Барб Хенди - The Night Voice

“Move aside,” he ordered.

Wayfarer looked his way, and her large green eyes filled with panic by the dim cold-lamp crystal left near Magiere.

“Do not,” the girl pleaded. “Please! She might not—”

“Get out of the way,” Leesil warned.

“Do not be foolish!” Ore-Locks said. “Whatever the potion on the arrowhead, it is already in her. Bleeding will only weaken her more in fighting it.”

Leesil reached out and grabbed Wayfarer’s arm. In the last instant, he eased his grip but still firmly pulled her away.

“Please wait,” Wynn insisted. “At least until you see some sign, before you risk making things worse.”

Ignoring Wynn, Leesil pushed Wayfarer off behind, knelt at Magiere’s side, and flattened one hand around the base of the arrow’s snapped shaft. Someone behind him—Osha or Chuillyon or maybe even Ore-Locks—took a step.

He didn’t think about whom to trust to not get in his way. There was only one person who hadn’t shown interest in that.

“Chane,” Leesil said without looking, “keep them back.”

Another breath passed before he heard Chane rise.

“What? Don’t do this!” Wynn begged. “She is too weak.”

Whether that was for him or Chane, Leesil didn’t care. He only hoped that what little of Magiere remained could still fight to do what was needed. There had to be enough of the dhampir left to close that wound before she bled out.

He gripped the stub of the arrow’s shaft with his other hand.

Night came again outside the tent, though a cold-lamp crystal glowed faintly between the bedrolls inside. Next to that were a waterskin, a small cup carved from a goat’s horn, and a bit of oiled cloth holding jerked goat’s meat and shriveled figs.

Magiere hadn’t touched anything but the water.

Outside, she could hear Leesil still pacing.

The voices of the others in the camp were too muted to hear clearly. There was also the soft crackle of the campfire, its light flickering against the tent’s canvas, except when Leesil’s pacing blocked the light, time and again. Sitting there, looking at her own arms, Magiere couldn’t bear to have anyone see her, even in the dark, for while her body had nearly healed already, she knew theirs had not.

She’d taken as many wounds as any of them, probably more. Though Wynn had shared out the last of Chane’s healing potion among the others, there hadn’t been much to go around. Some would need much more time before the physical marks of what they’d been through finally faded.

Magiere continued looking at her arms.

Closed cuts barely showed at all. There were only hints of yellowing in her pale skin where there had once been bruises from blunt force. Even those would vanish in another day—two at the most.

Not so for any of the others. Not for what she’d put them through. And she didn’t even remember what Osha had done.

Magiere pulled down on the jerkin’s collar, one that wasn’t hers and had been scavenged from somewhere after her own clothing had been cut off her. She lowered her eyes to see the wound—or now scar—from Osha’s arrow.

She kept staring, for she’d never seen any scar on her own flesh.

When she’d first awoken two nights ago, she hadn’t even known what had happened. She’d simply looked upward into Leesil’s panicked, wide, amber eyes, not even sure whom she saw. Hanging over her, he’d suddenly twisted away and shouted—or screamed.

“Chap! She’s awake!”

The following moments were still vague in memory.

Something had nearly shredded the tent in trying to get in. A huge furred form nearly knocked Leesil aside in its rush. Large unblinking crystal blue eyes, sparked by some nearby light, gazed down at her over a long and narrow muzzle. And that face dropped too close, too fast, in snuffling at her.

Magiere remembered sucking a breath in sudden panic.

She knew she was awake only when she’d felt something as if inside her thoughts. It was still, silent, and as watchful at those blue eyes staring at her.

Chap almost collapsed atop her as his eyes closed.

She heard his sigh and, even though she’d finally recognized him and Leesil, this wasn’t the end of it. Someone else was trying to get into the tent.

“Please wait. Let me.”

That rasp of words sounded familiar.

Leesil straightened up, then turned away where he knelt, and she’d realized he was gripping her right arm. He didn’t let go even as he reached out somewhere beyond her sight. Chap shifted away a little to her other side as someone else crawled into view down near her covered legs. Leesil guided that one’s small hand to contact with her right shin beneath the blanket.

“Easy,” Leesil said to the newcomer. “You’re right at her feet.”

The visitor, smaller than he was, pushed back a draping hood.

Magiere looked upon and even recognized Wynn.

She’d wanted to say something but couldn’t. It took every effort just to breathe and keep her eyes open a little longer.

Even back on the first night, it had seemed strange—frightening—that Wynn didn’t look at her or Chap or Leesil. The last thing Magiere remembered of that night, when she couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer, was Leesil calling out ...

“Magiere ... ? Magiere!”

Two more nights and days had passed, and she’d wakened sporadically.

There were times, as she heard bit by bit some of what had happened, that she’d wanted them to stop. She didn’t want to hear any more. All of that came after Chap told her that Leesil and the others had succeeded.

—This time ... the Enemy ... will ... never ... come back—

Leesil or Chap, and sometimes Wynn, were always there whenever she awoke a little longer each time. Fragments of memory returned that she’d rather have forgotten but couldn’t. They ran backward from a final instant of agony.

She’d nearly turned on Chap—and he on her—and she might’ve killed him.

She’d snapped the neck of another majay-hì a moment before he’d rammed her.

How many of the living had she killed among the undead that had driven her—the dhampir—into something worse than what it hunted?

The afternoon of the second day, with her one arm in a sling, she decided to try stepping out of the tent, no matter how much Leesil tried to stop her. She didn’t see the girl until too late.

Wayfarer nearly knocked her over when the girl slammed into and wrapped her small arms around her. At least Leesil had been right behind to hold her up.

Others around the camp rose, and that was when she saw their state. There were some greetings and good wishes, some questions and answers, but none of that really mattered as she kept looking all ways. Of course, Chane wasn’t there, likely hidden from the sun in one of the other tents, but someone else was missing.

Osha was gone.

Leesil wouldn’t let her go off and look. Instead, he forced her back into the tent and eventually shooed out Wayfarer, halting the girl’s fussing. After that, all Magiere could do was collapse, and it was dark out when she awoke again.

Now she sat up and remained there after rubbing the crystal left by the bedroll. The wound in her shoulder no longer pained her. For any of the others, it would have taken a moon or more for a wound like that to heal over and leave a scar.

She listened to the muted voices outside while Leesil kept pacing, likely caught between looking in on her and not wanting to disturb her rest. Or maybe he was just keeping the others from doing so. Finally, she couldn’t tolerate sitting there any longer, though she left the sling in place.

After taking a deep, shuddering breath, she crawled to the tent’s flap. She was only halfway out when Leesil stepped in, pulled the flap back, and grabbed her arm. She let him help her up rather than let the others see she was better off than they were.