Immortal War

There were eight levels of severity, each aligned to a precious metal. Silver meant fourth-level wounds: either severely wounded pirates or, as in this case, a lightly wounded Nocturnal.

“Patient severity Osmium,” called Dani, as a fresh bag was lifted out from the ambulance. “Team six, please.”

“That’s me!” said a young woman behind Grace. Stepping forward, she squeezed Grace’s arm reassuringly as she and two nurses walked forward to receive the body.

Grace watched her friend Tooshita go. Osmium was the severity level above Silver. The patient was a Nocturnal with some complications. Grace had no doubt that Tooshita and her team would give the patient whatever healing he or she required.

“Patient severity Gold,” Dani called now. The word immediately caught the attention of the remaining teams. Gold was the highest level of severity. Usually, these cases went straight to Mosh Zu. He was not out here waiting for his case to be assigned, however. Grace knew that Mosh Zu could venture into the light if he chose to. Nonetheless, he always preferred to wait for his patients inside his healing chamber.

“Team one,” Dani said. This was indeed Mosh Zu’s team. Grace felt a flash of envy as two nurses hastened past her. She was under no illusions, despite the rabid talk, that Mosh Zu’s powers outstripped her own. Still, she would like to work on a Gold case—to test herself and see what she could do to help. She watched as Mosh Zu’s team propelled the thick black body bag with its gold zipper past her.

“Patient severity Platinum,” Dani called now. “Team seven.” Grace felt her adrenaline surge to a new level as she stepped forward, flanked by Evrim and Noijon. Platinum was the next level down. She had almost got her wish. She had been assigned Platinum only a couple of times previously.

“Think you can handle this?” Dani asked, as Grace approached the ambulance’s open doors.

“If you think I can,” Grace said.

“I know you can.” Dani’s placid face lifted into a smile. Dani’s smiles were rare, Grace reflected, but they brought out a hidden light and beauty within her. As Dani turned her attention back to the ambulance, Evrim and Noijon were already wheeling the patient toward the entrance of the compound. Grace hurried alongside to join them.

“Patient is male, Nocturnal,” confirmed Noijon as they wheeled the stretcher-trolley down through the Corridor of Lights. “Age indeterminate at this juncture. Main wounds located in the head area…”

Now that they were safely inside, they paused momentarily to unzip the top of the bag. Grace glanced down at the patient’s face, what little there was left of it. It—he—was not a pretty sight. The eyes were still there, though hazy and distant. They spoke of confusion and fear and pain. Around the eyes, the skin was riven with lesions. Grace was accustomed to this kind of sight, though this was even more severe than usual. When Nocturnals got this bad, the fabric of their skin literally disappeared, leaving deep fissures and giving a vertiginous glimpse into the infinity of darkness below. It had been an early adjustment for Grace, during her time on board The Nocturne, to see the deep pits of fire visible in a blood-hungry Vampirate’s eyes—or rather a Nocturnal’s. But this was nothing compared to the sight of the stripping away of the wounded’s being so that you saw through their fragile shell into an oblivion with an insatiable hunger all its own. This Nocturnal patient’s eyes seemed to be hovering in a dark void.

There could be no question—he had come close to the very brink of destruction.

Grace tried her best to push away such negative thoughts as his eyes at last met hers, pleadingly. Although he must be in unbearable pain and very likely disoriented, still he seemed to know that it would be up to Grace to bring him back from the brink.

“Don’t worry,” she said, her voice sounding much calmer than she felt. “We can heal you here. You’re in good hands.”

“The best hands,” agreed Noijon, smiling reassuringly at the patient and nodding at Grace, who rested her hand on the edge of the stretcher to keep pace as she walked.

Suddenly, Grace felt something icy cold grip her. The patient had reached out to clasp her hand. Nocturnals tended to have cold hands at the best of times, but this felt like touching sheet ice. Smiling, though it was an intense effort under the circumstances, Grace refused to let go. The strength of his grip was a good sign. It meant that despite the broken appearance of his outer shell, some vital life force remained deep inside. Whatever horrors he had lately endured, this Nocturnal was not yet ready to give up and let go. Grace gritted her teeth at his ice-cold touch. Every healing procedure was like embarking upon a journey together with the patient. She had the sense that this was going to be a difficult and painful journey for them both.

THE NOCTURNAL PATIENT

As her team lifted the patient from his stretcher onto the healing bed, Grace stepped back out of their way. The violet-clad nursing staff moved swiftly, talking in low voices as they began cleaning the worst of the patient’s wounds and removing any torn vestiges of clothing. Grace watched, unable to keep her eyes from the gaping splits within the fabric of his skin. She knew the extent of the work to come.

Each of the healing chambers had a small anteroom adjoining it. As the nurses continued their work, Grace retreated inside the small chamber and drew the flimsy curtain. The curtain was little more than a symbolic separation from the other room but it was an important part of her preparation to enter another space—one of stillness and silence. There was a pitcher and basin of water beside her, drawn from the spring closest to the peak of the mountain. Grace began the ritualistic washing of her hands, at the same time practicing a series of rhythmic breaths. She was now so well versed in the healer’s art that it did not take her long to prepare.

Grace drew back the curtain and stepped into the main room. Although her eyes were closed, she felt intensely attuned to the needs of the patient. She was aware of the nurses parting before her as she approached the healing bed and reached out her hands.

She began by lightly touching the patient’s feet. Through this contact, she could feel the unevenness of his breaths. They were abrupt and jarring, like waves crashing against jagged rocks. The first stage of the healing was to calm the patient and induce more regular breaths—in effect tranquilizing him so that he could enter the optimum state of relaxation during the treatment.

Grace nodded and was instantly aware of ribbons being bound around each of her hands, fastening them to the patient’s feet. Their work done, the nurses swiftly stepped back.

Cupping the patient’s feet very gently, Grace began to draw out his agitated energy and to replace it with her own sense of calm. He responded well, better than she had expected. There was no doubting the impact of the vicious attack he had been subjected to, but his spirit had remained strong. Grace waited, letting his energy flow and release, flow and release. It did not take long for him to slip into a relaxed slumber.

Satisfied that the patient’s breathing was now more regular, Grace nodded again and the nurses stepped forward to unfasten the ribbons. Grace released her touch as fresh ribbons were placed in each of her hands. She let the ends of these new ribbons brush the patient’s bloodstained fingers.

“Take hold of these ribbons,” she instructed. At her words, the patient reached up and tightly gripped the end of each ribbon.

“That’s good,” Grace said softly. Drawing the ribbons taut, she began to chant, remembering with ease one of the most powerful healing incantations Mosh Zu had taught her.

The ribbons helped her to connect and communicate with the patient. Grace prepared for the onslaught of his pain as it began releasing into her. It was slow at first but, as she continued to chant, she felt it begin to move. The pain came first as shallow waves, but grew steadily more intense. As each wave of his pain entered her body, Grace grounded herself in readiness for the now familiar body shocks. The ribbons drew out a certain amount of the sting, but, even so, this Nocturnal had been deeply wounded. If he was to make a full recovery, she had to release every last toxin from his body. She chanted more quickly, and more loudly, keeping her fingers firmly connected to the ribbons, though the powerful energy flowing between them threatened to tear them apart.

In moments of reflection, this part of the healing process made her think of trying to ride a wild horse—the