“What’s she trying to do?” the doctor asked, sounding aghast.
“I don’t know,” Nalyx said. “But she seems to know what she’s doing, so I suggest we let her do it.”
Praise the gods for his faith in her. Gantalla continued the rapid pulses, then gave the boy another two breaths. This was not magic, she’d learned years ago. Not even the mages could return the dead to life. But sometimes, if the spirit had not long left, it could be persuaded to return to the body.
The woman was muttering prayers, and Gantalla silently added her own to the mix, though she didn’t know if her own gods were the same ones who ruled the human world. Would Arix, the Life-bringer, see fit to heal a human boy? She was willing to ask, just in case.
Another minute dragged by, with the boy lying still and pale beneath her… and then that small body suddenly seized, a harsh cough dragged up from the boy’s lungs.
Quickly, she turned him onto his side, and she realised that tears were running down her face as the boy took in a shuddering breath. He coughed again, his little arms flailing weakly.
“Let him breathe,” she snapped, as the doctor tried to crowd her. She held the boy’s head in her hands, neck tilted back, and then he went limp. But he was breathing, small, harsh sounds filling the room.
Gantalla waited a moment longer, then moved aside to let the boy’s mother come to him.
“Steven? Steven, can you hear me?” The boy moaned. His mother took his hand, and he gripped her tightly.
“By the gods, he’s alive. He’s alive!” the woman cried, a fresh flood of tears streaming down her face. “Praise the gods. And praise you, too,” she said, gaping up at Gantalla. “You saved my boy.”
“By the gods, I’ve never seen anything like it,” the doctor said. He was standing to the side, looking pale and distraught. He looked Gantalla over. “What did you do?”
“If the body can’t breathe, the heart stops,” Gantalla recited, just as she’d been taught years ago. “I pressed his heart, to make it beat for him, and put air in his lungs. And sometimes, that makes the body start working again.” She felt a thread of fear. Would the humans understand? Would they see this as some forbidden magic?
“That’s absolutely genius,” the doctor said. “I’d never have thought of it. Great gods, it’s pure genius!”
“We should get him into the ward,” one of the nurses prompted him, and the doctor shook himself, as if waking from a dream.
“Of course. Right this way.” He picked up the boy and hurried away, the nurses and the boy’s mother scurrying along behind.
Once they were gone, Gantalla took a deep breath, wiping the tears from her face. She looked up to see Nalyx staring down at her, awe written all over his face. “Where on earth did you learn to do that?” he asked.
“I had a nanny when I was a young girl,” Gantalla said. She stood up, though her legs felt unsteady and her hands were shaking. “She taught me. One of the girls from the town drowned in the river. My nanny did the same thing and made her heart start beating again. And then my father decreed that she should teach everyone in the pala… the estate how to do it as well.”
Nalyx’s face broke into a wide grin. “You’re absolutely incredible.”
Gantalla blushed, feeling a smile tug at her lips. “I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve.”
◊ ◊ ◊
Half an hour later, Nalyx sat in one of the consulting rooms, trying not to flinch as a nurse carefully rewrapped his hands. Gantalla had disappeared off somewhere a while ago, and then his name had been called, and he’d followed this nurse to a treatment room. She was a cantankerous old woman by the name of Gosta. He’d run into her a couple of times in the past, and due to her poor temperament, he generally tried to avoid her.
But with the drama about the choking boy, he wasn’t likely to be given a choice as to which nurse saw him today, so he resolved to make the best of it.
“How’s the pain?” Gosta was saying. She was a short, plump woman with salt-and-pepper grey hair pulled back into a tight bun. “On a scale of one to ten?”
Nalyx considered his answer. “About a four,” he said. Perhaps pride should have made him say a two, but he decided to opt for honesty. In the end, he needed full use of his hands again, and being unable to fight would be a far worse blow to his pride than admitting that the burns still hurt.
“Not bad,” Gosta said, securing the last bandage with a small clip. “You’re lucky, in a way. I’ve seen a fair few burns from unicorns over the years. Oddly enough, the flames aren’t that hot. Nothing like the sort of injury you’d get from grabbing a poker from a fire, for example. Your burns were fairly superficial, which means we should be able to leave the wrapping off after another two or three days.”
Nalyx bristled under her condescending sympathy. Not that hot? Fuck her, he thought blackly. He’d fought a demon horse spat straight from the bowels of hell. Who the fuck was she to say it wasn’t a big deal?
“But continue keeping them dry, and make sure you don’t do anything that could abrade the skin,” Gosta went on. “It’s healing underneath, but it’s going to be fragile for a while yet.”
“I’ll be fine,” Nalyx said, hopping off the stool.
“Do you need any more pain relief?”
“No,” Nalyx said, though his shoulder was throbbing again. “It’s all good.”
