To Light A Candle

“Put this on her injuries, but don’t try to turn her. Just slop it on. It’s sovereign for Taint, and will make it easier to heal her.”

Kellen pulled off his gauntlets and scooped up large handfuls of the stuff. It was a bright violet color, and even in the cold it was as thin and drippy as honey. He wiped it on as gently as he could—Calmeren seemed to sigh with relief as soon as it touched her—emptying the jar, and then scrubbed his hands clean in the snow.

By then, Idalia was ready to begin. “Who will share the price of this healing?” she asked.

“We will—all of us.” A black unicorn mare, who seemed to be the little group’s leader, stepped forward and spoke.

Shalkan shook his head mutely, stepping back from Calmeren. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, so low that only Kellen could hear.

“Me, too. I’ll share,” Kellen said. If Shalkan couldn’t help Calmeren—he didn’t understand but this was no time to ask questions—he’d take his friend’s place.

“That should be more than enough to make this easy,” Idalia said. She handed Kellen a knife, and at her direction, he gathered strands of hair from each of the waiting unicorns’ manes, then presented the bundle to Idalia. She reached out and cut a few blood-soaked hairs from Calmeren’s mane, added a few strands of her own hair, and pricked her finger to add her own blood to the mix, then tossed the little knot of hair onto the brazier.

Once again, Kellen felt the sheltering weight of Presence reach out to enfold them all—him, Idalia, Calmeren, all the other unicorns except Shalkan. But this time, there was a difference. Calmeren’s body sizzled and smoked when the protective dome came down over it, as if there were something about her that could not survive within it. A dark oily smoke seemed to rise out of her coat, and especially out of her wounds. In a few moments, it was gone. Kellen felt light-headed, as if there had been a cost to do that much. But Calmeren’s wounds still remained, stark and ugly against her matted fur.

“Now I can begin,” Idalia said. She reached her hands out and held them over the unicorn, and green fire spilled out of them like water, striking the unicorn’s coat and making it glow as if Calmeren were filled with the sun.

In a few moments—Kellen was always surprised at how quickly something so miraculous could run its course—Calmeren’s wounds were healed. It was as if they simply melted away, sinking back beneath the surface of her coat as the flesh knitted together, though the salve and the streaks and clots of blood remained, matting the white fur.

Kellen didn’t hear the Mageprice that the Powers asked of Idalia, of course—that was between her and her magic, though she might tell him if she chose. Whatever it was, he hoped it was something small and easy to pay; she was doing so much for Sentarshadeen these days that it hardly seemed fair that much more should be asked of her.

Kellen felt the protective shield disperse and the Presence depart once the healing Spell had run its course. Idalia was already dousing the brazier, scattering the coals in the snow, and packing her things away in her bag, then moving back, because her nearness would be uncomfortable for Calmeren and the rest of the herd.

“Is she going to be all right?” Vestakia asked, coming up behind Kellen. Her cloak was covered in snow where she’d fallen to the ground, but the pain in her voice was gone.

“Yes… now,” Kellen said. “Idalia healed her.”

The unicorn mare was already struggling toward consciousness. She opened her eyes—they were as green as Shalkan’s—and gazed wildly around, breathing a shaky snort of relief at the sight of the unicorns.

“Home!” she gasped. She rolled onto her stomach, trying to get her legs under her to stand, but was obviously still very weak. Kellen and Vestakia hurried over to her, lifting and steadying her. She leaned heavily against Kellen, and he could feel that she was nothing more than skin and bones.

“Thank you,” Calmeren said huskily. “I must see Andoreniel and Ashaniel at once! Coldwarg—others I have no name for—they attacked us within sight of the Crowned Horns. They carried off the children. All the rest are dead.” Her head drooped in despair.

Ciradhel? Naeret? Dainelel? Emessade? Kayir? He’d trained with all of them in the House of Sword and Shield. Naeret had taught him xaqiue. Ciradhel had helped to teach him to ride. He’d practiced with Dainelel a hundred times. They’d all gone with the convoy.

And Calmeren said they were all dead, killed by Shadow Mountain.

“I fought and fought—but they took the children and killed the rest. All the rest—all gone—all gone.” Her head hung down to her knees, and her sides heaved. Unicorns couldn’t weep, or at least, if they could, Kellen had never seen it happen, but the sorrow and despair in her voice was enough to bring tears to his eyes. “There was nothing I could do.”

“You brought us warning,” Shalkan said quietly. “That is a very great deal.”