“I’ll run and see if I can find the nurse,” she said before darting off.
George spoke, his tone urgent. “Edmund’s filled me in. I need to inspect the wound.”
Andrew let the mist fade, and pain crashed through Isla like a wave. She gasped as Andrew’s hand softly touched her head, his thumb brushing her hairline.
George moved to the bedside. He looked a conundrum, there at her bedside wearing humble clothes while playing the part of doctor. Andrew clearly admired the man’s capabilities, so she would try to relax and trust him too. A soft green glow gathered in his palms as he examined the wound, his usual kind expression darkened. A faint crackle came from beneath her skin. He stopped, stood to his full height, and pulled off his cap, running a hand through his hair, hesitating. She could see he wanted to spare her the details.
“You can tell me,” Isla rasped. “I’ll find out anyway.”
George swallowed. “It’s a third-degree burn, Isla. It’s gone through all the layers of your skin and muscle. It’s even to the bone.”
Andrew’s hand froze on her head.
George continued, voice low though fairly steady. “But that’s not all. Edmund said an Aetherian influenced the flame, which is evident from the amount of damage in such a short space of time, but I believe a Terra Summoner was involved too. There’s ... contamination in the wound. It’s spreading unnaturally fast.”
“What kind of contamination?” Andrew asked.
George’s gaze settled on Andrew grimly. “Gas gangrene. The infection’s producing gas beneath the skin—it’s why you can hear the crackling. There’s necrosis already starting; I can smell it. It’ll move through her bloodstream at an unnatural rate. If it isn’t stopped now, she’ll lose the arm ... then her life.”
A chill spread through the room. Edmund grumbled under his breath.
Isla’s stomach turned. Her arm pulsed in agony, the skin hot and tight, the scent of charred flesh and something far worse filling her nose. She could feel her pulse fluttering too fast, shallow breaths catching in her throat.
“You can heal her, can’t you?” Andrew asked, his voice wavering.
George hesitated, his kind, worry-filled brown eyes now locked on her. “I’ll try. But healing burns this deep—and an infection this aggressive—will take everything I have. Non-Aetherian doctors cannot treat this, and no one else is here. With the speed in which this is developing there isn’t even time to go and find the Aetherian doctor. I can’t promise full recovery. There will be scars at the very least. I also won’t be able to offerpain relief as I work. Trying to split my focus will likely make me pass out before she is healed. But if we don’t act now, it will be too late.”
“I want to keep my arm and live, George. Please just do what you have to.” Isla felt so poorly it was hard to say more than that.
George took a slow breath, bracing himself. “Then I need Andrew and Edmund to both hold you down. Once I start, the pain will be ... unbearable. I’m so sorry I can’t split my focus to dull it.”
Isla nodded her agreement. She felt Andrew’s hand tremble as he lifted it from her brow. He placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. “I’d take this pain from you if I could,” he whispered.
Edmund moved to the opposite side of the bed, steadying Isla’s legs as Andrew pinned her uninjured shoulder. She braced herself for the pain.
George pressed his glowing hands above the wound, the green light intensifying until it shimmered through the room.
Isla’s scream tore through the air the moment he began. Andrew’s grip tightened; she turned and saw his eyes locked on hers, a sheen of tears covering the blue depth of his eyes.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Andrew felt his emotions churn as Isla’s helpless, agonized eyes locked onto his.
Beside him, George shook with the effort. His jaw was locked in concentration, sweat running in rivulets down his temples. The green light blazing from his hands had grown almost blinding.
“Keep holding her,” George gasped as Isla’s body tried to thrash.
The light flared violently. Andrew blinked against it, the brilliance searing afterimages into his vision. When it faded, Isla’s skin no longer burned with the angry bronze-red of agony. The wound had changed—her shoulder and arm were now pale and waxen, the texture leathery and stiff. He swallowed hard. The sight made his heart ache. She had endured so much. Too much.
George’s palm gave one final pulse before the light guttered out. His chest heaved. “She’ll keep her arm and live,” he whispered hoarsely. Then his eyes rolled back and his knees buckled.
“George!” Andrew stood but couldn’t reach his friend, who was on the other side of the bed from him and Edmund. George crumpled sideways, striking his head sharply against the iron bed frame with a sickening crack.
Blood immediately welled along his hairline, a dark line running down his temple.
“Blast it!” Edmund was already moving.
“Get me that chair!” Edmund barked, jerking his chin toward the wheelchair Isla had been brought in. He and the nurse maneuvered George into it, his head lolling, face ashen. The glow that had surrounded him moments before was gone, leaving him looking hollowed out and drained.
