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What?
“Come!” Markaeus shouted over the voices of the confused Stone Clan warriors. “We can fetch her to Laethan. Hurry, Alleraen, follow me!”
Markaeus disappeared.
Alleraen stared, unblinking, at the spot where he’d been, as did Thalaena and the other warriors in the room, while their conversation died off.
“What shall we
do, now?” asked one of the Stone Clansmen.
A head materialized in the spot where Markaeus had vanished. “What are you waiting for?” His slim arm snaked out, a beckoning hand stretched toward Alleraen.
Though he didn’t fully understand, Alleraen grabbed Markaeus’ fingers, his large hand enveloping the boy’s small one. At the last moment he paused, glancing toward Thalaena. He raised his brows in question, and she nodded, her smile affirming his decision to ask permission, though he would have ignored her had she not given it. She didn’t need to know that.
Alleraen stepped into the portal and the room was gone.
**************
“I’m telling you, Alora didn’t simply remember the pain—she felt it. She actually felt it. I know, because I felt it, as well.” Kaevin’s voice invaded Alora’s peaceful sleep. She pushed it away, seeking the blissful sanctuary again. The other voices faded in and out.
“No.” Kaevin’s voice was insistent. “You may call it what you will, but I’m telling you her pain was excruciating. I wouldn’t have been surprised to find her arms blistered and oozing as before. Believe me, the pain was real, and it was much worse than the small burn on her forearm.”
This time Dr. Sanders’ voice penetrated her consciousness, his words fading in and out. “PTSD can... not physiological pain... unless... phantom pain... not truly dangerous.”
“You weren’t there.” Beth was speaking this time. “I agree with Kaevin—her pain was real. She screamed—a real blood-curdler—for about fifteen straight seconds.”
“And Kaevin did the same,” Wesley added. “He scared Markaeus to death.”
“I wasn’t scared,” Markaeus protested in a pouty tone, probably pushing his lower lip out about a foot.
“She didn’t stop screaming until her eyes closed and she passed out,” said Beth.
Alora struggled to open her super-glued eyelids, but they wouldn’t budge.
“I’m certain these issues are all related to her enhanced empathy gifting,” said another familiar voice she couldn’t quite place in her fuzzy mind. “It’s a rare gift and we know so little of it. That’s why Raelene and Bardamen have already set out for Glaenshire to seek more answers at the Craedenza.”
“None of that explains why she can’t wake up. And by the way, Doc, a coma seems pretty serious to me. So maybe this isn’t really PTSD.”
Uncle Charles. He sounds upset. I need to let him know I’m okay.
“As I said before, it’s not a coma,” Dr. Sanders said. “It’s simply a prolonged unconsciousness. Coma is a much deeper state.”
Uncle Charles huffed, and Alora imagined him rolling his eyes.
“You may as well accept it, Doc. In this realm, some things are beyond your knowledge as a physician. Like Jireo said—”
“I know what Jireo said. But just because he got a weird feeling that Alora would die, doesn’t mean I believe it. She would’ve woken up, eventually. You see, with PTSD—”
“Can we not allow Laethan the opportunity to attempt a healing?”
That’s Graely’s voice, for sure. How did they get here? Did I transport a bunch of people in my sleep?
“I’d like to go on the record as saying it was a mistake to bring her here,” Doc Sanders proclaimed. “I should never have let you take her out of the hospital.”
“But you said yourself you had no idea why she was unconscious. Whatever you put in that IV did nothing,” Beth argued.
“That doesn’t mean I approve of you taking her to some medieval witch doctor,” barked Doc.
