Disclaimer: I do not own The Guardians of Time. The segments of dialogue are unaltered because I dislike deviating from the canon.
Ethan screams my name, and instantly, knowing something is wrong, I transport them into the Citadel, into a healing room. Isabel is in Ethan's arms; her hands are on her chest, her left one stained with cerise blood. Forcing myself to calm down, I take the lifeless body; it is small and light, and within the iridescent shimmer of the crystalline walls, her pale skin looks luminous. The crimson stain effuses, drowning out the white of her nightshirt. I set her down on the nearest surface, a narrow table. My entire body is trembling, and Ethan notices, but if my trepidation strikes him as odd he does not air the opinion. I poise my shaking hands over Isabel's gripping fingers, trying to loosen them as gently as I can. They are already cold, and the feeling brings tears to my eyes, blinding me as I pull the dagger out of her heart. I press my palms against her wound, against her warm blood.
"Who did this?" I ask, trying to keep my voice even. It breaks.
"Marduke, of course! Didn't you see?"
I did not. The room had been darkened and I tell him so. I sense his thoughts, flooding and intertwining and incomprehensible. He speaks, and I understand that he does not realize the gravity of the wound; he is convinced I can heal her.
I turn to him. My tears are falling freely, and he is shocked to see them. I have always been the controlled one, the frigid one. I am used to death. I am accustomed to rejecting bonds of friendship and love. I am good at concealing my emotions, and even better at completely neglecting them. But this girl, this short little thing who has lived less than three percent of my lifetime, she erases all of that.
"Ethan," I say softly. My heart feels like it is being cleaved with every word. "Isabel has a blade in her heart. She is already dead."
"NO!" he screams. "Bring her back!"
His irrational demand has a logical basis; Isabel died out of her body.
"Where is her soul?"
I close my eyes. "Lost."
He is hysterical. "Can I find it and bring it back?"
I look at him, wondering what good it will do to tell him. Her soul is wandering the middle world, a pale hell of fears and memories. She is guided by light, towards a bridge that she must not cross. Running my bloodied hand through my hair, I tell him what I know.
"And when she crosses this bridge, what then?"
"Her mortal body will stop breathing, completing her death," I say flatly. Ethan is beside himself, believing that she can be saved, that he can bring her back. And while Ethan's instinct is not something to be blatantly disregarded, I cannot share his enthusiasm.
"It isn't possible," I explain to him. "Nobody's ever done it before."
Mentally, he attributes my statement to pessimism. "I will do it," he assures me. "Just tell me how. Help me, Arkarian."
My hands fly up in exasperation. His resolution to save Isabel irritates me, his conviction infects my heart, rekindling the desperate hope I had extinguished. Rationally, I know Isabel cannot be saved now, and hoping otherwise is futile and purely masochistic. It will only bring more pain to both of us.
I realize that I am spinning in agitation, and I settle down, feeling idiotic. I am lying to myself. Rationally, I know Isabel can be saved. I am just afraid of further disappointment. My selfishness disgusts me.
"Isabel has an affinity with the light," I say finally, talking fast. "It's part of her gift. Lady Arabella recognized it, that's why she gave her the gift of sight by any kind of light. Isabel will be drawn to the light of this middle world."
"So what are you saying?" He urges. I clarify. I tell him he has hours at the most, but he is unperturbed.
"Ethan," I say wearily, "this land is inhabited by all the middle creatures. Lost souls, souls that don't belong or fit in our mortal world."
"I am not afraid." I know he does not consider my warning, but I let it go; we have little time.
"There's one more thing. Isabel must hear your voice or she won't turn away from the light."
He sees no problem with this – he assures me he will scream if he has to.
"You don't understand," I say through clenched teeth. My voice sounds strained and frenetic to my own ears. "She will only hear the voice of her soul-mate."
"What?" He frowns for a split second, and then the grimace dissolves as he reassuringly thumps my chest. My skin stings, but in this frenzied state I relish the pain. I pick up on his thoughts before he voices them; he thinks he is her soul-mate.
My eyes glide to his very slowly. I try to keep the bitterness out of my voice. "How do you know?"
He illuminates me on Isabel's childhood infatuation. A part of me wants to block out his words, another part wants to die. His assessment fills me with anger. I probe him with questions, already knowing the answers. He does not love her as anything more than a friend, but he won't rest unless he goes.
I transport him into the middle realm.