But no, no, it was the worst,worstthing to say, Skald’s fury flashing cold and sickening in Kesst’s gut. “Blasphemy,” he growled. “My captain shall never need healing, with me at his side! And thus, he shall never have need for the likes ofyou!”
With that, he lunged forward, his scimitar sweeping in a shining, deadly arc toward Eft’s body. And Kesst was shouting, lunging, terror flying and screaming, no, no, NO —
But it was too late, too late. And Skald’s blade swept straight across Eft’s chest, gouging a thick red line in its wake —
Eft’s scent shot through with shock, with unspeakable agony, his eyes flashed wide — and then he stumbled back, crashed to the floor, and went still.
12
For a long, horrifying instant, Kesst just stood there, and stared at Eft on the floor. At how the blood was already welling through his sliced-open tunic, how his body was erratically twitching, his mouth contorting, his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, while pure agony poured through his scent.
And was it fatal, was he dying, and Kesst wanted to scream, to vomit, to weep. Skald couldn’t do this, he couldn’t, he was walking toward Eft with his sword out, he was going to finish it, no, no,no—
And somehow Kesst had rushed between them, his shaking hands clutching to Skald’s huge arms. And without thinking, without hesitating, he drew up the magic. Dragged it up from the very depths of his being, yanking it out in gulp after desperate gulp, until it surged and churned, pitching for escape — and then he let it pour out his mouth.
“And when the powerful warrior killed the healer,” he heard himself croak, his voice no longer his own, “after the healer had so faithfully saved his wounded lover’s life, the gods were sore dismayed. And in their wisdom and justice, upon the warrior they visited many wounds that could not be healed. Wounds that brought pain, and weakness, andshame.”
Skald had thankfully, briefly gone still, his eyes blinking unseeing at Kesst’s face. And Kesst drew up more of the magic, poured it into terror and ice, fuelled it into his breath and his eyes…
“Boils that oozed and festered,” he continued, his voice deepening, his hands rising between them. “Spasms that weakened his hands and feet. Darkness that clouded his sight. He could no longer walk, speak, or wield his sword, and instead writhed alone in torment and in grief. And in his weakness, he was of no further good to his captain, his clan, and his kin — and thus they left him to rot in disgrace, until he was forever forgotten!”
His voice had gone hard and vicious by the end, ringing with its strange, chilling command throughout the room. And Skald was staring now, caught, for this moment at least, and Kesst gulped for more air, more strength. “But in another life, the warrior saw the folly in such a killing,” he continued, “and let the healer be. He walked away, whole and hale, and lived for yet another day. And he kept living, as long as he kept the healer from his mind, and kept his distance from the healer’s domain!”
The words echoed and hung, and Kesst’s eyes and his hovering hands and his held breath kept them there, dangling, sinking, settling. Embedding themselves into Skald’s blank eyes, into his thoughts, into his memories…
“Get out,” Kesst hissed. “Now.”
And he waited, waited, his eyes burning on Skald’s, his heart thundering through his chest. Until finally,finally, Skald spun and lumbered out, his hand rubbing powerfully at his eyes, his sword still dripping Eft’s fresh blood onto the stone floor.
Kesst stood there, rigid and vehement, until Skald had gone out of sight — and then felt himself swaying, the strength pooling away in a rush. Leaving him hollow and shaky all over, his ears ringing, his breaths coming in desperate gasps through his throat. Eft.Eft.
He spun so fast he nearly fell, staggering across the room. To where Eft was still lying sprawled on his back, a small black pool growing beneath him, his tunic now soaked with red blood, his eyes unseeing on the ceiling, his scent still reeking with pain…
“Eft!” Kesst choked, dropping to kneel in the warm sticky blood, as his hands frantically hovered over the deadly wound slicing open Eft’s chest. “Oh gods, please say you’re still alive, what can I do, what can Ido—”
He was desperately searching Eft’s pale, sweaty face, his distant, dazed-looking eyes. And suddenly there was the wildest urge to start screaming, to rage and wail and beg, he’d just riskedeverythingfor this, and now Eft was dying, he was dead, he was —
When abruptly, Eft’s chest rose. Rose, inhaling, breathing — and Kesst nearly laughed, or sobbed, with his screeching giddy relief. And Eft’s hazy eyes were even meeting his, holding, saying,look at me, listen.
“Need this — bound,” Eft rasped, his voice very thin. “Cloth.”
Bound, with cloth. And curse it, there was no cloth here beyond their clothes, and the bedding was all furs — so in a flailing twist of motion, Kesst kicked off his own trousers, and carefully spread them over Eft’s chest. But then realized that he had to get them under him to tie them and apply any pressure, and Eft was far too big for him to lift alone, and oh gods oh gods —
“Help — sit up,” Eft croaked now, his glazed eyes darting up toward the stone wall behind him. “Then bind.”
Oh. Kesst was fervently nodding, even as he hovered uncertainly, not knowing how the hell to manage this — but then Eft raised his arms, as he pulled up his knees. And Kesst instinctively leaned in, grasping him carefully beneath the arms, while Eft gripped a bloody hand at Kesst’s shoulder, and pushed back with his feet. Giving a broken-sounding grunt as he scrabbled backwards, the pain in his scent flashing even higher — but then he was indeed propped up against the wall, his legs outstretched before him, his head tilted back, his teeth gritted with visible agony.
But it was enough, enough for Kesst to first ease the trousers around Eft’s torso, and then bind them as tightly as he could. And Eft was nodding as he exhaled, his arm now come to rest over the binding, his fingers spreading wide.
Because… wait. Wait. He was…healinghimself.
Oh gods, Eft was healing himself, the beautiful wonderful bastard — and Kesst felt a sudden, hoarse sob escape his throat as he knelt there and watched, marvelled, and silently pleaded with every god he’d ever known.
“Don’t you dare stop, Eft,” he croaked. “You keep going. Keep breathing. We need you.Ineed you, damn it.”
Eft was holding Kesst’s eyes, he was listening, and that might have even been a nod. And now his other hand had come to join the first against his heaving chest, while a harsh exhale shuddered from his throat.
“Good,” Kesst whispered. “Good. You keep doing that, love. You find everything that’s wrong, and fix it. Don’t stop.”
