The roar of something louder than anything I’ve ever heard has me scrambling backwards. I let out a scream as it gets closer and closer, then it slams against the ground in front of me. Salty water sprays my face.
I try to imagine how big that would have had to have been to make that sound, but it’s impossible.
Another one comes roaring towards me, and I stumble back, tripping over something laying in my path. As soon as I put myhand out, I collide with soft skin over hard muscles. Warmth, movement, life.
It's alive, though not for long, but it is alive. I snatch my hand back and inhale, trying to catch a scent.
Clear water, salt, brine, rot, decay, and this creature that smells like something fresh, mysterious. Something that makes my mouth water and my heart move faster. Dragon fruit. I haven’t smelled it in ten cycles or more. I lean down, inhaling deeply. Is this creature food?
I don’t want to eat it.
How strange.
It stirs and grabs at my arm. Fingers like mine wrapping around my wrist, his grip impossibly hard. No talons. I wait for spikes, spines, poison, but he just holds me.
He? Yes, this is him. I reach out and run my fingers over that hand, feeling the veins and tendons, the strength he still has despite how close to death he lingers.
“Kill me, then,” he spits out, and my head snaps up as if I’ve been struck.
His voice.
His voice, even weak, births this tendril of warmth unfurling inside me. I want to lean down and sniff him, to lick his skin and see if that scent is there. I want to hear him talk a million words for a million years.
Kill him?
It’s not something I could do, even if I wanted to now.
His voice is one of the singers in the song. I know this creature. I have been listening to him, learning him. How could I kill him?
He’s dying.
The sudden realisation that his song is ending leaves me bereft.
No, it can’t end. It wouldn’t be the same without him.
I have to save him.
“They call me The Healer,” I say to him in a language that is common in Nightmare. “I can save you.”
I sit back, getting into a comfortable position, and then I reach out, hesitating before I put a hand on his clammy skin. Poison is working its way towards his heart. I can’t see the world, but my runes allow me to see what others can’t. The rot, his heart, the infection.
I can fix this. The poison is well known in Nightmare and an easy cure, just long and laborious.
“What is your name?” I ask him hesitantly. I haven’t spoken my mother’s tongue in many years. The words come out stilted and with an accent my mother never had.
He hesitates, and I can feel his surprise in the air. “Lirin. In my language, it means fierce song,” there’s a pause, and then he snarls. “I will never give in to the likes of you.”
I hum, thinking that over. Truthfully, I don’t want to see him die, even though he might hate me. I am all about trusting my instincts, and they are insisting on me saving this one. I have to trust them; that’s how I survived where I come from. If you don’t, you end up dead or missing eyes.
I shift my weight until I’m in a crouch over him, straddling his chest.
“This is going to hurt, Lirin, that means fierce song,” I whisper, stumbling over the strange words.
“Do it, then. I am prepared to die with honour.”
Strange. I’m not sure what he means, but he sounds strong, like a fighter. This is good. I am pleased.
I sketch the runes out on his chest and then let myself sink deep into the magic, drawing more when the power runs out of them. For hours, the pounding sound of his struggling heart and the monstrous crash behind us fight, then it all blends with his heartbeat until they are one. His strength grows as mine weakens. Time crawls along, and I continue to pour myselfinto him. Finally, I sit back, panting. He’s strong and breathing easily, and I have pulled all the infection from him.
