Terry Brooks - Bloodfire Quest

She is in her mother’s arms. Her mother holds her, cradles her, protects her, and she is safe again. The airship has disappeared and the falling has ended. She lies on soft grasses amid flowers and green plants. Trees canopy overhead, their leafy boughs swaying in a wash of gentle breezes. She stretches out with her head on her mother’s breast and her shoulders in her mother’s lap. She feels comforted and loved, and all of the fear she felt only moments ago has dissipated, replaced with a sense of well-being.

“Child,” her mother whispers in her ear and rocks her gently.

“Mother,” she replies, realizing suddenly that something very good has happened and her mother is herself again, no longer the harsh, embittered woman she became when Aphen went away.

“I have you now,” her mother says. “I have you and will hold you forever. You are mine, and I will never let you go.”

Arlingfant loves hearing these words; she revels in their sweetness. She lies there and does not move, does not think, does not seek more than to be in the moment in which she finds herself.

“Dark skies,” her mother whispers. “Stormy weather. Hold tight.”

The air above them is blackening, the light dying, everything turning gloomy and unfriendly. The trees and grasses and plants disappear. The colors fade. Arling knows they should rise and go inside where it is safe, but she cannot make herself move, cannot make her body respond to her commands, and when she looks up at her mother, her mother is no longer there.

Again, she has been abandoned.

“Mother,” she whispers.

But there is only the darkness and the feel of the earth pressing up against her body, as she lies helpless and alone.

The dream faded, replaced by darkness and silence. She smelled woods and damp, but she could not make her eyes open or her muscles respond. She was wrapped in what felt like yards of cotton wadding and heavy blankets of softest down. A deep, abiding lethargy infused her. She listened and was surprised to hear very close to where she lay …

Voices.

“She cannot be more than a young girl.”

“She wears knives strapped to her waist; she’s no stranger to combat. Look, there is blood on her clothing.”

“But she only sleeps. She’s not dead, is she?”

Hands probe. Fingers explore.

“She is injured. Perhaps she dies.”

“We should help her, Sora.”

“We help ourselves, not strangers. You know that. You speak like a child. What have I told you?”

The voices faded. Arling waited, but weariness overcame her and she slept anew. This time there were no dreams. When she woke again, the darkness and the lethargy were still there.

And the voices were back.

“She should not be left alone.”

“Others have been here with her. Not that long ago. They will return for her soon enough. We should be gone when they do.”

“We cannot know if they will return or not, can we? Those who were with her may have abandoned her. They may think her dead. Or even wish her so.”

“There is nothing to suggest that any of that is true.”

“Why was she left alone, then? Why does she lie here untended? If they are family or friends, why would they go off and leave her even for a moment’s time?”

“This isn’t our business!”

“Helping others is everyone’s business. You sound so cruel when you say such things! Where is your compassion?”

“I have enough trouble looking after you and me! Stop arguing about this. You know we can’t become involved!”

A long silence. This time she did manage to open her eyes, if only a little, seeing loose pants tucked in work boots on one, ragged skirt hanging over worn, scuffed half boots on the other.

Her eyes closed again.

“Well, I won’t let you leave her like this. We found her, and now she is our responsibility. She should be taken to where she will be looked after. This crash was not her fault. Her injuries were not her doing.”

Arling tried to speak then, but the words would not come. Instead, she could only manage a low groan, one that sounded frightened and painful even to her.

“There, you see? She needs us! She is begging for our help!”

“She said nothing; she made a sound, and it could signify anything.”

Help me, Arling thought, suddenly afraid that she would be left alone again—that even as her sister and her mother had left her, so, too, would these unknowns who hovered over her. She did not want that to happen. She did not think she could stand to be left alone again.

Hands touched her once more, this time resting gently across her forehead for long moments before moving away.

“She has a fever. She needs medicine and rest. Leave her here and you are killing her. Deliberately.”

“Her companions will look after her.”

“What companions? Do you see any? Besides, if they were any sort of companions at all, they would be looking after her now.”

“And if you are wrong about them, and if they come looking for her and find her missing? Then what? They will come looking for us! That might not be so welcome as you seem to think.”

“You always expect the worst. Try looking at it a different way. What if we save her life?”

“You ignore reality when you talk that way. You act as if you lack knowledge of the world.”

“I would rather it be my way than yours.”

A pause. “It doesn’t matter what you say. We should not involve ourselves. What would you have us do, anyway? I won’t stay here and risk being caught.”

“No, I don’t suppose so. Something else, then.”

“There is nothing else!”

“Don’t just dismiss me like that. Think of something!”

Arling drifted away again, riding the crest of her lethargy and weariness, returning to darkness and silence. Nothing disturbed her journey. She was buoyed by a deep sense of peacefulness, wrapped in a promise of safety and well-being. She could not determine its source, could not decide from whence it came. But it bore her on through time and held her with the firm gentleness of her mother’s arms and she gave herself over to it.

When Aphenglow Elessedil woke, not knowing how long she had slept, her first thought was of Arling. She had left her to come to Cymrian, but she had not intended to leave her sister this long. She had not intended to fall asleep. Anything could have happened to Arling in the interim, and it would all be her fault for abandoning her.

Cymrian was looking at her. “I think I might live,” he said, with a shaky grin.

She blinked and yawned. “I think you might. How badly do you hurt?”

“Hardly at all. Whatever you did, it took away the pain.” His quirky smile surfaced. “You saved me.”

She blushed in spite of herself, shaking her head. “Not yet, I haven’t. I can still do a little more. I can make you stronger so you can travel.” She sat up. “Here. Give me your hands.”

He did so, and, conjuring the magic that was needed, she sent an infusion of strength washing through his body, careful not to overdo it, to keep it moderate and controlled so that it would not disrupt the healing that was already under way. When she finished, she looked at him for approval, one eyebrow lifting quizzically.

“Better,” he agreed. “Much better. I can feel the difference. Amazing. I should be bedridden for weeks, but I think I can even walk.”

“You’ll have to. I can’t carry you.”

“No, I wouldn’t expect that.”

She stood up. “I’m sorry, but there’s no more time. We have to hurry.”

“Arling?”

“Sleeping when I came to find you. I found the problem and fixed it. But she’s very weak.”