When the World Caught Fire (Book I in the War of Storms Trilogy)

Chapter 12

~ Qaranhi ~

Scarlet red blood splatters all over me. I stare dumbly in shock down at Petrah. He lays utterly still, one of his wings splayed at an awkward angle, a mess of blood and shredded feathers. 

With a sudden calm efficiency that springs from somewhere deep inside me, I jerk Rin closer and we gather Petrah in our arms. The Featherwing grits his teeth, his face white as the sands of Solaria. We drag him quickly behind Sheyna and Ferro's fruit stand, where he slumps to the side, his wing crumpled beneath him. 

Sheyna and Ferro leap behind the stand as well, keeping their heads down. "What happened?" Sheyna yelps, staring openly at Petrah, who's started shivering violently. 

"Do you see anyone? This is important. You must tell me if you see anyone suspicious," Petrah gasps fiercely, looking like a half-drowned phoenix. His gaze is terrifyingly intense, and he grabs my arm tightly. He starts breathing weirdly and his gaze clouds over. I press my fingers to his neck. His pulse flutters weakly like a trapped bird. 

I spread his damaged wing out gently, and immediately locate two knife-sharp silver disks. One is embedded near the base of his wing, creating a jagged wound, and the other is further toward the tip. Upon further examination, I notice many small bones and tendons have been fractured or crushed. 

"Who threw these? WHO?" I snarl, peeking cautiously above the stand's counter. A flicker of movement catches my eye. A mysterious figure clad in black slips into an alley across the wide cobbled street. 

I curse vehemently. 

"Whoever did had to have known who he is," Ferro murmurs. He's apparently noticed the mysterious figure who's just vanished into the winding streets of Svelhall.

I return my attention to Petrah, who has turned an even more alarming shade of white. I realize I'll have to pull the disks from his wing. 

"Sorry, buddy, this is probably going to hurt," I mutter. 

"You think?" A strained Petrah replies disdainfully, clenching his teeth. 

I grimace and clutch the thin disk carefully between my fingers, then yank with all my strength. Petrah gasps and flinches violently. 

"One more," I grunt, jerking the other sharp piece of metal roughly from his flesh. A spurt of blood arcs from the wound, and I curse again, tearing a large strip of fabric from Petrah's tunic and binding it tightly around the bleeding wound. 

"We have got to find a medic," I hiss desperately, meeting Rin's gaze. He gives a helpless shrug, and Sheyna interjects. 

"We might know someone who can help him," she says, pulling on Ferro's arm. Ferro nods, his gaze steely. 

"But we're only willing to help him because he's friends with you," Ferro then says, nodding curtly at Petrah. I raise an eyebrow. What is it with this guy and Veldaarans? 

Peering around the side of the stand, I scan the bustling streets for any hint of the runaway attacker. Still nothing. 

I spin to check on Petrah again. The whites of his eyes flash and I can tell he's on the verge of passing out. Rin and I exchange dire looks, bundling Petrah in our arms as gently as we can. He groans, shivering violently, and tightly grasps my arm. His grip is so crushing I feel the bones and tendons in my forearm shift, and his nails cut unrelentingly into my skin. 

"I'm willing to bet those death-disks were poisoned," I rasp grimly. Petrah jerks his head in a nod and slumps. He's out cold. 

Sheyna beckons us and we dart quickly from behind the stall, weaving in and out of various streets and alleyways. We eventually reach a neat little shop, limeleaf vines creeping steadily up its graystone walls. A colorful sign above the door announces in bold white letters that the building is a healer's center.