Blood of Elven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Eyes snapping open, Khionia stared down at the convulsing form of the dying elfling lying next the fire. Beside her knelt the hulking form of Heath, hands splayed over her small torso as he attempted to feed his magic into her body, attempting to stave off the organ failure that was imminent.

This was a nightmare. It had to be. Yet, it felt real. The warmth of the fire was penetrating under her skin, the soft breeze was bringing forth the smell of the smoke to her nostrils, and the light of the many stars and moons above illuminated the cavern mouth just beyond where they were settled; the same cavern Khionia had disappeared into earlier that day.

"How long does she have?" The voice came from her lips, she was sure of it, yet it was not hers. But she knew that soft lilting voice, even if it was now filled with a gravity that had her nerves shuddering.

Daeman.

In this dream, she was Daeman, peering out of his eyes, as he watched over his charge; his charge that was failing with every second this dream seemed to go on.

Heath's response was terse, "Not long. Perhaps another hour at most. This illness is not known to me, and my magic is barely, if even, touching it." As he spoke, Heath never looked away from Mashilla. His brow remained furrowed as a sheen of sweat began to take form over his exposed skin.

Khionia walked forward and knelt beside Mashilla's head, her hand- no, Daeman's hand- gloved and slender reached out and brushed the hair off of the elfling's forehead tenderly. At the contact, Mashilla's convulsions seemed to lessen just enough for her to turn her head toward Daeman's fingers.

Daeman whispered her name, a question as well as a demand.

Mashilla cracked her crusted eyelids open just enough to look at him. Khionia could see the shadows and darkness that had entered into them as the elfling' suffering began to hit a crescendo.

A sharp inhale ripped through Daeman so roughly that Khionia felt it within her own chest. She felt a forceful shove that seemed to take place within her mind, not her body, as at the same time she heard Daeman's voice, "Fly, Khionia."

Then darkness.

The darkness enveloped her as Khionia prowled through the thick Oaks all around in the Old Forest. She knew her home was just a bit farther ahead; knew that the fire in the hearth shining through the windows would come into view with just a few more steps, but her eyes still searched through endless black all around.

A noise off to the west caught her attention and she stilled in mid step between two trunks, her weight balanced precariously on the balls of her feet. She trained her ears, reaching out with her senses to focus on the distance.

"Help," the word was soft but said through a hoarse and cracked voice. "Help me, Khi. Please."

Bash.

Bash was in trouble. Khionia twisted and began to sprint through the darkness, her legs tearing through the underbrush, her arms scraping against the bark and branches all around. Her lungs were on fire as she rasped in breaths trying to pick up her speed and get to Bash.

The pleading got louder and louder until it was a scream on the air; a scream of pure undiluted agony. Khionia began to sob as she called out to him, trying to tell him she was coming. Trying to tell him she was going to save him, protect him.

They were torturing him, she knew it. And she couldn't bear it. Every scream carved into her very soul as she raced to find him. But no matter how fast she ran, the screams remained just out of reach, no light or shadow could be made out through the black that cloaked her as she ran.