Falling Skyward

Chapter Twenty-Six: Fresh Skin

"Like it or not, I'll always love you," Wren's voice said, his thick layers of bravado and sarcasm painfully absent. "You can't push me away like the others. You can't hide from me. Try as you will, you'll never be rid of me." She could see the face of the boy who now meant everything to her—her entire family. But then why did his words fill her with terror? Why did they fill her with implacable guilt, knowing she could not return that love? Knowing at her core she had been born to let him down—born to torment anyone who loved her.

Lana awoke moments later. Her head felt soft, as though her skull had liquefied into scorching molten that her skin barely held together.

A breeze enveloped her body in a cold shroud. Lana stared down at her bare stomach, the flesh ridged with angry slashes. Taren stood apart, as far from Lana as the narrow path would allow. His fearful gaze fell uncomfortably at his feet. He couldn't bring himself to look at Lana, at her exposed, torn flesh, but he couldn't turn away either. He looked tormented.

Shivering, Lana went to reach for him, but piercing pain prickled along her abdomen. Dawson's gentle fingers smoothed her forehead, and Lana felt the fire in her skull ebb, leaving her mind as cold as the rest of her body.

"Don't try to move," he whispered calmly, speaking in the melodic tones he used when speaking to his horses. "You've lost a lot of blood, and we don't want these wounds to reopen."

Lana craned her neck slightly, straining to survey her arm and abdomen. Though the smears of blood looked ominous, Lana could see that the gashes were not that deep, at least along her abdomen. The one along her arm splayed open, revealing muscle underneath, but it was a wound that would heal, if given time.

The blood along her stomach was already dry and cracking, flakes of it peeling to the ground as Dawson's hands swept over Lana's skin. He clutched blossoms in his hand Lana hadn't remembered seeing before, their scent sweetly biting. His low voice muttered soothingly, the words indiscernible, but the tones as familiar and caressing as a lullaby.

Dawson kept reaching for other plants, taking brief breaks to catch his breath and clutch at the star ether at his throat. Lana watched as the dried rivulets of blood seemed to disintegrate along Lana's skin and the bright red wounds became a pale, shiny pink. Fear and awe gripped Lana, the two reactions creating an unsettling dissonance.

Finally, Dawson fell back, panting. Tracks of sweat pulsed down his forehead.

"I think that is all I can do," he said, surveying Lana's arm one last time.

"No," Taren said, finally looking at Lana. "No, she still looks pale. Here, take the star ether." He extended his hand, and through the cracks between his fingers, Lana saw traces of silvery light.

"She is safe, Taren. She can heal on her own, with time. You will need the star ether later, when you meet Soren."

"Are you sure? Maybe use just a little."

Lana didn't understand how the star ether related to her injuries, but she heard a thin voice respond, "No, save the star ether. I'll be fine."

She looked down at the crimson shadows on the ground, the only traces of her blood that had now soaked into the unquenchable sand. "How did you do that?" she asked, turning from her scarred arm back to the blood on her clothes.

"Once I stopped the bleeding, it was simple enough. Scrog bites are rarely mortal, but their venom keeps the blood from clotting. That's how they kill their victims. They injure their prey and watch while it bleeds to death."

Lana shuddered, her head reeling. She saw a flash of those yellow, scale-rimmed eyes and ravenous jaws, shivering as she realized the creatures had been waiting for her to lose consciousness before eating her alive.

She shook her head. "No, that's not what I mean," she said. "I mean, how did you do this?" She gestured to her arm and the shiny, puckered scars on her abdomen. "How did you heal my arm? How did you stop the bleeding?"

"I didn't heal you, not completely," Dawson said nonchalantly. "If I had any real skill, the scarring would be minimal."

Lana stared vacantly, not understanding how he could be so casual about something so miraculous. "But this is incredible," Lana said. "Back home, not even necromancers could accomplish something like this."

Dawson began methodically packing away his herbs, as though Lana hadn't said anything. Taren smiled slowly, but his face remained pale and uncertain.

"Goodness, Lana, you act as though you had never seen a healer before," Taren said.

"I haven't," she said, her voice hollow astonishment. "Dawson, how did you do that?"

"It's nothing special, really. If you like, I can show you later."

Lana shook her head vaguely. "Yes, I would like that." She paused, placing her hand on Dawson's. "Thank you, for saving me." Dawson looked up, not able to contain the smile that kissed his lips, stretching to his eyes.

Lana noticed Taren turn away, and her thoughts solidified for a moment, despite the splitting ache in her head. "We should get moving," she said, eyeing the deep, webbing shadows in the canyon. "We need to keep moving if we are going to make it out of the pass before nightfall."

Taren looked back, his mouth grim. "We're already too late. It's best to rest up and make camp back by the pond for the night." Lana shivered involuntarily.

"But the scavengers?"

Taren's eyes met Lana's, and he softened for a moment, walking over to extend his hand to her. "Don't you worry about it," he said softly. "I'm sure I was being overly cautious before. Besides, I think we would be in greater danger of injuring ourselves if we push on after dark."