Immortal War

ribbons themselves rather like reins. It drew upon not only all her mental capacities but also her physical strength. But she had become a master of these arts, and, as she continued to chant and finely adjust her breathing, she was able to temporarily absorb and swiftly neutralize the high-voltage current of the Nocturnal’s pain.

Eventually, she felt the patient’s toxic energy slow. She waited, continuing to observe its ebb and flow. At last, certain that he was settled, she nodded. The nurses came forward and helped ease the patient’s hands down onto the table, then removed the ribbons, which fell from Grace’s fingers.

Throughout all of this, Grace’s eyes had remained closed. Now she stepped around the other side of the bench and held out her hands to receive a fresh ribbon. This she placed over the patient’s closed eyes. This would give her a window into the Nocturnal’s mind. As she took hold of each end of this shorter ribbon, she waited to make a connection. Sometimes it happened swiftly; at other times, like now, contact proved elusive. Chanting, Grace continued to wait patiently. She was inside the Nocturnal’s head but she could see only darkness. She continued to chant.

Very gradually, the darkness began to lift like a thinning mist and Grace discerned shapes coming into focus. She had a unique window into the diverse inner workings of the patients she treated. It was a rare privilege to inhabit another soul’s space in this way, if only for a short time.

As the vision became clearer, Grace recognized the familiar corridors of Sanctuary opening up to her. This in itself was not a surprise. It was not uncommon for her patients’ visions to commence in this way. On his journey to the healing chamber, the Nocturnal patient had been wheeled first along the Corridor of Lights, next the Corridor of Discards, and then the Corridor of Ribbons. He had been conscious during his journey and, she noted now, had experienced his surroundings in an unusual amount of detail. Holding the ribbon just above his flickering eyelids, she waited for the vision to move on.

As it did, she found that they remained within Sanctuary but were now turning a corner deep inside the main building. Grace stayed anchored in the vision but could not help but be puzzled. The patient had not been wheeled through this part of the compound.

She realized that in the vision the Nocturnal was walking along the corridor—a corridor that she herself had come to know very well. And now she observed that he was slowing his pace and approaching a door. With complete clarity, the door opened and they moved inside a familiar suite of rooms, commonly known by the healers as “the lab.” Moving past a closed doorway, they entered the main room, which was dominated by a large bench, its counter smooth and uneven with age and use. Behind the central counter were floor-to-ceiling shelves groaning with jars of herbs, roots, seeds, and other items used to create a healer’s many potions and medicaments. There was no longer any doubt in Grace’s mind. For the patient to picture this scene so well, he must have been here before. Probably more than once.

The angle of the vision shifted, and the door once more came into view as someone else stepped inside the chamber. Grace continued to breathe rhythmically and chant calmly as she watched her younger self enter the room. Now, she knew for certain the patient’s identity.

She let go of the ribbon and, as the nurse stepped forward to remove it, Grace opened her eyes. She stared at the upside-down head before her. She was gratified to note that as a result of her healing, his face was now patched together again. Where there had been fissures, now there was flesh, and the fibers of his skin were already beginning to knit themselves back together. Despite the wounds, despite the fact that his face was the wrong way up, she knew she had seen this face many times before.

“Olivier,” she said softly. “Welcome back to Sanctuary.”

The Nocturnal’s eyes were closed, and he appeared to be in a deep state of relaxation and recovery. Nevertheless, as Grace looked down upon him, she was convinced she saw his cracked lips form the crescent of a smile.

She nodded silently to Noijon and reached out her hand once more. Understanding that Grace wanted the ribbon back, he passed it to her. She laid it across Olivier’s eyes again and took hold of the two ends. Instantly, she was back in the lab, watching her younger self exit the room. For a moment afterward, everything was still. Then Olivier crouched down under the main counter. His hand reached out as if tracing the lines and knots on the wooden panel below. Then his fingers came to a rest and he pressed the panel gently. A section of wood moved and a small opening appeared under the bench. Olivier reached in his hand and withdrew a compact, rectangular object. As it came into the light, Grace saw that it was a book, bound in dark blue cloth. At first it seemed to her that the cloth binding was unadorned, but then gold lettering began to appear and she was able to read the book’s title: The Way of the Dhampir. Grace frowned. Why would Olivier have such a book? And why, when he had lately been at the very brink of oblivion, was this little book right there at the forefront of his mind?

DEPUTIES

“Enter!” called Cheng Li, pouring a second bowl of tea as Jasmine shut tight the door behind her and walked over to sit opposite the captain.

“It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?” said Cheng Li, glancing out the porthole.

Jasmine nodded perfunctorily, but Cheng Li knew her deputy well enough to realize that her mind was elsewhere.

“I still can’t believe the news about Jack Fallico,” Jasmine said.

Cheng Li nodded grimly. “When he failed to turn up at the Council of War, I think we knew to expect the worst.”

“I gather Lola led the attack,” Jasmine said. “The casualties were terrible. The Nocturnal aide was in an especially bad way when they found him.”

“Well,” Cheng Li said, glancing at her clock, “he should have arrived at Sanctuary by now. If anyone can bring him back, it’s Mosh Zu and his team.”

After this discussion, it was a relief for them both to turn their attention to the quotidian business of procedures and personnel. Cheng Li had no doubt that her exceedingly capable deputy had everything completely under control. Some had thought it a bold move to appoint such a young deputy as Jasmine. How wrong they had been proved. Like Cheng Li herself, Jasmine had been a straight-A student at Pirate Academy, but, since taking to the oceans for real, she had seamlessly integrated the lessons she’d learned during her ten years at the academy with a fresh vision, exceptional people skills, and a mind sharper than any of the weaponry in The Tiger’s onboard armory.

“We’re running low on swords again,” Jasmine informed the captain now. “I’ve made up a fresh order for Master Yin.” She passed the list over to Cheng Li to approve.

“Are we covered if we proceed with the proposed attack on The Diablo?” Cheng Li inquired.

“Yes,” said Jasmine. “But we shouldn’t lose time getting this order under way. Not the way things are gathering pace now.”

Cheng Li scanned Jasmine’s immaculate handwriting and precise instructions, then glanced up again. “This all looks in excellent order to me. Let’s send Bo Yin to collect the new weaponry. Master Yin will be glad of the chance to see his pirate daughter and hear all she has achieved in such a short time span.”

Jasmine smiled and nodded. “I was going to suggest the very same thing. It will do Bo good to see her home and father again.”

Her report delivered, Jasmine began to collect her various papers. She never presumed to impose on her commander’s precious time. But, on this occasion, the captain was in no rush.

“And how are you, Jasmine?” Cheng Li inquired now, in a deceptively casual tone.

“Fine,” Jasmine replied automatically. As the two young women’s eyes met, the lie was exposed.

“You are fulfilling your role brilliantly,” Cheng Li said. “I want you to know how impressed I am. The way you