Disclaimer: All things belong to Mercedes Lackey, Larry Dixon, all of her publishers and every other person who has a tiny bit of copy right privilege.
Summary: One-shot, PoV. Rana's father has always told her how heroic a Healer is, gallant, saving millions and never having a bad thought. Now, surrounded by dead and dying, she realizes just how wrong his words really are.
A/N: Takes place during a war against Karse.
He Lies
A Healer, Rana! You've got nothin' but the Healer gift. A rare an' mighty Gift this one be. You'll see, you'll see.
I look around me. The stench of death fills the air and blood creeps into the ground as the under watered grass eagerly sips any form of liquid. I don't blink, I don't shudder, I don't whimper. I just stare, hardened by the sight of the battlefield from repeated months of journeys and death.
Blood has stained my perfect mellow greens. It has stained my hands; it has stained my very soul. I quickly scan the scattered bodies judging swiftly those who could be saved and those who were dying. Moans and shrieks mix in with the galloping of horses and the shouts of men just waiting to be shot down and join the pool at this blood bathed meadow. I shut the sounds out and focus on finding somebody with a chance at life. The Healers don't have any energy to try and work miracles, so the dying are left until they're dead and we try to save the living.
They be miracle workers, Rana. They don't never drink or have a smoke. Don't think I never heard the lot of 'em swear even.
My eyes are drawn towards a green figure hurrying towards another body- a woman. The woman has a large gash on her forehead and an arrow sticking out of her arm. The Healer crouches down and places a hand on the woman's forehead. Blood slides over her hand, but the Healer doesn't notice. A moment later, the blank look on her face clears and she looks at the still body of the woman mercenary. A swear slips out of her mouth and she rubs her hands clean on her Greens.
We swear Daddy, oh yes, we do.
I'm walking towards a body while the Healer is working and I see that my legs have taken me to a young man. His clothes are brown and matted with blood. His side has been sliced open with a sword.
He gazes at me, a hopeful yearning on his face as his eyes touched on the stained green of my uniform. His lips open and a whisper and I barely hear the words that slip out of his mouth.
"If I die. Tell my mom I'm sorry I ran away." I nod mutely and his face transforms into a blissful smile. Suddenly I feel a lot older than seventeen, a lot older than this boy - this patient who so trustfully believes me, because I lie. I will never meet his mother. She will never know what happened to her son.
I place my hand on his side, ignoring the blood, and rush headlong into his pain. I dig into my energy source and knit the slice muscle together, leaving the skin to heal on it's own. I'm seeing double vision now, half in the body of this boy, and half observing the token of this dreadful battle. I nudge slightly at my tired gift and dig deeper into the boy, searching for any other signs of injury. With a sinking heart, I see the small intestine. The sword has sliced it in half. I withdraw from the body quickly, and hold the boys hand in mine as he breathes quietly, faithfully placing his life in my hands. Oh how these green uniform lie.
Never end of energy, they have a deep reservoir of power in 'em. Truly touched by a God.
My vision blurs slightly when his cold, clammy hand drops out of mine and I struggle to my feet.
So many dying, so many dead. Emotion pulsed at me on all sides but my shield, hardened by the constant "practice" reflects them easily. My power is fading rapidly with my energy and I look back over the bloody field. So many things I can't control. I walk to the edge of the field, towards a figure of majestic white.
The un-partnered Companion Shavria nuzzles my shoulder briefly and I stroke her nose absently. Shavria has been giving us power from her own deep reservoir but I could sense that hers was running out as well. We are all running out power and time.
They'll 'elp everyone. Not a one bad thought between 'em. Saint-like I'd call 'em.
A little stream of energy runs between me and Shavria and I smile at her in gratitude before heading back out to fulfill my duty. We're always fighting to save one more life, always hoping to let one more child go home to his mother.
The call of the demon makes me stop and I stare at the forest in hatred. The bloody Karsite Bastards. They're butchering my people. They're causing all this pain and suffering.
I imagine slowly ripping the limbs off the Karsite Mages body and using my empathy to drive them steadily insane. I shake my head slowly. This war has changed me beyond recognition, but at his point, I don't care. If by killing the Karsites it would stop this carnage, I would help, with all my mind and soul.
I hurry towards the next figure lying in a heap on the ground. I start to kneel down when a sudden jolt of recognition hits me. Behind the blood bathed face it is Janri. I sink next to him. Janri. Pure, harmless Janri, caught in a war that will harden him to a ruthless killer. The poor little Herald who had a heart of gold, and a forgiving soul.
"Janri?" I start to settle into the Healer trance, but his something in his voice stops me.
"Not too bad I think, Rana. Says Hiram anyway." His voice croaks and I glance around for his white Companion. I don't see him on the first look but the second time I see the crumpled white form on the outskirts of the field. I glance back down at Janri. I can read now the insanity on the edge of his eyes. I can see his eyes fading from the mortal world even as I look and then at once the light was out. I don't try to save him with precious energy. It's a mercy that he followed his Companion. Still, I hate him as he goes on to the Havens.
I jump up. I run. I scream. I cry. Racking sobs hit my body like lighting. I haven't cried since the beginning of the war. I weep now, knowing that the hardness I have striven to collect is dissolving in big chunks. I need the hardness. I need the protection. I stop crying.
War hardened eyes look at the sunset. A year ago, I would have cried in delight at the magnificent color of red of the clouds. Now, all I see was blood.
I remember the time when I cried over an animal breaking its leg. Now I laugh with relief and bind it up.
I remember when I woke up singing. Now I wake up screaming.
I remember when I loved a young vibrant Herald Trainee named Janri. Now he's gone.
Healers are all young an' innocent.
I am not innocent.
He lies.
A/N: Read and review. Please!