Death of a Darklord

'You are hurt,' he said.

'It is nothing.'

He raised her skirt to look, and she let him. It was a deep gash that bled freely. 'You can heal this first. Otherwise, it might damage your concentration.'

Somehow, Elaine didn't think so. She shook her head. 'No, I'll use the pain. It will help me.'

He looked at her strangely, but nodded. 'As you like. Every healer is different. If you start at her wound, you may begin by healing that, then the other.'

'How do you heal death?' Elaine asked.

'You heal the injuries that killed her, and the body will function again. It will hold life again.' He shrugged. 'I know of no better way to explain. Either you will understand or you will not.'

Elaine knew what the 'will not' meant to them: it meant Averil dead forever; it meant Blaine dead forever, even if they could find his body. She would do it. She had to do it. She wanted to do it.

'I will leave you to your healing, Elaine,' Jonathan said. He moved to the door.

She wanted to call him back but didn't. They had agreed to disagree on this subject. They could be a family as long as Jonathan didn't have to watch her work magic. It seemed a small price.

'Talk to Gersalius. We may have found something,' she said.

He nodded, not quite looking at her. Fredric let him out the door, and he was gone.

Elaine tore the bandages from Averil's neck. The flesh was red with infection, greenish round the edges of the bite. Gangrene had already set in. That wasn't right. A wound didn't go bad that quickly. Was it the poison?

She traced the ragged edges of the wound. The skin was hot to the touch. Elaine touched Averil's face. It was cool. Why was the wound hot? It was as if the wound were still alive, and only the body dead.

Elaine pressed her hands back over the wound. It didn't matter. All that mattered was the feel of ruined flesh, the rough hole in her skin. She sank her fingers to the wound, digging in the flesh as she had in the grave dirt. This was a dead body, no one to hurt, no flinching. Elaine could do what she wanted with the body. It would not complain. She could not think of it as a person. It was a neck wound; it was blood loss; it was dead.

She smoothed the deeper injuries, as she had before. The clay of ruptured arterioles, a ragged vein, healed perfectly. Elaine smoothed her fingers over the throat wound until the skin was whole. But still the body was dead. She sat back on her heels, staring, hands still lightly touching.

'I've healed the wound.' She let her hands fall back into her lap. 'I don't know what else to do.'

Silvanus touched her shoulder. 'She is empty, you must fill her up again. Fill her up with life again.'

'How?'

Silvanus gave a ragged sigh. 'I cannot explain this to you, Elaine. Many healers never learn to raise the dead. I do not think it is a matter of ability. I think it is a failing to understand, to visualize death, as just another injury.'

'The body is perfect. I cannot heal anything more than I have already. The body is whole.'

His fingers dug into her flesh. 'Elaine, please. You must see this for yourself. I cannot do this for you.' There was something beyond panic in his eyes.

She tasted her pulse in her throat. If she could not save Averil, Blaine was truly dead. But try as she might, she could feel nothing but death. The body was dead, there was nothing to heal.

'Please,' Silvanus said.

Elaine tried. She put her hands on the body and searched. She smoothed a scar she found on a kidney, a bit of scar tissue left from some illness. Invisible fingers kneaded and fixed until Averil was better than new-perfect. Still, it was a body. Elaine could not fix what was simply not there. The spark, the soul, whatever word you chose, that which made Averil alive-made her more than just flesh, bone, and nerves-was missing. And Elaine did not know how to put it back.

She realized she was enjoying exploring the body, caressing the internal organs. Enjoying it the way a sculptor did, but no longer as a healer. Elaine was playing with the body, nothing more.

She knelt back; her knee stabbed at her. The pain was raw and fresh. Without looking, Elaine knew it was bleeding again. She explored the pain, not to heal, but to gather. She took the tiny rawness of every scrape on her hands; the greater pain of torn fingernails; the throbbing injury of her knee.

The last thing she gathered was her grief. She found the raw, screaming pain in her heart, her head, her body. She wrapped her loneliness in her hands and mixed it well with the pain. She sent it all into the dead body. She could not give it life. She did not know how, but she could give it pain, rage, sorrow.

The body bucked under her hands, flopping wildly. Elaine fell back to the floor. The body sat up, golden eyes wide and staring.

Silvanus stood, holding his arms out to her. 'Averil, Averil.' He enfolded her against his chest, hugging her. She was stiff and unresponsive in his arms.

He drew back from her. 'Averil, can you speak?'

She opened her mouth wide, wider. The sound that came out was a shriek, wordless, mindless-pain given voice. One scream followed another as fast as she could draw breath.

Silvanus shook her, but she did not see him, did not hear him. 'Averil, Averil!' He slapped her. The screams continued. He slapped her hard enough to rock her back against the bed. She screamed lying on the bed, hands curled into fists, body tightened as if with pain.

'What have you done?' Silvanus asked. 'What is this?'

'You said to fill her up. I did.'

'With what!'

'Pain.'

Silvanus dropped to his knees by the bed and the screaming thing that wasn't quite his daughter. 'Kill it.'

Randwulf said, 'What did you say?'

Silvanus screamed, 'Kill it, kill it! Oh, gods, kill it!'

Randwulf stood, hands at his side. He had to scream to be heard over wordless shrieks. 'No.'

Fredric turned from the door, sword point collapsing to the floor. 'Silvanus, no.'

'Look at it. This is not Averil. This is not human. Kill it, please.'

Fredric stood over the bed. Elaine stared from one to the other. She hadn't meant to do anything wrong. She hadn't known what else to do. 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry.'

The men ignored her. For them the room held only their family. Elaine was not a part of that.

'Fredric,' Silvanus reached up and clutched the big warrior's hand. He stood, using Fredric's arm to steady himself. 'We will do it together,' Silvanus said. His grip on the warrior's wrist tightened. Elaine could see the fingers whiten.

Fredric raised the sword up, with Silvanus's hand on one arm, Randwulf's lighter touch on the other. Tears ran down the young man's face. There were no tears for Silvanus or Fredric.

Elaine crawled backward out of the way. She huddled on the floor, helpless. The only help she could give had been worse than no help at all.

The sword flashed downward, straight through the heart, pinning the fragile body to the bed. The body lay still, blood pumping out of the wound in a thick fountain. It was heart blood, black and rich. If Elaine could have given the body true life, Averil would have lived.

The three men stood over the corpse. Their hands had fallen from the sword hilt. The sword stood upward like an exclamation point, a silver stake through her heart.

Silvanus was the first to turn away. He spoke to the shocked crowd that stood in the doorway. 'You may have the body in a few moments. First we need some privacy.'

The sheriff himself closed the door without a word.

Silvanus looked down at Elaine. She was huddled on the floor, unsure what to do or where to go. Running away had seemed like cowardice. Staring up into his eyes, she wished she had run.

'Now, Elaine Claim, we will see to your other healing. Let us find out what other differences there are between your healing and mine.'

'What do you mean?' she asked.

'Fredric, show me your arms where Elaine healed you.'