once again many thanks to ashtynquuen for being a wonderful beta
Look on the bright side Berit thought to himself yet again, at least the sun isn't my eyes like last time I died. And I'm not actually dead.
He would have laughed if he could: finding it suddenly funny. No, the sun wasn't in his eyes. He hadn't seen the sun, or the sky, or further than a few inches in … how long? He didn't know. Berit found it hard to keep track of the passage of time here in the close dark. There might have been a time when the darkness was slightly less dense, when he felt warm instead of shudderingly cold, maybe when tendrils of light had tried to creep through the tangle of wood and stone that surrounded him: but it had been chased away. What may have been a rain shower created temporary rivulets that made his clothes barely damp. Or maybe that had been his mind playing tricks on him.
Berit was hungry, very hungry, and so thirsty he could barely stand to think about it. The fierce heat of a raging fire had passed and now the embers radiated little warmth. He tried to use that information to guess how long he had been entombed here. Maybe it had been a day. Maybe two. Depending on how long he had been unconscious – landing had knocked him out and he had woken panicked and trapped.
Berit felt a muscle on his leg cramp again. Pinned as he was he could not shift or stretch to ease it. He forced himself to think of it as a welcome distraction from the hunger. Another spasm and twitch caused him to groan. Pinned good. Broken definitely, maybe even crushed, but Berit couldn't tell without being able to move at all. What did a crushed limb feel like anyway?
No, don't think about that. Stay positive.
Positive. Berit was positive his leg was broken – the sharp stab and tingling numbness from the limb would guarantee it. When the floor had inevitably collapsed and taken him with it the first thing he felt amongst the rush of air around him was the dull snap and Berit unfortunately could imagine what further damage stone raining down upon a body could do.
Raining. If it would only rain again maybe he would be able to turn his head enough to drink a little as at ran past him.
No, don't think about the thorns in your throat.
Berit wouldn't be able to turn his head anyway – some other block had struck his shoulder, trapping his upper body in a very uncomfortable sideways position and causing an ache that spread across his entire back. Fractured shoulder blade he had concluded. It had also caught him on the back of the head, but the throbbing behind his eyes had lessened considerably, so that was another positive.
Not for the first time Berit wished that as Sparhawk had already messed with fate he could have gone a step further and made him unable to be injured at all. Then he would still be stuck, but he wouldn't be stuck under here feeling his breaks and bruises and bleeding and burns in every strung out second, just like anyone else would.
That wasn't even the worst of it though, he would have been able to endure a couple of broken bones. The agony stemmed from his chest and where a supporting beam, sharpened to a spear point, had pierced through his skin and nestled deep inside. Whatever other damage had been done the wood had definitely scraped a lung, blood pooling inside with every unlikely heartbeat, creating a pressure from the inside to match that which pushed down on top of him.
Each time Berit took a struggling breath a little more fluid flowed, a little more pain blossomed deep inside and the next breath became just that little more difficult. He had tried to call out for rescue in the beginning but that had not been possible for a while now. How long could he go on before his chest had completely filled? What would happen when his body was completely deprived of air? Berit desperately didn't want to find out: Khalad and Talen were his hope against that. They were coming. They had to be coming. They would dig him out. They had to be. They were coming. They had to be coming.
Please come soon. Berit felt like a child again, wishing very hard, praying to a God that didn't reply. Never to him anyway. Most Church Knights held a strange mix of faith and pragmatism that came from representing one God while using the magic of another, something that Berit had not thought of too closely. He had not had many religious experiences, at least not in his own faith, and they didn't count. Unless you counted the day he died on the sand. Was that emptiness waiting for everyone after they had lived their allotted days?
Don't think about that.
Berit felt a pull in his body, he knew it now as a sign that the world was trying to pull him back into the only shape it recognised as him, but the trapping wood and stone wouldn't let that happen. There was no room for his bones to shift and reknit so they didn't and they just hurt the same now as days ago when he fell.
Maybe it had been years though and he had just forgotten. The passage of time meant nothing in the still silence, where the only references were darkness and pain. It disassociated the young knight from the real, solid world in such a similar way as that other place had done. That feeling of absence still haunted his dreams and filled his cups with the strongest wine he could find. The drinking didn't chase away the feeling completely but his nights were more peaceful.
Feeling dust in his eyes Berit blinked heavily but succeeded only in causing white lights to flash in front of his vision. The lights flowed into each other, formed and reformed intricate patterns against an ebony backdrop. When they swirled Berit felt dizzy, when they shrank Berit felt he was atop some high tower. Sometimes they formed faces and sometimes creeping monsters. Berit felt fear rise up when they covered his entire vision and a strange loss when they dwindled to nothing. The shapes became a welcome distraction as confusing as they were, and Berit found himself following their antics in a dazed wonder.
It wasn't until the sound and feeling of stone being shifted filtered down to the depths he was laying in that he was drawn out of his musings. The pressure on his body somehow managed to increase, pinching tight. Just when he thought it would burst him it abruptly lifted: as did the piece that rested on his shoulder. He closed his eyes tight against the cold numbness that crept across his back and the sudden light. He could feel the bone in his back shifting slightly, being pulled back in-to place and it was intensely nauseating.
"You fool." That would be Khalad, at last! Berit would forgive the remark, would forgive anything right know if he would just start digging again. The cool air was as refreshing as spring rain, but it underscored the pain that he had been drifting away from.
"I'm going to try and move this beam first." Khalad said after a short period of inspection.
Get on with it Berit wanted to yell. Relief being so close now he could no longer distract himself and he felt consumed by the pain in his chest and shoulder. He wasn't even able to speak though, instead letting out only a low moan.
"Khalad, that's... that's not going to be a good idea." That must be Talen protesting. "Look at it." His voice was low, but it carried. "If we pull it out he'll bleed out within minutes."
Berit could hear Khalad take a few paces to be nearer his brother. No no no no – come on, just move it.
"Talen" Khalad was saying "I know this is going to sound very trite but I want you to listen very carefully. This is going to be all right but you have to trust me and do as I say. We need to move that beam, and then get the rest of the rubble off him and I don't want to delay any more. We will worry about the rest afterwards."
"But..."
"I promise you will understand, but that conversation has to wait – will you help me?"
"Of course."
They moved back and positioned themselves either side of the piece that has speared him, jostling it only slightly as they grabbed hold.
"On three – one, two, three." They lifted and Berit felt blood flow from his chest. For a few frantic moments he feared that nothing would happen but then he shook as the healing overtook him and the wound almost snapped closed. Berit heaved and gasped and coughed, expelling blood from his now intact lungs and the pain thankfully faded even as he drew his first easy breathes.
"Thanks." he managed, voice cracking from his parched throat. "Could you move the rest, my leg is trapped." Berit said, at last opening his eyes to see two concerned faces peering down at him. Khalad's was an interesting mix of concerned, exasperated and relieved while Talen looked completely stunned and staring.
Khalad gave his brother a shove and within minutes all the debris had been cleared and the rapid healing of his crushed limb left Berit shuddering but pain free. He took the hand Khalad proffered him, and allowed himself to be levered to his feet. He was a bit unsteady but largely able to stand on his own.
"What... what sort of spell was that?" Talen asked hesitantly, looking him up and down. Berit realised that he must look a state – clothing burnt and torn, covered in soot and blood, smelling of smoke and sweat – as he stood somewhat precariously in what he saw was a large pile of rubble.
A group of townsfolk were standing in awed silence, no doubt surprised to see him fit enough to stand. How shocked would they be to find out that apart from a deep thirst and nagging hunger he was actually feeling ok? Berit was sure he looked worse enough for wear with all the appropriate bloodstains, but didn't want them to get a chance at a closer inspection or spread the rumours that would surely result.
"Find me a private place to talk and a glass of water." He added croakingly "and I will tell you all about it."