The Oath of an Oxblood

38

Ember's eyes locked onto mine as I fell on top of Anthony.

I screamed as pain, sadness, and fear toppled over me. "Anthony!" I screeched.

I grabbed his hand. If I could save that boy.

I dove down into his pain. Immediately, the depths felt hot and oppressive. I ignored that and began pulling strands of meaning desperately. If a normal healing was interpreting a sentence, this was a novel of technical language in a different language. The strands were growing firmer by the second.

Not Anthony.

Tears were pouring down my face. Not Anthony. Not Anthony.

I jumped out of the healing and Anthony's eyes met my own. "Nao?" he asked weakly.

I gripped his face. "Yes. Yes, hold on," I said before taking a quick breath and diving back down. I yanked apart the heavy strands, which were clinging to each other. I found several brown strands and tried to get to them, but they were as hard as rocks, not stringy and malleable. No. No. No.

He was too far gone for me.

I leaped back up and heard Ember shouting. I ignored him and down back down, focusing on Anthony's eyes that were losing their gleam.

"No," I choked and dove in. I gripped the brown strand. I needed that one. If I could unlock that meaning, I knew I could unravel the rest. It defied my every pull. I was so close. So close.

Let me help you.

I felt her join me in the healing place. Her small hand gripped the same strand that I was.

This one?

Yes.

We pulled.

I-I need this strand, Ro. We need to get it loose.

It's so stiff.

I gripped it with both hands and yanked. Nothing. Even with Romina, he was too far gone. We couldn't heal the wound.

The water was growing ashy. When he died, there would be nothing but blackness.

No, no, no.

This was all my fault. If I had done better, Anthony would have never been kidnapped. He would have never become a soldier. He would never have been here. We would have been safe.

Romina surfaced for air and dove back in.

I sat there, still tugging on the strand. The brownness began to fade.

No. I wasn't strong enough. It wasn't a sword—it was an arrow.

The ash.

The ash.

The ash was in the way. The strand wasn't rock solid, the water was. The ash was stopping the healing. I had to clear the ash.

A fervent passion overcame me. I opened my mouth and drank in the ashy water deeply. I drank it as fast and as long as I could, squeezing my eyes shut. My head threatened to collapse, and my lung felt like they were going to pop, but I didn't care.

When I opened my eyes, the ash was gone. Romina grabbed the brown strand and handed it to me. I quickly began to weave healing together, frantically trying to heal him. I tied line after line, knowing that if I slowed down, I would release the ash I had drunk. Then there would be no hope.

Darkness danced in front of me. Romina's hands joined me as we tied together meaning. My hands ran out of healing, and I froze.

I surfaced and blinked my eyes open. The crowd of people around us were silent. Romina's hands went in for a hug and started weeping. Ember grabbed her when I started to collapse.

I turned to the side and vomited. Water and ash came up.

The crowd backed up again.

My eyes flickered a few times.

Anthony was okay. He was safe.

My eyes locked onto a familiar face. It was a smiling face and a triumphant face. Vincent.

I blacked out.