a long, serrated knife in one hand, the other stretched in front of him. The crystal necklace he always wore was emitting a soft white glow, and I knew he was channeling. Holt looked somewhere between pissed and grimly determined, ready to defend his town—his family—to whatever end.
I held my breath as he channeled, sucking all of the oxygen from the air on this side of the street. It was an immense show of power, one I had never seen from him before, and probably one that used the majority of the stored energy in his crystal.
He’ll be defenseless.
But he’d obviously planned for that, because he clutched the serrated knife a bit tighter in his hand.
His attack obviously had its desired effect because as soon as all the oxygen was pulled from the air, the flames in the buildings immediately died, leaving the street eerily dark, the only light now coming from the various crystals the Mages wore. The sound of choking reached us almost immediately, and I tore my eyes away from Holt to see everyone—not just the attacking Mages—struggling for breath. Satisfied that the flames were at least under control, Holt released his magic, oxygen rushing back into the area.
I heard people taking collective gulps of air and more than one retching from the effects of losing oxygen so soon after inhaling smoke. A few of the fires reignited, but they were smaller and tamer, much more easily subdued by a few Water Mages who were with Holt.
Time seemed to stand still for a moment after Holt’s attack. Then, all hell broke loose. There was shouting all around, from the attacking Mages trying to regroup and launch a counterattack, to Holt barking orders at his group.
“Get to the women and children, first! Bring them to the inn!” his voice rang clear in the night, and even though I couldn’t see him through the smoke and darkness that now coated the streets, I could picture his grim-set face.
A cacophony of sound hit us next, pounding of feet, clashing of knives, grunts from people getting hit by fists and blunt weapons, the cries of children as they were dragged down the street and to our place of refuge.
“It’s time,” Sharol said as she quickly gathered her curly blonde hair into a bun at the top of her head and then pulled up the sleeves of her tunic.
I readjusted my own hair and pulled up my own sleeves before nodding once.
“I’ll direct them in, you assess the severity of their wounds. Group them in the beds as best you can based on severity. Once you can, start healing with whatever tonics and salves we pulled out. Save your runes and blood for the very end. Use the alcohol to clean any wounds to the best of your ability. The boiling water can be used in a pinch when we run out of alcohol, which we will. Fix the worst first, but, and this is important, Fay”—she turned to me just as she reached the door— “if they’re too far gone, you let them go. Give them a shot to ease their pain as much as you can, but you have to let them go.”
My eyes met hers and I gave her a jerky nod.
“Once they’re in here, they’re safe. No one will be able to come in or touch this place unless they’re invited,” she said, “or I’m dead,” she added as an afterthought.
I reeled a bit at that, but there was no time to question. Sharol threw open the door just as the first group of people approached. From there, it was mass chaos and utter pandemonium.
On and on it went. Case after case, person after person. All the while the sounds of a continued conflict raged outside while the sounds of dying, pain, and utter sadness raged in here. Eventually my brain shut down in an effort to protect myself. The number of people I knew that I had to treat or watch die was unfathomable, and I couldn’t connect anymore, so I simply moved on instinct.
Assess for injuries.
Determine severity.
Direct to bed.
Woman, middle-age, missing right arm.
Offer small shot of alcohol.
Cauterize wound.
No salve available, dress in ripped sheet.
Child, toddler, body frozen.
No pulse, give body to mother.
Offer condolences.
Clear bed for the next dying person.
It seemed like I worked for days, and I was completely numb by the time I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder.
Clean the dressings.
Man with a fire burn needs his dressings changed.
Child with smoke inhalation needs more oxygen from an Air Mage.
Where was an Air Mage?
I started frantically looking for someone, anyone, with Air Magic available to help the child.
“. . . Fay. Fay!” Someone was shaking my shoulder and saying my name loudly. I slowly turned my head and stared unblinkingly at the woman standing in front of me. Blonde curly hair was falling off the top of her head, she was coated in blood and other bodily fluids. Her face was streaked with soot and blood, her eyes tired and worried.
Worried for me?
It took me longer than I would admit for my brain to slowly climb from the fog it was in.
I know her. Sharol .
Slowly the sounds of the world trickled back into my consciousness. Men, women, and children crying and groaning in pain. The crackling of the fire as it continued to roar. But what was notably absent was the sound of flames and fighting outside. The inn was lit with a soft hazy glow, and I realized that we had worked through the night and well into the next day.
I began to sway on my feet as exhaustion and the emotions from the day hit me.
“C-child n-needs a-air and I can’t give him air because I’m useless. I have no magic, I-I can’t help, and he can’t breathe and no one else has magic to help him and if he doesn’t get the air he’s going to die. And oh, gods another child cannot die tonight, they can’t, Sharol. How do I get him air? He needs air!” I was subtly aware that I was spiraling and wasn’t breathing.
“Hey, Fay, hey.” Sharol framed my face with her hands. “Breathe. Breathe with me. In and out. In and out.”
I clutched her hands as they sat on my face and focused on her chest as it moved.
In and out. In and out. I could do that.
I tried to match my breathing with hers and slowly felt my body relax.
“Better?” she asked with so much care. I nodded, my face scraping along her bloody palms. She nodded and removed her hands from my face but kept them on my upper arms. “He’ll be okay, Fay. I’ll draw an Air Rune on his chest, and he’ll be fine. You did good, Fay. So good.” There were tears in her eyes and, as dehydrated as I was, mine pooled to match hers. “You need to sit, Faylinn. Eat and sleep. Everyone is okay for now. You did so, so good.”
I nodded numbly, suddenly too tired to say anything more. Sharol gripped my hand and led me away from the common space toward a small door behind the bar. I assumed it led to a storage room, but as she pressed her hand to the handleless door, it popped open, and I saw a small bedroom. It was just a small bed with a dresser and a little bathroom attached, but it was private. And it was clean .
“This is my room,” Sharol said softly as she closed the door behind her, effectively silencing the voices from the common room. After the constant noise from the past hours, the silence was deafening as it buzzed relentlessly in my ears. I shook my head to try and clear it, but it was still there.
“You’re in shock, Fay. And probably starving and dehydrated, which doesn’t help.” She gently pushed me onto the bed, but I promptly stood up. Sharol shot me a look, but I couldn’t say anything. I simply started taking off my clothes.
They were dirty. Too dirty for this place .
Soot from the fires.
Fluid from the child missing an eye.
Blood from the woman with the stomach wound.
Sleeve torn from the grieving father when I told him I couldn’t save his wife or his child .
My hands began to shake as the memories of the night came swarming back all at once. I couldn’t grasp my shirt, let alone unlace my pants. My hands were covered in soot and blood, and my feet matched. I felt like I was covered in the pain and suffering from tonight and I’d never be able to scrub it off, I’d never be clean or free from it all.
A wrenching sob came from somewhere in the room and I didn’t realize it was from me until I saw the tears splashing against my dirty hands. I felt like I was going to collapse until a pair of arms wrapped around my waist and gently lowered me to the floor. I turned my head into Sharol’s shoulder as sobs aggressively wracked my body. She and I were both covered in grime and blood, but I didn’t care at that minute. Sharol just held me as I released all the pent-up emotion from the day. My tears and snot soaked her chest as my body continued to shake.
What felt like an eternity later, my sobs subsided to soft sniffles, and I was able to open my swollen eyes. I gently pushed up and out of Sharol’s tight grip just enough to wipe my nose with the sleeve of my shirt but not enough to leave her embrace entirely. My body was still shaking, whether from the expulsion of emotion or lack of sustenance over the last twenty-four hours, I wasn’t sure. It was probably a combination of everything, in all honesty.
Sharol delicately wiped my eyes with a clean rag she had somehow found while I was crying, before moving to the rest of my face and neck.
“I don’t have a bathtub, but there is a large basin in that bathroom with a bit of water left in the pitcher. Use it to clean up what you can. Then I want you to sleep.” Her words were soft and comforting, cajoling.
“But your bed,” I mumbled. “And the patients.”
She smiled sadly at me. “I can hold down the fort for a few hours. You need to rest and recuperate. The patients will still be there later, and our jobs will start all over again.”
I nodded mutely at her. She was right, of course. I was no help to anyone right now .
She slowly peeled her arms from around me and handed me the cloth, which I clutched in my hands.
“Are you okay if I leave you alone now?” I nodded again and she stroked my face gently. “It doesn’t ever go away, the memories,” she clarified when I looked at her. “But it does get easier with time.”
She stood quietly and spun to the door, waiting to leave until I had also pushed myself to a stand. I started the short walk to the bathroom, my feet shuffling across the floorboards. Satisfied that I was moving and not going to sit and wallow all night, Sharol moved her hand to the door.
“For what it’s worth,” she paused on her way out, “you’re not useless just because you don’t have magic. That isn’t what defines you, Fay. What you did for those people? How you helped them and comforted them when all you wanted to do was shut down? That’s worth more than any magic.” I couldn’t meet her eyes, so I just nodded again and offered what I hoped was a reassuring smile.
Sharol waited for another beat before swinging the door open fully and stepping into the common room. The sounds of pain briefly infiltrated the small sanctuary before the door shut just as quickly.
I let out a sigh and rubbed my nose again before making my way into the bathroom. Even though I was the only person in the space, I shut the door, needing just a minute of complete privacy. I made quick work of stripping out of my clothes and throwing them into a corner of the room. I used the chamber pot and quickly scrubbed my skin using as little water as I could. I wanted to save some for Sharol, especially after the kindness she’d shown me.
I emerged minutes later, naked as the day I was born, to the smell of a vegetable broth and a hunk of bread. The bowl of hot soup was sitting on top of a fresh linen shirt and pants. Both were a bit large on me, but they were clean and comfortable. I made quick work of the broth and bread, not caring about the scalding feeling on my tongue as I drank it down as fast as possible. Once I had mopped up the remaining bit of soup with the bread, I set the bowl back down on the stool before crawling into the bed.
It didn’t smell like my bed and there was no Cotton to lay on my feet, but I didn’t care. I pulled the heavy quilt up to my chin and settled down. My eyelids sagged over scratchy, tired eyes, and I longed to give into the pull and sleep off this living nightmare. Just before I was pulled under, I had a quick jolt of relief that instantly soured.
I hadn’t seen Holt. Or Ben.
Which meant they either died or escaped.
With my last vestiges of consciousness, I prayed to any god who would listen that it was the latter and, as I was finally pulled under, I swore I heard them answer.