One more. She told herself. Just one, then I'll sleep.
She sat down on the edge of the man's bed and gently swept his hair back from his forehead. Nanjo murmured fretfully but didn't wake and for a moment she just sat and watched him as he settled back down. As she gazed on him, she reassessed her view of him. He wasn't a man – he was only that by law. This was a boy; dressed up in white robes he had fooled himself and the world that he was an adult. A man ready to take on whatever the world could throw at him.
But you weren't ready for this were you? None of us were.
Gently she took Nanjo's wrists, a slight frown of concern settled into the well-worn creases of her face when he didn't stir, but as she took slow, deep breaths, her features smoothed out again and she closed her eyes for a moment. She reached inside her, stretching for that warm, syrupy pool of her magic. It felt so far away, so deep. She really needed to sleep. Later. First, one more.
She coaxed that syrup up from her centre, teased it into her hands and then fed it into Nanjo. After the gradual persuasion she had needed to do to pull it up this far, it left her at a rush. It spilled suddenly into the boy's veins. For a moment it hesitated there, uncertain of its path but she nudged it onwards, encouraging it to seek out the fever. Now a wave, dragging her liquid core in its tide, the magic washed around the fire that consumed Nanjo, dousing its flames. He sighed in his sleep and his muscles relaxed.
With a weary smile, she called her magic back to her. It was reluctant to obey but she was firm. Come. Finally it obeyed, trickling back in. No longer surging through veins, but crawling through capillaries. She opened her eyes slowly. The lids for a moment felt as if they had been coated in the syrup of her power. Now was the time to sleep.
She stood up gradually, her joints stiff and protesting. Automatically polite, she covered her mouth and yawned, while the other arm reached high above in a luxurious stretch. Midway through, her arm still extended, a sudden movement was caught in the corner of her eye. Her head whipped round and for a moment her ears buzzed. In a bed on the other side of the room, Alasha's back was stiffly arched, her mouth agape. The ends of the grey sheet that draped over her, swung loosely on either side of her raised torso.
Moving before she could think, she found herself at the head of the young woman's bed. She grabbed her wrists, her movements accompanied by the desperate gasps as Alasha started to thrash in her bed. No time to coax with this one, she forcefully dragged her magic out and rammed it into the girl. The syrup tumbled through the veins, rushing for the lungs. Reaching its destination, it broke through the invisible restraints that stopped the air from being sucked in and all of a sudden, Alasha stilled. There was sudden peace, then the girl breathed deep. First in, pause, then out. In, pause, out. In. Out.
Agonisingly, she let go of her grip on her patient's wrists. Her fingers, unwilling to release their tight purchase, ached fiercely and she cradled them to herself as she straightened up. The buzzing returned, this time louder and louder until she could hear nothing else then she no longer knew what was up or down. Time stood still and unexpectedly she felt a cold, hard surface against her cheek. Then all she could smell, hear, feel, see was black.
' "Henna was fine when she left to look after the Arsenal set-up," he whispered. "Just fine." '
The Healing in the Vine – p. 140
Disclaimer: The character Henna, is the sole intellectual property of Tamora Pierce. The names of Nanjo and Alasha belong to Tamora Pierce. Quoted material belongs to Tamora Pierce and is referenced as such.
She sat down on the edge of the man's bed and gently swept his hair back from his forehead. Nanjo murmured fretfully but didn't wake and for a moment she just sat and watched him as he settled back down. As she gazed on him, she reassessed her view of him. He wasn't a man – he was only that by law. This was a boy; dressed up in white robes he had fooled himself and the world that he was an adult. A man ready to take on whatever the world could throw at him.
But you weren't ready for this were you? None of us were.
Gently she took Nanjo's wrists, a slight frown of concern settled into the well-worn creases of her face when he didn't stir, but as she took slow, deep breaths, her features smoothed out again and she closed her eyes for a moment. She reached inside her, stretching for that warm, syrupy pool of her magic. It felt so far away, so deep. She really needed to sleep. Later. First, one more.
She coaxed that syrup up from her centre, teased it into her hands and then fed it into Nanjo. After the gradual persuasion she had needed to do to pull it up this far, it left her at a rush. It spilled suddenly into the boy's veins. For a moment it hesitated there, uncertain of its path but she nudged it onwards, encouraging it to seek out the fever. Now a wave, dragging her liquid core in its tide, the magic washed around the fire that consumed Nanjo, dousing its flames. He sighed in his sleep and his muscles relaxed.
With a weary smile, she called her magic back to her. It was reluctant to obey but she was firm. Come. Finally it obeyed, trickling back in. No longer surging through veins, but crawling through capillaries. She opened her eyes slowly. The lids for a moment felt as if they had been coated in the syrup of her power. Now was the time to sleep.
She stood up gradually, her joints stiff and protesting. Automatically polite, she covered her mouth and yawned, while the other arm reached high above in a luxurious stretch. Midway through, her arm still extended, a sudden movement was caught in the corner of her eye. Her head whipped round and for a moment her ears buzzed. In a bed on the other side of the room, Alasha's back was stiffly arched, her mouth agape. The ends of the grey sheet that draped over her, swung loosely on either side of her raised torso.
Moving before she could think, she found herself at the head of the young woman's bed. She grabbed her wrists, her movements accompanied by the desperate gasps as Alasha started to thrash in her bed. No time to coax with this one, she forcefully dragged her magic out and rammed it into the girl. The syrup tumbled through the veins, rushing for the lungs. Reaching its destination, it broke through the invisible restraints that stopped the air from being sucked in and all of a sudden, Alasha stilled. There was sudden peace, then the girl breathed deep. First in, pause, then out. In, pause, out. In. Out.
Agonisingly, she let go of her grip on her patient's wrists. Her fingers, unwilling to release their tight purchase, ached fiercely and she cradled them to herself as she straightened up. The buzzing returned, this time louder and louder until she could hear nothing else then she no longer knew what was up or down. Time stood still and unexpectedly she felt a cold, hard surface against her cheek. Then all she could smell, hear, feel, see was black.
' "Henna was fine when she left to look after the Arsenal set-up," he whispered. "Just fine." '
The Healing in the Vine – p. 140
Disclaimer: The character Henna, is the sole intellectual property of Tamora Pierce. The names of Nanjo and Alasha belong to Tamora Pierce. Quoted material belongs to Tamora Pierce and is referenced as such.