Disclaimer - Valdemar, Heralds and Companions are the works of Mercedes Lackey, and remain her sole and personal property. Firechild Legacy is a derivative fanfiction work not intended for publication or profit.

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Chapter 11 - Soul Bound

Kevren was no longer aware of the shield, or the worried, strained faces beyond it, or the howling wind that made speech through the shield impossible. All his mind and gift were focused solely on the limp, unconscious form before him, the face shadowed with exhaustion and bruised from the disease that was swiftly taking him, despite all the healer could do. Nothing he had tried had done more than slow it down, and now he could feel it slowly eating into his own defenses. Hours, a day or two at best, and it would kill them both. Dimly, he recalled Kahlen's words - fire could kill it, she'd said. Too late, he understood - why she'd killed her first companion, then destroyed his body that day they'd both fallen out of the sky and into Valdemar. Panic rose in the healer as he realized he had no means of raising fire, of burning everything within this shield before someone decided to open it. The Senior Healer, Devan, might well do it, too, he realized despairingly, rather than let a patient or one of his prized healers die.
He glanced mutely at the Companion, wondering if he could make him understand, if anyone would ever understand, if he did the unspeakable. Slowly, the creature nodded its head. Perhaps Elspeth and the others could find a way to save the Companion, once he and the stranger were dead, without releasing this disease into Haven. The healer's hands shook as he reached for the stranger's knife.

:Healer Kevren - don't! Please, listen to me: Kevren, hesitated, then looked uncertainly at Elspeth, but she had not sent that thought. No, it was the young trainee, Josseran, his Companion standing as close as she could to shield the boy from the pounding rain. :You have time yet - not much, but some. The blood infusion - remember the blood infusion Kahlen used on me, the first day she came here? Sir, you have to let us try. Please!:

Kevren looked back at his patient in growing despair. Too late, for this one. He could feel the man's heart faltering, death creeping into his bones despite all he could do. :Not the stranger, although we could try.: The boy mindsent, his fierce emotions driving the thought into Kevren's mind. :For yourself. We can't spare you. Kahlen's blood would be best, but you could use mine. . .: Josseran's eyes went desperately to the healer's belt, but saw that Kevren had no field kit. He turned pleadingly to Elspeth, who nodded swiftly, then took off at a dead run for the Healer's Collegium.

No fear in him, Kevren thought, with distant pride in the boy. His own energies were nearly exhausted, but Josseran was right. He had to study this thing - or at least live long enough that Devan and the others had a chance to study it, before it killed him. His eyes locked on Elspeth's. He pointed to her, then touched his own head and pointed to the dying man and his own heart. She nodded in grim understanding. Kevren was not gifted with mind-speech, but Elspeth could read his thoughts, take as much knowledge as she could from his observations, and pass that on to Devan. For as long as he lasted.

Devan had barely settled his two patients into the large isolation room normally used for burn patients when Josseran burst in and made straight for Kahlen. Two healers tried to grab the boy, but he ducked past them, and dove under the Senior Healer's outstretched arm to reach the girl's bedside. Kahlen was conscious, but her eyes were glazed, her face strained and pale.

"Kahlen, the blood infusion you used on me - can we try it for Kevren - and for the other one?"

She shook her head, tears filling the amethyst eyes. "Drisae. . . he's gone." Her voice was ragged, broken. "I can't. . . feel him." She rallied a bit then, and pushed herself up against the headboard, one hand clutching her side. "But Kevren. . . he's still -?"

"What about Kevren?" Devan said sharply, leaning closer, one arm on Joss' shoulder.

"He's caught it, Master Devan." Joss said tersely. "He went through the shield with Kahlen - He was trying to save the stranger, but -"

"Caught what - and what stranger?" The Senior Healer didn't know, the boy realized abruptly. Joss had left his duties at the reception to follow Kahlen out of the palace, had felt the gut-wrenching surge of power that heralded an incoming gate, had stood by helplessly when Kahlen and the young healer had somehow breached the stranger's mage-barrier, trying to save the man inside. But Devan - as senior healer, he'd remained inside the palace at the reception, the boy realized. Well, there was a way to deal with that, too. Josseran reached up, touched the Healer's forehead, and simply dumped the information into his mind. Devan reeled in shock, then steadied himself, absorbing the harsh images. Kevren, kneeling inside a mage shield, his hands streaked with blood as he fought to save the dark-haired man lying bleeding and unconscious before him. Firesong and Kahlen, glowing with wild, pulsing energies, then abruptly vanishing is a surge of eye-searing light.

"You'll have to test his blood, mix it with mine." The girl muttered, looking distractedly around the large treatment room. "If it doesn't clot. . . if you have the means. . . a hollow needle? A small bladder?" She clutched Devan's arm. "You have to try!" That, fiercely.

The healer only nodded wordlessly, then moved swiftly to the supply cabinets and gathered the materials needed. Josseran held Kahlen's hand while the healer drew a small quantity of her blood, then pushed her gently down into the bed. "I remember." The boy said firmly. "I'll go with him." Her eyes followed the healer as Devan hurried from the room, Josseran in his wake. The other healers moved quietly around the room, bringing warm water and soap, tending her and the Tayledras adept. She glanced uncertainly at the man, who stirred restlessly, but did not waken.

She wondered vaguely why the envoy had worn a mask. Some strange, Tayledras custom? His face was smooth and handsome, disturbingly so. His hair. . . hadn't it been white? Now it was a deep, shimmering black. The healers were carefully removing the shredded, scorched remains of his clothing, and the skin beneath was flawless. She closed her eyes, tears of relief leaking silently down her face. She'd saved his body - rebuilt it rather - but what had that trauma done to his mind? She reached out, meaning only to touch the borders of his mind, - hoping desperately that it was still there, and intact. Instead, exhaustion and blood loss pulled her down into the dark.

She was kneeling, shields thrown desperately around the cracked and ravaged heartstone of k'Sheyna Vale. Lightning flashed from it, beating incessantly against her shields, driven by Falconsbane's thwarted fury. Tears ran down Firesong's - no, her face. Starblade would die, and likely the Healer Kethra - but if the heartstone escaped her shield barriers the energy would backlash throughout the Vale, killing everyone. She felt, rather than saw, the intervention of the bird-spirits, diving out of the sky to hover and shield Starblade and Kethra against the mage fires that pounded at them - then reached hungrily for the heartstone. She would not yield it - simply held firm, letting it blaze against her shields.

The striking power withdrew as suddenly as it had come. She pushed herself to her feet, trembling with fatigue, then stared up at the stricken ekele. Burnt and - frosted? Darkwind had glared at her when she first entered the ekele, his arms protectively around his father, but at least he'd listened as she - no, Firesong - explained why she'd chosen to shield the stone instead of the adept. But the reluctant acceptance in Darkwind's eyes did little to assuage the guilt in her own heart. Guilt that only deepened when she'd found Tre'valen's body, met the pitying eyes of the Kalen'e'dral who'd come to take his body home. The Shin'a'in shaman had acted decisively in the only way he could, shielding both Starblade and Kethra - and deflecting much of the energy aimed toward the damaged heartstone. Her fault - she should have anticipated Falconsbane's attack, she should have known. . .

Kahlen woke to the sound of a man's voice speaking softly in a strange dialect - no, she knew that language, though she'd never heard it before. Tayledras. And she knew that voice - Silverfox, speaking softly, repeatedly, the same words. The kestra'chern's hands, set lightly on either side of Firesong's face, were shaking with fatigue. Darkwind stood behind him, his hands on the man's shoulders, his eyes bruised with exhaustion as he fed power into the meld. One of the young healers that had tended them was sitting against the wall, sobbing hopelessly, while the other huddled protectively next to him, trying to shield out the leakage.

:I am here, ashke. Don't leave. Don't leave us. These are not your thoughts, not your deeds. You did not kill those children. You did not attack Darkwind. Don't leave. We need you. I love you. Don't leave. . .:

Kahlen listened in shocked dismay, then curled into a tight ball of misery. He knew, and the memories horrified him - for all the bright courage she'd sensed in the man, he'd recoiled in horror from what she'd done. or was it something else? Hesitantly, she reached out again. He was trapped, she realized suddenly. Trapped in her own memories, her nightmares, reliving them as if they were real - unable to tell memory from the present. "No." She whispered softly. Darkwind heard her, glanced briefly at her, then turned back to the others.

"Kahlen." She jumped as a hand touched her shoulder. Devan looked down at her, his eyes bloodshot with fatigue. He nodded toward the adept. "Can you help? It's been hours. . . we're going to lose him. Lose both of them. We've tried drugs, mind-healing - nothing seems to work."

"Healer Kevren?" She murmured. "Is he. . ."

The healer managed a faint smile. "He seems to be holding his own. Josseran's with him, and my second. We have them isolated for now. I'm hoping young Joss' immunity is still holding. Elspeth burned out the area within the mage shield, once we got everyone out. We've infused everyone who's been exposed, and are isolating them both for three days. All gods willing, he'll recover. But Firesong -" He bent down and grasped her shoulders. "I'm sorry to ask this of you, child, but if there's anything - anything you can suggest to bring him out of this nightmare?"

She closed her eyes for a long moment, then nodded wearily. "Help me over to them." Devan looked at her uncertainly, then tucked the blanket around her legs and lifted her bodily out of the bed. Good thing, she thought dizzily, else I'd fall down. One of the healers scrambled up and brought a chair to place next to the adept's bed. Silverfox never glanced up from his charge, but Darkwind shook his head. "You can't, Devan - it's too risky. Firesong would never forgive us if she -"

"Please, M'hada." She asked, flinching away from the worry in his eyes. "This is my doing. I have enough deaths to my account. Let me try." Darkwind hesitated. She did not wait, for fear her resolution would break - only raised her hand and placed it gently on the adept's chest. Her eyes closed, her head dropped onto the blankets. Silverfox raised his head, stared at her in astonishment, then placed a shaking hand over her own and fed what energy he could into the girl's mindmeld.

:Stop. Listen to me.: Firesong/Kahlen turned exhausted eyes, almost empty of hope, toward her. :These are not your memories. They are mine, and you had no part in them. You must give them over. Just so, Adept.: Slowly, she began to unravel the tangle of memories that bound them. It was hard work, and more than once she faltered. :I'm sorry. I never meant to. . . I couldn't save them.: They were kneeling inside her worst memory of her time with the I'nadazi. Mordan's scorched, lifeless body lay between them. Firesong shivered convulsively, then reached down and closed the boy's sightless eyes. Odd, that in this dream state his hands and face were still badly scarred.

:We killed Chansin.: He said sorrowfully, his voice choked with grief.

:Yes.: She acknowledged. :I didn't mean to, but he - he couldn't bear to live if it meant - he chose the only way out that was open to him.:

:We could have chosen to die instead.: He accused, glaring at her.

:To what purpose?: She countered wearily. :So that Chansin could go on, only to force Joran or Mordan to destroy him? Mordan, who called him 'little brother' and told us stories at bedtime?: She fisted her hands, glaring defiantly at him in her turn. :So I lived, in hopes of ending the trials. Twice we broke the barriers, Jordan and I - and Mordan, in his turn. And I took what justice I could for them. The I'nadazi stopped the trials, deeming them too costly, after I killed the Adept D'henna. . .: Her eyes blurred with unshed tears. :But perhaps you are right, Master Firesong. Perhaps I should have died with them. Perhaps killing is all we were truly good for. It was what the I'nadazi bred us for, after all. . .: Was it his grief, or her own that drove the despair so deep she was drowning in it? So much easier, to simply let go.

:I'm sorry.: Firesong spoke softly, gripping her hands tightly in his own. Mordan had vanished with the remnants of that last, terrible memory, and the adept's eyes were calmer now, less wild. :I didn't - I have never had to kill - not like that - and never a child! I was wrong to judge you, but - who were these people, these I'nadazi?: He drew a cautious breath, still shaky with unshed tears. :How could they have dared to -:

:It doesn't matter now.: She said faintly. :I am sorry for putting that burden on you. You were caught within the Fires, and I had never pulled someone back into the living world before. You may yet suffer through more of my - memories - and I yours.: She grimaced, then leaned forward and touched his face with her hands. :But I think - I think you will not lose yourself again.: Her fingers caught in his silvered hair, then slipped down to rest over his heart, probing cautiously. Her eyes flew open in shock - I'nada meloran. She whispered. Oh, gods, what had she done? Not his patterns - or not entirely. She'd rebuilt flesh and bone - stabilized it - but more than memories had leaked into the melding. The new pattern - whole and intricate, but changed, subtly and irrevocably.

Her eyes flew to his face, his body. Scarred, pitted, with astonishing silver eyes, hands and arms marked with the deep, mottled scars of old burns. Superimposed she saw his face as she'd restored it - smooth, flawless, jet black hair that fell to his waist, eyes of deepest amethyst, smooth skin gleaming like pale gold. The face blurred. what else did I do to him? I'nadazi eyes - had she tainted him with her own blood curse as well? How deep were the changes? And would he be able to control them? Slowly, she withdrew from his mind, and lifted her head to stare into weary amethyst eyes, sane now. The man sitting beside him, his arms protectively on the adept's shoulders, stared at her with profound and heartfelt gratitude. Like the adept, his hair was jet black, but the eyes were a deep cerulean blue, his skin a deeper bronze. Lifemates, she realized dully. Would that gratitude survive her next words?

"Master Firesong." She choked out. "Have you ever shape changed?"