Chapter 21 #2
I ask, “How long ago did the fire start?”
“Less than half an hour,” Rolf answers.
I gape and spin back to take in the black plumes gathering in the sky. “But it’s so…big.”
It’s been raining on and off for days. How could a fire start and blaze so quickly?
Perhaps the Fae used an accelerant.
No. The Fae didn’t do this. They may be formidable and frightening, but they wouldn’t hurt unarmed innocents in their beds.
Would they?
A wail pierces my eardrums. I whirl around. A young man weeps, hunched over a raw, red palm. A young woman hovers over his shoulder, extending and retracting her hands, not sure what to do.
I rush forward and drop to his side. Gravel digs into my knees.
I suppress my wince. “Hello. My name’s Elara. I’m here to help.”
“Oh, thank the Gods,” the woman whimpers.
There’s nothing but appreciation in her gaze when I look at her.
The man continues to weep, so I ask her, “What happened?”
“Ike grabbed our bedroom door handle, not knowing the fire had already reached the other side.” Her face pales. “We had to jump out of the window.”
“Any rolled ankles or aching legs?” I ask as I reach into my satchel for the burn ointment and a bandage.
The woman shakes her head. “No. It was only from the second story.”
That’s lucky. I’m sure there will be others not so fortunate.
I dip my head to catch the injured man’s attention. “You’re going to be all right, Ike. But this is going to sting before it feels better. Are you ready?”
Tear-filled eyes meet mine, but he dips his chin bravely.
“Good.” I exhale and scoop up a quarter-sized amount of the effective disinfectant and numbing cream. “Now, take a deep breath.”
I rub the cream on his burn and tune out his scream.
Minutes pass. Or is it hours?
I lose all sense of time as I treat patient after patient, burn after burn. The warm power settled beneath my skin seeps into my patients, cleaning cuts and mending the deeper layers of flesh, sure to leave superficial burns in place to hide evidence of the unnatural healing.
I order able-bodied men and women to carry those suffering from smoke inhalation farther away, ignoring their reluctant glares. My magic has cleared away the worst of the smoke from their lungs, but they still need fresh air. And right now, a gray haze hovers over the street around us.
The magic that once behaved as if it didn’t want to help whenever I called now follows my every thought. Utilizing my gift is so easy, I have to take care not to be too obvious.
Thank the Gods the young girl in front of me wears a shawl. No one sees that her charred upper arm is now smooth, shiny pink skin, and the pain draught I dribbled into her mouth has put her right to sleep.
The last thing I need is to reveal my magic. Not when everyone already watches me like I’m a viper ready to strike.
Take it easy, I murmur to the power flowing through my veins.
It’s heating every inch of my skin, making me feel like I’m out there, battling the fire myself.
My power ebbs and flows, circling my chest, and I imagine it saying, I do what I wish.
I wipe the sweat from my forehead with the back of my trembling hand. My magic could work for hours more. But my body? I need a break. I need water.
“There.” I finish wrapping Welm’s forearm. He got too close to the fire when attempting to douse it with well water. “You’re all set.”
“Thank you, Elara.” The burly soldier rises and heads back toward the fire, where the shouts and screams have barely lessened in the time since I arrived.
I rise on shaky legs and look around for a waterskin.
A tug yanks my chest, insistent.
I turn. A gasp tears from my throat.
Fatigue fades to the back of my mind, and I rush toward Anton, who is holding up Ferria. My sister’s head lolls to the side, eyes fluttering closed.
“What happened?” I grab her other arm, hooking it over my shoulder to help carry her to the makeshift triage center in front of the tailor’s shop.
My magic immediately flows into her, searching for the cause of her condition.
“Exhaustion,” Anton clips out.
Dirt, ash, and sweat mar his handsome face, but otherwise, he looks fine. Strong, even.
My magic confirms his assessment. No smoke suffocates Ferria’s lungs. No burns sting her flesh. She’s simply tired. My power can’t do anything about that.
I hurry to my satchel and take out a liquid stimulant. When I return, Anton has set Ferria on his discarded jacket. He tips her head back to pour water down her throat.
“S-stop.” She coughs and sputters, weakly swatting his hand away. “I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.” His voice is hard, harder than I’ve ever heard from the even-tempered apprentice. His eyes slide to mine and narrow as he thrusts the waterskin towards me. “Neither of you is. You two can’t drain yourselves. You’re no good to anyone like this.”
I take the waterskin and drink deeply. The cool liquid hurts as it runs down my scratchy throat. Following my thought, magic glides to my esophagus and soothes the worst of the discomfort.
Thank you.
The power flutters softly.
“Anton!” a soldier with even more sweat and grime covering his face calls from the end of the street, closer to the flames that don’t look any smaller than they did when I first arrived.
“I’ll be right back.” Anton places a firm hand on my sister’s shoulder and meets my eyes. Then he stands and jogs over to the older man.
I wait until he’s out of earshot to speak.
“Why in Myrissie’s name are you so tired?” I invoke the Goddess’’ name in a sharp whisper.
“I tried to call back the fire,” she mumbles so low that I’m not sure I hear her correctly. She wiggles the fingers on one hand. A weak spark ignites, but it’s gone in the blink of an eye. “I failed.”
“Are you crazy?” I gasp and lean forward to hide her hands with my body. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”
“I was…trying to help.” Her eyes crack open.
Red lines cut through the white.
A loud snap shoots through the air, followed by a chorus of screams. A fresh billow of smoke rises into the air.
Men around us race toward the noise. Anton glances at me and Ferria before the soldier speaking to him grabs his arm and drags him back to the fray, as well.
“Something’s…not right, Lara,” Ferria continues. Her breath is shaky. “The fire… It won’t go out.”
The shadows on my arm tighten over my skin like a bowstring, ready to be released.
“It’s okay. Just rest. It’ll all be okay.” I tuck the stimulant away and lower my sister to the ground.
Her eyes immediately fall closed. I don’t move until I count her breaths for ten seconds.
Steady. Even. She’ll be fine.
I rise on shaking legs and scan the chaos around me. There’s nothing more I can do here. The screams from the next street tear through the dark. That’s where help is needed. And I can’t stand by and do nothing.
My eyes find Rolf, who kneels next to a girl around his age.
“Rolf,” I call.
He looks up. A fresh smudge of ash mars his cheek.
“Keep an eye on my sister.”
His eyes dart to Ferria, and his jaw tightens with resolve. He nods.
I turn and run toward the burning homes, toward the smoke, toward whatever comes next.
I pray the Fae aren’t behind this fire. Because if they are…there's not a force left in our world that is strong enough to stop them.
And every last inch of Verdanthia will burn to the ground.