Keeping one hand on Hamish’s neck, Darshan tugged his magic free. The second he did, the pulse under his fingers faltered.
Unthinking, he dove back in. This wasn’t like any other healing he had done. There was no clear cause, nothing he could focus on. It dragged at him, sapped him of all thought beyond maintaining the flow of his magic.
It wasn’t enough. Hamish needed more than Darshan had to give. Everything that made up his lover cried out for his strength. He was the air. He was power. Blood…
Life.
The wisp of a thought that could think beyond just existing fastened onto the previous night’s conversation. The legends. There were theories, so many studies that had never born fruit, but all agreed that the power needed would be immense.
Had he the strength left to try?
Must. Letting go consigned Hamish to death, whereas continuing like this meant they would both die. Neither option was at all palatable.
But where would he get the extra life-force?
The bear? His head wobbled as he peered at the charred remains. No. Not even a spark. He’d been thorough there.
The horses? They’d need at least one once he was done. If…
With bleary eyes, he searched the clearing. Both mounts had broken their tethers. It was unlikely he could’ve reached them anyway.
Darshan licked his cracked lips. Maybe he was thinking about this all wrong. The legends came from a place where lifeless dunes stretched for miles. He was in the middle of a forest. They were surrounded by life. The ground pulsed with it.
A conduit. That was what he needed to be, not the source. Feed the life in the very ground through him and into Hamish.
He hadn’t done such a thing before, not latching onto anything’s life-force with the intention of taking. The idea of delving into plant life was entirely absent from any of his academic studies. Seeing anything more in the forest than wood and leaves was supposed to be at the core of dwarven souls.
He cringed from the thought, even as he dug his fingers into the soil. Udynea had her own legends of people skirting death—monsters who had worn the skin of humans as a thin disguise—and this, as much as it pained him to think it, came very close to what they’d done. Just this once. Just for him. You can’t let him die here.
He wound a root of grass around his finger, careful not to let it snap under his touch. If plants absorbed what they needed through these strands, then he should be able to siphon what Hamish required back the other way. If he could just find the right focus to—
The fresh source of energy was like a slap in the face. The heartbeat of a new world thundered through his chest. The scream of a thousand—a million—voices roared in his ears.
Pain ripped through his veins and out his throat. The source fought him, necessitating that he actively tear the life from the surrounding foliage. It drew bile up his throat between gasps. Every inch of his body—from the root of his hair to the tips of his toes—felt afire.
But it was working.
Through the flashes of white and red blinding him, he spied the grass shrivelling as if it baked under a summer sun. The leaves on a nearby bush withered and fell, leaving only a stark, dusty twig. Like a plague, the circle of death spread, pulsing with his efforts.
It grew harder the further he needed to seek out life. Each heartbeat rippled through the dead foliage, the constant exchange from one blade of grass to the next exhausting him all the more. The screams in his head grew weaker with every ripple.
If only he could move… But no, he barely had the strength to remain upright. Anything more would be impossible without rest and he couldn’t dare to stop until Hamish was beyond the crisis point.
The sluggish, ever-widening growth of the circle sputtered to a halt. Had he reached the limit of his range so soon? He clawed at the ground, using what minute strength he had in reserve to drag his arm as far from Hamish as he could physically manage. No matter how hard he stretched his magic, he could go no further.
Praying he had done enough, Darshan withdrew his touch from both the ground and Hamish. His body shuddered to his core.
He collapsed onto his side, barely able to keep his eyes open. His gaze fastened onto Hamish, seeing only the rise and fall of his lover’s chest. He lives. Or breathed, at least. Only time would tell if he awoke. “Wake up,” he commanded, the words barely a whisper on his lips. “Just open your eyes, mea lux. Please?”
Closer… Another shudder passed through him. I have to get up. Not possible. Much like the grass, his limbs buckled at the slightest pressure. He needed rest, to grant his body the time to repair what damage might’ve been done.
His eyes slid closed, very much against his will. The world was far too cold. Please… Even as he tried to lift just one eyelid, the absolute fog of exhaustion slipped over his brain, throwing him into dreamless sleep.
~~~
Hamish’s limbs jerked involuntarily. Pain wracked his senses like lightning and fire rushing through his veins. Was this what being torn apart was like? Must be. He had thought for sure that bleeding out would’ve taken him first.
The searing pain burrowed deeper, gnawing on his bones. In the lull between bites, another thought shook free. Should he be able to think at all if he were dying? It had been sinking blackness and fog only moments ago, he was certain.
And yet, anguished screaming continued to fill his ears. His lungs hadn’t the power to produce such a sound.
All at once, the pain vanished, leaving silence in its wake.
Hamish drifted in the dark. He was faintly aware of a presence to his right, but hadn’t the strength
