The Bonemender's Choice (20 page)

The night ahead would be long—her second without rest. No sense wasting energy holding herself upright. She climbed into the narrow bed beside Madeleine, wrapped her arm around her niece’s waist and sank into a deep trance.
Gabrielle looked up with a start as someone entered the room, confused by the sudden pull back to the world. Normal comings and going didn’t usually disturb her, so what...?

Féolan stood in the flickering lamplight. Why does he have a scarf wrapped around his neck, she wondered vaguely, noting the bulky silhouette he made above the shoulders. It’s a warm night...

“Sorry to disturb, love.” Féolan’s voice was a husky rasp.

“Féolan!” Gabrielle sat up in alarm, tearing free of the cobwebs that lingered from her trance. He wore no scarf, she realized. That was his neck, swollen to monstrous size right up to the ears.

“Whatever this Gray Veil is, it seems Elves are all too susceptible,” said Féolan. He lay on the other bed, and Gabrielle saw how his legs buckled as they lowered to the mattress. “I woke up like this. I’ve come here to protect the others, but—” He held up a hand as Gabrielle scrambled to his side. “You stay with Madeleine. I felt her weaken with every mile of that journey. She needs you now.” He closed his eyes and fell silent, as though that short speech had used up his strength.

P
ANIC WHISPERED INSIDE HER
, and Gabrielle thrust it back. She could not stay the tears, though. Even by lamplight she could see that Féolan was failing before her eyes, barely hanging on to lucidity. Her eyes winced away from his swollen neck, the skin stretched and purpled, and rested on his flushed cheeks. Her hand reached out, and she felt the heat before her fingers settled on his forehead. The brilliant Elvish eyes, those eyes she loved so dearly, were dull now with pain and fever.

How could he have succumbed so quickly? In her years among the Elves, Gabrielle had seen few illnesses and rarely anything life-threatening. Most Elves had at least a touch of healing ability themselves, enough to keep at bay the coughs and fevers so common among Humans. But what if this was a completely new illness, something unlike anything they had ever been exposed to?

Gabrielle lay a hand on Féolan’s chest and closed her eyes. It was hard to calm the turmoil in her mind enough to let the inner vision come to her. Precious moments ticked by as she worked on calming the ragged breath that wanted to sob rather than flow.

At last she was with him, and what she found confirmed her worst fears. The gray plaque spread deep into his throat, burrowing greedily into blood vessels and tissue. And the poison that had
taken days to seep into Madeleine’s system was already coursing through Féolan’s body.

He was dying.

“Gabrielle.” Was it his voice or his mind that called to her? He had called her once from the very brink of death, pulled her back from the last threshold beyond which there is no returning. Now it was he who wandered toward that same threshold, and still he called her.

“Gabrielle, leave me.”

Never
.
Could I leave my own heart and soul?
But even as she denied it, raged against it, she understood the choice before her. She had two patients. Neither was likely to survive without her help.

She would work on both at once. She had done it before with the twins. She would...

No.
That was the healer’s voice, the one that was not swayed by grief or love and thought only of the patient’s chances.
The twins were alike as two peas. Healthy, except for their wounds. And even so, it was difficult. These two could not be more different.

And had it been possible, she hadn’t the strength left to do it. That was the stark brutal truth. She was exhausted.

She was weeping now, fatigue and fear and helplessness leeching the courage from her. How could this be asked of her, to leave the man she loved to die alone?

“Nay, love. No despair. It is what we all agreed.”

“What do you mean?” She choked the words out between sobbing breaths. Féolan’s hand stirred. He found and covered hers, the grasp weak but steady. He spoke aloud now too, though the raspy whisper must pain him.

“We came to save the children. We would all have died in a fight to rescue them. This is no different.”

She felt his resolve. Even if she tried to heal him, he would use the last of his strength to shut her out. And he was right. To turn her back on Madeleine now was unthinkable.

Gabrielle laid her head on Féolan’s chest and wept, her hand twined in his.

“I love you,” she whispered.

“Brave Wings,” he said. “Now you must fly alone. Save her, Gabrielle.”

Brave Wings
. The memory was a bright piercing sorrow. The words were from a wedding song Féolan had written for her, strange and beautiful and understood, as so many Elvish songs were, more in the heart than from the sense of the words:

She is brighter than the stars above,

And needs no wind to paint her brave wings.

But the memory gave her strength too, as Féolan had intended. She and Féolan had found such joy together. Maddy would have that chance too. Slowly Gabrielle sat up. She held Féolan’s hand in her two. It was so hard to leave him all alone.

“I’ll stay with him.”

A strong blunt hand covered hers and gently freed Féolan from her grasp.

Startled, Gabrielle looked around. Derkh’s face was tracked with his own tears, but his hand on her shoulder was firm.

“I won’t leave him. I promise.”

She had to do it now, or she never would. She gave a tiny wretched nod and turned away.

T
HE NIGHT CREPT ON
, and Gabrielle fought for Madeleine’s life. The barrier she had built around the plaque to hold back its spread along the surface of Maddy’s throat did nothing to prevent the poison from penetrating through the fragile inflamed tissue behind the Veil. For that, she needed a blanket of light, a dense pool to surround the entire growth. From within this healing glow, she painstakingly sealed off the damaged flesh, pinching each tiny torn vessel closed and pushing back the dark fingers of infection. Slowly, the secret seeping pathways of the poison were blocked until Gabrielle was satisfied it was contained in a pocket behind the Veil.

That was only the first step, but she allowed herself to stop to check on Féolan. He lived still, that she knew. His life’s presence was her constant companion; she would feel his death through the deepest trance. She sat on the edge of his narrow bed and tried to send him strength—
Hold on, love. Hold on till I can come to you.
But she did not dare let her mind stay with him for long. His pull was so strong; if she lingered, she might never tear herself away.

Madeleine, deep in the sleep that so often blessed Gabrielle’s patients when she worked on them, drew breath in a long rattling snore. She had been gasping through that hateful growth for too long. Gabrielle smoothed Féolan’s brow, kissed it, and filled his throat with light.
Just a little longer.
Two steps took her back across the tiny cabin to Madeleine. Gabrielle eased Madeleine onto her side and placed a folded towel under her cheek. She didn’t want Madeleine swallowing either the plaque or its poison when the Veil came away.

Gabrielle intended to seal off the poisonous Veil and help the undamaged flesh beneath grow a protective layer of skin, just as a
wound does under its scab. Then she would simply peel the membrane away. If she did the job right, the membrane would slough off with the seal intact, the poison contained and harmless.

Pray to all gods I’m right, she thought.

She laid her hands on either side of Madeleine’s neck and sank once more into the light.

D
OMINIC AWOKE IN THE FIRST CHILL
half-light of dawn. Dew had settled heavily over the deck and his blanket. He was damp, stiff and cold. He eased himself up with a grimace. Matthieu lay curled in the spot beside him, burrowed under his cover. Dominic shook off his blanket and tucked it over top of his son. Not that he’d sleep much longer—once the sun rode free of the horizon and lit up the yellow sails, they would all be awake.

All
didn’t look to be very many, though. Only Yolenka was still on the deck. Féolan’s and Derkh’s rumpled blankets lay empty. Maybe they had awakened early as well. He hoped by all that was holy they had not taken ill. What if the captain had been right and the Gray Veil spread throughout the ship?

He needed to check on Madeleine. The captain frowned on anyone entering the cabin, but Dominic was her father. He would at least stick his head in the door and find out how she fared.

E
VEN IN HER SLEEP
Madeleine knew that the tide had turned. The trembling and twitching of her limbs first eased and then stopped altogether. The racy skip of her heart steadied. The pounding in her head, the aches that racked her body, above all the terrible weakness that made every breath an effort and sapped her will—they weren’t gone, but they were fading. It was as though she had been
trapped on a sled, rushing down a long snowy slope toward a pool so deep and icy she would sink into it like a stone and never rise again. And then someone pulled the hand brake on the sled, and it slowed, groaning and complaining from the strain but slowing nonetheless, and came to rest at the edge of the pool.

And now she was making the long climb back up the hill. With every step her body felt a little stronger and more at ease. All except her throat. That pain was constant. For nearly two days she had been unable to swallow, the muscles in her tongue weak and useless. Drool had spilled down her front during that endless pounding horse journey, and she had been too sick to care. Later her spit had dried in her mouth and her lips had grown cracked and parched. And none of it—not the pain, not the paralysis—was as bad as the revulsion. She could not escape having to feel and taste the alien thing that lay in her mouth. Her tongue knew its leathery tough skin, the sickening press of its swelling growth.

Now, for the first time, the pain of the accidental press of her tongue against the membrane was blunted. “Fingernails or knives?” she and Matthieu used to ask each other, rating the ferocity of some childish hurt. In the pain department, she was heading back toward fingernails.

Yet the irritation of it was worse. The Veil hung in her throat, rattling and flapping with each breath like a heavy wet curtain. It brushed the back of her tongue, and she gagged on it, blocking her own air. Then she couldn’t stop gagging, her body trying uselessly to eject it like a rotten chunk of meat. She struggled up from sleep in a panic.

Patience, dear one. Soon you will be free of it.
The words floated into her mind, soothing as a mother’s touch. Her throat relaxed
and opened and her breath came a little easier. Her eyelids fluttered and closed, and she slept again.

A
LMOST DONE
. The temptation to rush pricked at her, but Gabrielle resisted. If the seal did not hold, if the poison found some minute overlooked channel to escape through, that tiny outlet could burst open under the pressure when the Veil was removed and throw everything into jeopardy. Gabrielle’s mind hovered over that word,
everything
, and she pulled it away. Don’t think about what’s at stake, she told herself. Think about the work.

Madeleine was restless under her hand, her sleep becoming lighter as her strength returned. The membrane was no longer embedded firmly against her throat but hung by mere threads, obstructing her airway even more than before.

Suddenly the girl choked and gagged. Gabrielle felt the fear course through her, the panic to draw air, the reflex in her throat working against her. She touched Madeleine’s mind, spoke soothingly to her. Sent her light to the back of the tongue, let it fall away from the flap that brushed at it and lie flat against the jaw. Air flowed back into Madeleine’s lungs, and she sighed and settled back.

“Gabrielle!”

Derkh’s voice was sharp, the hand that shook her rough. “Gabrielle, wake up!”

“What is it?” Gabrielle struggled to focus her eyes, to bring her mind back to the world. Being jerked out of her healing trance was always difficult and disorienting. And tonight—this morning, rather, to judge by the thin light seeping in the cabin’s tiny windows—she was slow with fatigue. It waited for her like
a silent vulture, ready to float down and take her. She shook her head, fighting it off. There was only one reason Derkh would interrupt her.

“Féolan?”

Derkh nodded, his eyes black and staring. “He can’t breathe. Gabrielle, I think he’s dying.”

She flew to Féolan’s bedside, not even aware of having risen. Behind her, Madeleine coughed and gagged, choking again. Gabrielle glanced back, agonized. Not both at once, she prayed. I can’t.

Madeleine was up on one elbow, her shoulders heaving. A retching tearing cough shook her, and she spat a dark mass onto the towel. A sound of pure revulsion escaped her. And then she looked to Gabrielle, still frozen at Féolan’s bedside.

“I’m okay. Look after him.”

F
ÉOLAN FOUGHT TO
draw air with everything he had. The thrashing of his legs and hands was worse than useless, draining what stores he had, yet he was powerless to stop it. Already his lips and fingers tingled, starving for breath. For hours now he had survived on small whistling passageways through the swollen mass of his throat, using what skill he had to ease open the tissues around them and sip miserly streams of air. Now he was in the desert, the tiniest streams vanished in a solid wall of sand. He was dying, and he knew it.

Gabrielle’s presence swept into him like the sun sailing out from behind black clouds. She was too late, he was certain—but, oh, how lovely to feel her near him once more. He was so sorry for the grief she would suffer and so grateful to be with her at his life’s end.

The warm light blasted into his throat,
shoving
at the swollen
edges of tissue so that he could feel the sudden give, the rush of air into his grateful lungs. Then the flap closed again.