Vampirates 6: Immortal War (9 page)

As her team lifted the patient from his stretcher onto the healing bed, Grace stepped back out of their way. The violet-clad nursing staff moved swiftly, talking in low voices as they began cleaning the worst of the patient’s wounds and removing any torn vestiges of clothing. Grace watched, unable to keep her eyes from the gaping splits within the fabric of his skin. She knew the extent of the work to come.

Each of the healing chambers had a small anteroom adjoining it. As the nurses continued their work, Grace retreated inside the small chamber and drew the flimsy curtain. The curtain was little more than a symbolic separation from the other room but it was an important part of her preparation to enter another space—one of stillness and silence. There was a pitcher and basin of water beside her, drawn from the spring closest to the peak of
the mountain. Grace began the ritualistic washing of her hands, at the same time practicing a series of rhythmic breaths. She was now so well versed in the healer’s art that it did not take her long to prepare.

Grace drew back the curtain and stepped into the main room. Although her eyes were closed, she felt intensely attuned to the needs of the patient. She was aware of the nurses parting before her as she approached the healing bed and reached out her hands.

She began by lightly touching the patient’s feet. Through this contact, she could feel the unevenness of his breaths. They were abrupt and jarring, like waves crashing against jagged rocks. The first stage of the healing was to calm the patient and induce more regular breaths—in effect tranquilizing him so that he could enter the optimum state of relaxation during the treatment.

Grace nodded and was instantly aware of ribbons being bound around each of her hands, fastening them to the patient’s feet. Their work done, the nurses swiftly stepped back.

Cupping the patient’s feet very gently, Grace began to draw out his agitated energy and to replace it with her own sense of calm. He responded well, better than she had expected. There was no doubting the impact of the vicious attack he had been subjected to, but his spirit had remained strong. Grace waited, letting his energy flow and release, flow and release. It did not take long for him to slip into a relaxed slumber.

Satisfied that the patient’s breathing was now more regular, Grace nodded again and the nurses stepped forward to unfasten the ribbons. Grace released her touch as fresh ribbons were placed in each of her hands. She let the ends of these new ribbons brush the patient’s bloodstained fingers.

“Take hold of these ribbons,” she instructed. At her words, the patient reached up and tightly gripped the end of each ribbon.

“That’s good,” Grace said softly. Drawing the ribbons taut, she began to chant, remembering with ease one of the most powerful healing incantations Mosh Zu had taught her.

The ribbons helped her to connect and communicate with the patient. Grace prepared for the onslaught of his pain as it began releasing into her. It was slow at first but, as she continued to chant, she felt it begin to move. The pain came first as shallow waves, but grew steadily more intense. As each wave of his pain entered her body, Grace grounded herself in readiness for the now familiar body shocks. The ribbons drew out a certain amount of the sting, but, even so, this Nocturnal had been deeply wounded. If he was to make a full recovery, she had to release every last toxin from his body. She chanted more quickly, and more loudly, keeping her fingers firmly connected to the ribbons, though the powerful energy flowing between them threatened to tear them apart.

In moments of reflection, this part of the healing
process made her think of trying to ride a wild horse—the ribbons themselves rather like reins. It drew upon not only all her mental capacities but also her physical strength. But she had become a master of these arts, and, as she continued to chant and finely adjust her breathing, she was able to temporarily absorb and swiftly neutralize the high-voltage current of the Nocturnal’s pain.

Eventually, she felt the patient’s toxic energy slow. She waited, continuing to observe its ebb and flow. At last, certain that he was settled, she nodded. The nurses came forward and helped ease the patient’s hands down onto the table, then removed the ribbons, which fell from Grace’s fingers.

Throughout all of this, Grace’s eyes had remained closed. Now she stepped around the other side of the bench and held out her hands to receive a fresh ribbon. This she placed over the patient’s closed eyes. This would give her a window into the Nocturnal’s mind. As she took hold of each end of this shorter ribbon, she waited to make a connection. Sometimes it happened swiftly; at other times, like now, contact proved elusive. Chanting, Grace continued to wait patiently. She was inside the Nocturnal’s head but she could see only darkness. She continued to chant.

Very gradually, the darkness began to lift like a thinning mist and Grace discerned shapes coming into focus. She had a unique window into the diverse inner workings of the patients she treated. It was a rare privilege to
inhabit another soul’s space in this way, if only for a short time.

As the vision became clearer, Grace recognized the familiar corridors of Sanctuary opening up to her. This in itself was not a surprise. It was not uncommon for her patients’ visions to commence in this way. On his journey to the healing chamber, the Nocturnal patient had been wheeled first along the Corridor of Lights, next the Corridor of Discards, and then the Corridor of Ribbons. He had been conscious during his journey and, she noted now, had experienced his surroundings in an unusual amount of detail. Holding the ribbon just above his flickering eyelids, she waited for the vision to move on.

As it did, she found that they remained within Sanctuary but were now turning a corner deep inside the main building. Grace stayed anchored in the vision but could not help but be puzzled. The patient had
not
been wheeled through this part of the compound.

She realized that in the vision the Nocturnal was
walking
along the corridor—a corridor that she herself had come to know very well. And now she observed that he was slowing his pace and approaching a door. With complete clarity, the door opened and they moved inside a familiar suite of rooms, commonly known by the healers as “the lab.” Moving past a closed doorway, they entered the main room, which was dominated by a large bench, its counter smooth and uneven with age and use. Behind the central counter were floor-to-ceiling shelves groaning
with jars of herbs, roots, seeds, and other items used to create a healer’s many potions and medicaments. There was no longer any doubt in Grace’s mind. For the patient to picture this scene so well, he must have been here before. Probably more than once.

The angle of the vision shifted, and the door once more came into view as someone else stepped inside the chamber. Grace continued to breathe rhythmically and chant calmly as she watched her younger self enter the room. Now, she knew for certain the patient’s identity.

She let go of the ribbon and, as the nurse stepped forward to remove it, Grace opened her eyes. She stared at the upside-down head before her. She was gratified to note that as a result of her healing, his face was now patched together again. Where there had been fissures, now there was flesh, and the fibers of his skin were already beginning to knit themselves back together. Despite the wounds, despite the fact that his face was the wrong way up, she knew she had seen this face many times before.

“Olivier,” she said softly. “Welcome back to Sanctuary.”

The Nocturnal’s eyes were closed, and he appeared to be in a deep state of relaxation and recovery. Nevertheless, as Grace looked down upon him, she was convinced she saw his cracked lips form the crescent of a smile.

She nodded silently to Noijon and reached out her hand once more. Understanding that Grace wanted the ribbon back, he passed it to her. She laid it across Olivier’s eyes again and took hold of the two ends. Instantly, she
was back in the lab, watching her younger self exit the room. For a moment afterward, everything was still. Then Olivier crouched down under the main counter. His hand reached out as if tracing the lines and knots on the wooden panel below. Then his fingers came to a rest and he pressed the panel gently. A section of wood moved and a small opening appeared under the bench. Olivier reached in his hand and withdrew a compact, rectangular object. As it came into the light, Grace saw that it was a book, bound in dark blue cloth. At first it seemed to her that the cloth binding was unadorned, but then gold lettering began to appear and she was able to read the book’s title:
The Way of the Dhampir
. Grace frowned. Why would Olivier have such a book? And why, when he had lately been at the very brink of oblivion, was this little book right there at the forefront of his mind?

“Enter!” called Cheng Li, pouring a second bowl of tea as Jasmine shut tight the door behind her and walked over to sit opposite the captain.

“It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?” said Cheng Li, glancing out the porthole.

Jasmine nodded perfunctorily, but Cheng Li knew her deputy well enough to realize that her mind was elsewhere.

“I still can’t believe the news about Jack Fallico,” Jasmine said.

Cheng Li nodded grimly. “When he failed to turn up at the Council of War, I think we knew to expect the worst.”

“I gather Lola led the attack,” Jasmine said. “The casualties were terrible. The Nocturnal aide was in an especially bad way when they found him.”

“Well,” Cheng Li said, glancing at her clock, “he should have arrived at Sanctuary by now. If anyone can bring him back, it’s Mosh Zu and his team.”

After this discussion, it was a relief for them both to turn their attention to the quotidian business of procedures and personnel. Cheng Li had no doubt that her exceedingly capable deputy had everything completely under control. Some had thought it a bold move to appoint such a young deputy as Jasmine. How wrong they had been proved. Like Cheng Li herself, Jasmine had been a straight-A student at Pirate Academy, but, since taking to the oceans for real, she had seamlessly integrated the lessons she’d learned during her ten years at the academy with a fresh vision, exceptional people skills, and a mind sharper than any of the weaponry in
The Tiger
’s onboard armory.

“We’re running low on swords again,” Jasmine informed the captain now. “I’ve made up a fresh order for Master Yin.” She passed the list over to Cheng Li to approve.

“Are we covered if we proceed with the proposed attack on
The Diablo
?” Cheng Li inquired.

“Yes,” said Jasmine. “But we shouldn’t lose time getting this order under way. Not the way things are gathering pace now.”

Cheng Li scanned Jasmine’s immaculate handwriting and precise instructions, then glanced up again. “This all looks in excellent order to me. Let’s send Bo Yin to collect the new weaponry. Master Yin will be glad of the chance
to see his pirate daughter and hear all she has achieved in such a short time span.”

Jasmine smiled and nodded. “I was going to suggest the very same thing. It will do Bo good to see her home and father again.”

Her report delivered, Jasmine began to collect her various papers. She never presumed to impose on her commander’s precious time. But, on this occasion, the captain was in no rush.

“And how are
you
, Jasmine?” Cheng Li inquired now, in a deceptively casual tone.

“Fine,” Jasmine replied automatically. As the two young women’s eyes met, the lie was exposed.

“You are fulfilling your role brilliantly,” Cheng Li said. “I want you to know how impressed I am. The way you have held things together since Jacoby’s disappearance has been truly inspiring. We all know how close you two were.”

Jasmine frowned. “I think we should stop calling it a ‘disappearance’ and start admitting that Jacoby is dead,” she said. “He’s never coming back, and, if we’re to have any hope of moving on with our own lives, we have to accept that.”

“That’s very brave of you,” Cheng Li said, noting that it was highly unusual for Jasmine to let her guard down in this way. “In that case, we ought to plan some kind of memorial service for Jacoby.”

“No!” Jasmine exclaimed loudly. Then she resumed in a more controlled voice, “Well, maybe. I don’t know.”

Jasmine’s volley of responses was further proof to Cheng Li of the conflict raging within her deputy’s mind and heart. She smiled reassuringly. “Why don’t you give it some thought? There’s no rush.”

“I will,” Jasmine said with a nod.