“Why aren’t wehelping?” 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 retchingfrom 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 soundsof 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.
