The Last Night
Krissen came into the infirmary tent and gasped. "Ashira! You're a wreck! Even mages have to rest, and you look like you haven't slept in days!" Her friend's face was streaked with blood, and though none of it was her own, she looked more like she'd belong on one of the cots than she did a healer.
"I had to help them," Ashira replied. "I can't just let them die."
"I'm not going to let you die, either, the way you're draining yourself! Wasn't it you who taught me not to overreach myself? And besides, the state you're in, you'll do these poor soldiers more harm than good." She sighed, noting Ashira's reluctance. "We're getting three healers from Kelthan's company. They weren't hit as hard as we were, and they've got plenty to spare. You need to get some sleep, or you're going to end up killing yourself!"
"Maybe you're right," Ashira sighed. "I hate it when you're right." She smiled, but with none of her usual enthusiasm. Instead, she looked almost pitiful. Krissen wondered how she could still be standing.
"Come on. We should get you back to your tent, and I'll brew you some of that stuff you always make me drink after a battle. You should be well enough tomorrow morning to tend to what needs doing."
"Tomorrow morning? The sun hasn't even set! I should be back on my feet in--"
"Were we to switch places, you'd tell me to do the same," Krissen said seriously. "We lost Andri to an arrow yesterday, we're not going to lose you to exhaustion. We need all the mages we can get!"
"I suppose you're right," Ashira replied. "But someone needs to make sure the other mages don't ruin the job I've begun." That was one problem with Ashira--she didn't trust the other healers to know what to do as well as she did. There were five mages in the ranks of their company--there had been six until yesterday--and all of them but one were trained in healing.
Krissen Heransra and Ashira Keliri were nearly ten years apart. The two women looked as different as night and day. Ashira was dark, of K'miri descent, and Krissen was from Scanra. When Krissen joined the company nine years ago, Ashira had recognized the girl's Gift and immediately began training her. She seemed to have a talent for thread magic, so Ashira taught the girl all that she knew of that subject, and even found books for Krissen to study on it. However, three years after Krissen joined, two brothers with an amazing amount of the Gift joined, and several scouts were killed. Krissen's secondary position was with the scouts, and now she wasn't so much needed with the mages as with them. She was an amazing swordswoman, her Gift giving her speed and agility. Watching her fence was enough to take your breath away, she moved so gracefully and quickly. However, she couldn't hit a haystack with three arrows out of ten (though her aim was improving of late) and she was rather clumsy much of the time.
A boy ran up to them, and cleared his throat. He couldn't have been more than sixteen--one of the new recruits, Krissen guessed. "Scout Heransra?" he asked, giving her a salute.
"That's me," Krissen replied.
"Letter for you." He gave her an envelope, saluted again, and scurried off.
"From your brother?" Ashira asked.
Krissen checked the address. "Yes. Did I tell you he's studying in Corus now?"
Ashira shook her head. "Last I heard, he was in Tyra."
"What am I doing, keeping you awake with my babbling? You get to sleep, I'll supervise your mages for you."
"All right..." sighed Ashira, and she left to go to her tent. Krissen returned to the healing tent, and kept an eye on the other healers as she read her brother's letter.
Dearest Sister,
You must find the time to come visit me here in Corus. The library here is amazing--even more extensive than that of Tyra! I've been able to find out much of the information I seek, including books written when the barrier between the Realms of the Immortals and our own world were broken, about two hundred years ago. These texts would be fascinating even to you, I believe. Perhaps you could come when your current campaign is finished--I have a house in the city, and there's always a place for you here.
I've also received word that our dear mother is recovering from her illness, if slowly. She told me that she would consider forgiving you for your "stray from reason" if you would "give up these silly notions of being a warrior, and act as a lady should". Those are her exact words. Eleven years since you've decided you wanted to be a swordswoman, and she still hasn't accepted it. I'm proud of you, though. I hear you've made quite a name for yourself among mercs...
"There you are!" Geran and Julika practically pounced on her. Krissen jumped.
"We were hoping you could provide some music for us!" Julika said.
"To celebrate our victory," added Geran.
"Some victory," Krissen replied, motioning to those lying injured in the healing tent.
"Come on, please. Jesserd's volunteered to sing, but he needs some kind of backup," Julika pleaded.
"All right, all right..." sighed Krissen. "Let me find my flute."
Before she had decided to learn the sword, Krissen had been forced to take music lessons. She had no singing voice, but she played the flute rather beautifully--and now that she wasn't being forced to play it, she learned that she actually enjoyed music. The others appreciated her talent, and playing the music gave her an excuse not to dance at celebrations. She had taken dancing lessons, but they hadn't seemed to take.
And playing gave her an excuse to be isolated. She just didn't feel attracted to anyone she'd ever met, male or female. Her best friend was a lesbian, but Krissen had never felt attracted to her in that way, and if there was anyone Krissen loved, it was Ashira. That and Nikain--she had friends, but none nearly as close as those two. If something were to happen to one of them, her balance would be completely destroyed.
She played a popular tune on the flute, a song called "The Price I Would Pay". It was actually rather short, but she had to play it several times to satisfy the audience. Jesserd seemed to know more verses than she did, though, so it wasn't such a chore to hear the same tune over and over again. She rather liked the song, even though it was a love song, which she usually didn't have much patience for. The tune was really very pretty, and the words weren't as sickeningly sweet as most other love songs.
A crowd gathered, dancing, talking, drinking, and just having a good time. Despite the injured and dead, they had won, and they were celebrating their victory. Those who had lost those close to them could find alcohol-induced forgetfulness, and the others were truly out to just enjoy themselves.
For some of them, it was the last time.