Page 207 of Fallacies

They aren’t ready. They tried their best to be, but they aren’t, and truthfully, none of us are.

Looking down at my shoes, I curl my fingers into fists, then open them back up a second later. I repeat the process. Again and again. Opening and closing until my heart rate matches the quickening movement.

Forcing my head up, I try to focus instead on what everyone else is staring towards.

The Banyan is still. Its limbs are motionless, but when the breeze picks up, I can hear its branches creak. One moment, I’m afraid that silence will swallow us whole, and in the next…

The ground trembles.

Sharp inhales ripple through the crowd.

The front line of Menders creeps forward.

I hurriedly remind myself to keep breathing. To stay focused. But sitting in the silence that follows that rumble is torture, and just when I think I can’t take any more of it, a line of shimmering gold traces an arch in the trunk.

A beam of light bursts through the clearing, and our little world holds its breath.

The trees stop swaying, the clouds hold their positions in the sky, and the sun warming my cheeks begins to burn. My heart pounds once. Twice.

There’s a ripple in the portal, movement from behind it, and then⁠—

A woman, tall and thin, steps through the shimmering gold. She holds her hand flat against her brow, sunken eyes squinting out at us.

I can see her ribs, her collarbone, her pelvis protruding over the waistband of her pants, but despite the frail condition of her body, she manages a step. Then another, her thin lips spreading into a soft smile.

“Isabel?” A man pushes his way through the crowd, stumbling into the center of the clearing. As he gets closer, he picks up speed, eyes widening when he’s able to fully take her in. “Isabel!”

The woman’s mouth opens, but no sound comes out. She rushes towards his voice, and when he finally steps into her line of vision, her hollowed face crumples.

“Isabel.” He reaches her in two long strides, and she falls willingly into his arms. “Oh, my love,” he murmurs against her matted hair.

Another Sol emerges through the shimmering gold, rocking back and forth as he tries to find his footing. His condition is worse than the woman's, and his steps are weaker.

A member of my coven rushes to meet him, her hands glowing with healer magic before she’s even reached him.

Another woman comes through, holding the arm of a girl who appears to be my age.

Then a man and an elder Sol—hunched over and gasping for breath.

More Menders rush to meet them.

One after another, the Sol come through, and if they aren’t met by loved ones, they are met by us. There’s so much healing magic in the air that the frenzied clearing glows with it.

The brutal silence we’d been waiting in is shattered by the sound of laughter, relieved cries, praises to our gods mingling with the clamor.

I move as quickly as I’m able from one Sol to the next, reaching for a woman who is being helped through the crowd by two men. They hold her steady as I press my hands into her sides—assessing her organs.

Heat spreads through my open palms, lighting up her injuries, and her head sags in relief as I mend them, stitching torn ligaments and giving nourishment to deteriorating muscles.

Time will heal her fully, but I don’t stop until she can at least stand on her own, and when she’s able to pull her arms off the men holding her up, she wraps them around my shoulders. With a soft squeeze, she thanks me, and then I move on to the next.

There are so many of them, and they’re still coming, stumbling through the Banyan and into the waiting arms of their sons and daughters. Their parents and siblings. Grandchildren they never got to meet.

It’s a true miracle that despite whatever horrors they’ve endured, most of their ailments are curable. Nearly every Sol I touch hardly requires more than a few seconds of healing, and then I send them on their way to the Hearths for water and food. The Diviners and Lakelets are waiting in the Tavern with cots and fresh clothes, and the Floras have a tent set up at the edge of the clearing—herbs and additional medicines available for those who might need them.

Suddenly, life in Pirn is brighter than it’s ever been.

People are laughing, crying, embracing loved ones they never thought they’d see again. They’re praying, holding hands, calling out to those across the clearing. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, and it’s only just begun.