Page 2 of Heart’s Rescue

“I’d hate to catch all the monsters before you show up,” he’d said, with a wink.

I’d waved him off with some sort of vague mumbled assertion that I’d be there when I’d be there and not to have too much fun without me. And off he’d gone, out the door and through the village and into the woods, same as every other morning. And I’d thrown another log on the fire, poured myself a second cup of tea, and tried not to think too hard about anything in particular. Same as every other morning.

Because the truth was that I’d always hated sentry duty. Phaedron loved it, of course. The cloak, the sword, the way the women in town devoured him with their eyes as he strode by, swinging his lantern and giving his stupid little salute. Well, he loved that part of it, I guess. The actual work - walking through the dead trees, feeling your feet go numb and desperately hoping a shepherd or a trekker or some other crazed adventure-seeker will come by just so you'll have someone to talk to - that part I don’t think anyone actually liked.

That’s the part we hadn’t done much of before that damned woman got through the barrier. Phaedron had been a sentry forever, of course, but his sentry duty had mostly involved walking through town, having three hour long lunches at the dumpy little unfamed World’s End Pub at the center of the equally unfamed World’s End town, and flirting with the high-born ladies and gentlemen who came through the Outer Ring on their stupid trekker adventures. Until she showed up and everything changed, and then I got roped into the gig too. It was still better than the alternative, I suppose.

Still, just because I did the job didn’t mean I liked it. So I dragged myself into the frozen forest for a few hours a day, usually showing up late and leaving early, while Phaedron did the actual work of making sure the dead trees were in exactly the same shape they’d been for the past twenty years and the only footprints in the snow were sheep and shepherds and the soft, quiet creatures of magic they’d first created to make this place feel more like home. And, once a year or so, I’d yet again broach the topic of us leaving, and Phaedron would yet again shoot me down, citing duty or obligations or whatever cute girl was currently toying with his heart or some other bullshit excuse, and then I’d clam up for another cycle. Same as it ever was.

Until today.

Today there had been screaming. Today something had come through, another monster from the Worlds Above, and that something—

“Ah!” I flinch as the magic cuts deeper than usual, then glance down to see blood glistening in a straight line across my palm.

Damn. Lost control, let my anger slip. I take a deep breath, then feel the edges of my brother’s body with my magic. The ink-black tendrils envelop him like a cloud. I hold my breath, and there is one moment of pure agony and desperation when the forest seems so filled with waiting silence that I think the entire Outer Ring might explode.

And then my brother takes a breath. It’s weak, it’s ragged, and it sounds like it hurts, but by the Void, he’s breathing. I fall back onto my thighs in the snow. The dead trees waver around me.

“Charay?” I ask, not really expecting the old woman to still be here.

But she is still here, and the golden warmth of her lamp wraps us both as she settles in the snow beside Phaedron’s head. She brushes his forehead, pushing away the tousled dark curls to press her hand to his pale skin. Then she turns to me. I look away; I can’t stand the pity. I can’t stand to read my brother’s fate in her eyes.

“Rowan,” she says.

I nod, my eyes fixed on the blood-stained snow beneath us. He’s lost so much blood. How much blood can one of us lose before—

“Rowan,” Charay says again.

I drag my eyes up to hers and swallow hard. My head throbs from using my magic, and my hands still burn.

“He’s not dead,” Charay says. The ghost of a smile dances across her lips.

“W-Will he…” I begin, but my throat closes. I can’t even say the words.

Charay’s lips press into a hard line. “Stars willing, he’ll make it.”

I close my eyes and let my head fall into my hands. The forest is silent, save for our ragged breathing. When I look up, Charay is arranging my brother’s cloak around his body, getting him ready for transport.

“Who— Who says stars anymore?” I ask, and I sound winded even though I’ve done nothing but sit in the bloody snow for the voids only knows how long.

Charay’s lips twist into the barest hint of a smile. “I forget how young you are, Rowan.”

“Stars?” I grin, then wave my hands at the darkness above the dead forest. “Really? Down here?”

Charay gives me a look that says she’s done with my garbage. It’s a look I know well. I pull myself out of the snow as Charay picks up her lantern.

“Can you move him?” I ask. “Or do you need me?”

Charay frowns a little, then nods as if she’s made up her mind. “I can move him.”

“Don’t try to teleport him,” I add, although she already knows that.

Charay gives me a look. I try to smile. Her magical specialty is moving heavy objects and, in a pinch, she’s also the World’s End’s healer.

This is a pinch.

“Sorry,” I add. “You know what’s best.”

She’s still frowning. At me, which is at least less concerning than frowning at Phaedron.

“I’ve never seen anyone use magic like that,” she says.

I shrug and look away. This is really not the time and place to be discussing my freak magic. Never and nowhere being my preferred times and places to discuss my freak magic. Charay turns to look down at Phaedron and seems to shift into healer mode. She closes her eyes, and her magic, which is as warm and golden as her lamplight, wraps around my brother. Gently, she pulls him from the forest floor. As Phaedron rises on the soft glow of Charay’s magic, I notice something gleaming in the snow just past where his right hand would have been.

It’s his sword, the ridiculous blade he’s never once used in actual battle. Skyfire, he calls it, as if anyone trapped down here has seen the stupid sky in a lifetime. I walk around Phaedron’s body and pull Skyfire from the snow. The stupid thing is cold as ice and about twice as heavy as I would have liked.

“See you at home,” I whisper to Phaedron.

“Be careful,” Charay says. “The monster is still out there.”

I grin. My grip tightens around my brother’s sword. I let the monster go once, releasing my magic and calling it back to me to keep my brother alive. By the void, I’m not going to let him go again.

“Oh, I know,” I say, turning my attention to the woods where the black tendrils of my magic are already beginning to snake through the trees, searching, searching. “And I think he’s about to have a real bad time.”