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“No more blood.” She mutters the words deliriously. “No more. Stop it!”
The waves dance around her as if to taunt her. Is the ocean refusing to heal her? Why?
Evya sinks down to the ground, shaking and defeated.
I step forward cautiously, my restraint almost spent despite my desire to not get my throat ripped out. “I can heal that. Please let me.”
She looks up at me, her gaze piercing. But this time, recognition softens her features and the fire in her blue eyes flickers. “How?”
“I know healing runes.”
Evya shakes her head and flinches back. “No elf magic.”
I wince, remembering that Evya only encounters elven mages on the battlefield. Naturally she would be suspicious of any runes an elf would cast. But she needs help, and I have no other means of healing her. I lower myself to the ground beside her, holding out one hand toward her shoulder.
She growls and slaps my hand away, shifting her body so her wounded shoulder is out of my reach.
I don’t move. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
“And what if I hurtyou?”
Her blunt question takes me aback. Then it sinks in: she already knows I’m not going to attack her. If she thought I was a threat, she’d be fighting me now despite her wounds instead of turning her back on me and trying to heal herself. But her flashing fangs and sharp nails might as well belong to a feral dragon. She’s as vicious and powerful as the sea itself, and all it would take for her to destroy me is a momentary loss of control. I’ve seen the rage of battle consume so many tuath warriors, and Evya is only a step away from it.
Pain and clarity war in her eyes. Her fingers dig into the stone as if she’s resisting the urge to lunge at me again.
“You won’t.” My voice comes out confident, but my outstretched hand trembles. I fight to steady myself, to believe my own words. I have to believe them, and so does she. Otherwise, I might as well give up now and let Falamar and the Seamother tear each other to shreds. “You won’t hurt me. You’re the one who speaks peace to the ocean waves when everyone else lets them rage. I don’t think you want to fight at all.”
“It doesn’t matter what I want.” Her voice is hollow. Still, a little of the fury leaves her face, replaced with sorrow. “It never ends. We still fight, still die. I don’t know how ... don’t know how to change it ...” She breaks off in a hiccuping sob. A tear trickles down her cheek, but she brushes it away.
“You wanted to save me last night, and you did. I saw how the sea obeyed you, and not even the Seamother could stop you.” I inch forward slowly until my fingers hover just above the gash in her shoulder. “You’re incredible, and youcouldchange all this.Wecould, together.”
The words flow from something deeper than my own soul. It takes a moment for my mind to catch up to them.We?How can I help her stop this war? I came out here only to find Evya and keep her alive, trusting there would be some vision or other guidance waiting for me after I did.
Maybe the words themselves are my guidance. Maybe visions aren’t supposed to come with more instructions than this. Stars blast it—is this what it’s like to be a prophet?
Evya doesn’t give me much chance to ponder. She leans into my touch and gives a silent nod. Relief fills me. Healing, I can do. I focus on the wound, on the problem that needs to be solved before I fret over the rest of my plan.
She shudders as I gently lay my hand over her torn skin and let out a pulse of magic. Thin lines of indigo light fan out from my palm and take shape in an intertwining knotwork pattern. A simple rune, just meant to dull the pain of the wound and of the healing process. As the last coil of knotwork falls into place, the rune sinks into her skin. Evya lets out a relieved breath, the tension leaving her shoulders as the magic takes effect.
The second rune takes longer, this time a complex pattern of angles interwoven with swirls and spirals, intricate and nerve-wracking. I use both hands to manipulate the web of light, making sure nothing is out of place. There’s a reason only those of the most powerful elven families are taught healing runes. Form one line wrong, and the rune won’t work—or worse, it might channel magic in the wrong way and hurt her more.
As I form the lines, honing all my focus on the effort, the muscles begin to knit back together. The white bone is covered, flesh re-forms, and finally the torn edges of her skin fuse. By the time I finish, only the spilled blood and the faintest trace of a scar remains.
At last, I pull away, letting out a shaky breath as my nerves catch up with me. My limbs feel heavy from the exertion of magic. Evya whips her gaze around to look at my handiwork. Her eyes go wide.
“How did you do that?” she demands.
“Do not your people have healing runes?”
She looks thoughtful, then shakes her head. “I don’t think any of our healers know them. The ocean heals us. Or at least ... it’s supposed to. I think it has forgotten how.”
The waves are still dancing around us, crashing against the fallen stones. One splashes too high, splattering us with freezing droplets. Evya lets out a hiss in its direction. The waves withdraw, but they still toss in furious whitecaps.
The rage in Evya’s face has died now, but I can’t erase the sight from my mind. She nearly lost herself in the fury of the seas. The helplessness in her voice as she ordered me to leave still echoes in my ears.
I recall everything I’ve learned about the tuath over the years. I know the merroc and the sea are inextricably bound together. I know the Seamother holds authority over the ocean, and the sea tribes’ allegiance to her is unwavering. I had always assumed it was a willing allegiance, but now, watching the way Evya struggles against her own sea ... what if she and her people have no choice?
“What do you need?” Again, my words slip out before my mind has a chance to think them over. This time, I don’t question them. I’m here for a purpose, and maybe that’s all I need to know right now.
