Page 29 of Beds and Blades

She slowed the bleeding enough to give him time, but the damage was beyond repair.

The soldier looked at her. He knew. I could see that he knew.

Caen’s voice softened.

“They may take blood,” she said softly. “They may take breath. But they do not take what you are. Your soul will go whole into the light.”

He nodded. That was all.

He accepted it with more courage than anyone that young should have been required to possess.

I did not leave. I helped close wounds Caen had stabilized but not fully sealed. Sutures, mostly.

My first-aid course was being asked to contribute far beyond its original mandate. I held instruments. I passed linen. I kept pressure where I was told to keep pressure.

I made myself useful in the small ways available to me. I was operating well below the skill level the room required, but I did what I could.

When the other men had been seen to and had gone, I stayed with the one who had not.

Caen stood beside me. The pendant at her throat had gone dark. Empty. The spiral was only metal now, dark and ordinary against her skin.

She looked as though she had not slept in days, though I had seen her an hour earlier looking sharp, composed, entirely herself.

This exhaustion had not come from time. It had come from use. Wound by wound, life by life, the work had drawn something out of her until the pendant at her throat had gone dark and the woman wearing it looked hollowed by the cost. The sharpness was still there, but it had been thinned down to the bone.

Magic, I was beginning to understand, was not free.

Whatever Caen had given in that room had come from somewhere inside her, and for the moment, there was very little left.

Caen noticed me looking.

“I know. The pendant draws from what I have available,” she said, touching the dark spiral at her throat.

“And that comes back?”

“Yes.” Her answer was immediate, but tired. “With rest. Food. Time.”

I looked at the pendant again. The glow was gone. Only metal.

“Then you should rest.”

“I will.”

We looked down at the fallen soldier.

“His name was David,” Caen said softly. “He lived according to the teaching. Fully. Without apology.” Her voice did not break. “His soul goes whole into the light.”

She moved her hand over his face and gently closed his eyes.

I had been in this world for less than two days. I had not known his name until thirty seconds ago. I did not know where he had been born, who had loved him, what he had wanted, or whether anyone had been waiting for him to come back from the wall.

The tears came anyway. I did not try to stop them. There was nobody left in the room to perform composure for.

Caen put her arms around me. After a moment, I put mine around her.

We both needed that.

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