A Second Tyranny

The Battle of Arendelle (Part 4)

WISTY

I half expected troops to assault me as I threaded my way through the roads, since I was known as the scary, infamous witch to King Hans, but everybody was too occupied fighting to pay me any mind. That much I was relieved of, because after witnessing what might very well be my friend's demise, things just could not get any worse.

Or could it?

"Ross!" I called, stifling a sob, wishing he'd hear me over the hubbub of the battle. "Ross!"

Where is he?

I was completely foreign to this village. For all I knew he could be anywhere. Magic could help me track down his location, but I was consumed by fretfulness and distress and was in no condition to summon or work it. At least searching lessened those emotions.

"ROSS!"

I was bawling at the top of my lungs, but the incessant clangour of battle drowned out my cries. An explosion of energy missed me by inches. I shoved an adult wizard aside, bumped into Beric, squeezed past the backs of two soldiers, and swerved around Gretchen when she suddenly reeled backwards and got in my way. I tripped over a set of intertwining tree branches that magically sprung and arced from a spot near my feet, then hastily jumped up and continued running.

Stumbling into a random, broad street, I halted, scanning everywhere. My eyes travelled over a severely injured teenage boy slumped on the ground beside a line of houses and moved on. Wait a minute. Isn't he familiar? I did a double take. I instantly recognized him. It was Ross Lilienfield. In a state of acute pain. He was on all fours, dragging himself toward somewhere, grimacing with every movement. He crawled into an alley and disappeared.

"Ross!" I wheezed.

I weaved my way through the combatants into the alley. Ross had crawled halfway in. I saw his strength desert him. He gave up the effort of crawling, lay prostrate, and simply rested there. I went over to crouch beside him.

The Champion's morning star had wrecked him pretty good. There was a large cluster of deep dark red perforations on his back, oozing blood. His spine had fractured. I had a sudden urge to throw up. The sight was gruesome.

I rasped, "Please don't be dead."

"Wisty!"

I was startled by the voice. I glanced over my shoulder. It was Kristoff. Behind him were Gerda and Emmet. I had taken off without sparing them a thought and totally forgot I had other companions. My mind had only been on Ross.

Kristoff's gaze settled on my friend. "Ross. Is he OK?" He, Emmet, and Gerda jogged toward us.

Ross was too heavily armoured for me to check his pulse. A soldier's corpse was sprawled near the far end of the narrow passage with an arrow in his chest and a dagger in his eye. Ew. Gross. I retrieved the dagger with a jerk, wiped the gore on his cape in disgust, and hurried back to my companions. Ross's nose was covered by the nasal guard of his helmet. Removing the helm, I held the flat of the blade in front of his nostrils. We waited anxiously.

"Condensation," I reported when light vapour became visible on the blade. "He's breathing."

I did not have high hopes about what I was going to try next as I was perfectly aware I sucked at it, but my hands hovered over the nasty injuries on Ross's back anyway. Since I was the only one present with powers, I had no choice but to give this a shot.

Inhaling a deep breath to sooth and calm myself, I gathered whatever little healing energy I possessed.

The M refused to come. I could sense it did not wish to be summoned or wanted to answer my call. All my witchy mojo was gone. I knew I wasn't made for this. I could turn Byron Swain into a talking weasel by snapping my fingers, and change him back by merely clapping my hands. I could generate electrical force using my mind, levitate objects, and ignite my entire being in flames. But curing was the one thing I could not do. It was as if I was jiggling my healing energy awake from a long and restful sleep, but no matter how vigorously I shook, it wouldn't stir.