Chapter 48: Whispers

Nydra had carried Hima inside the old couple’s house, who were mercifully spry in an emergency.

“Easy now, here, on the bed,” the husband instructed as Nydra lay Hima down.

“She’s only getting colder,” Nydra said checking Hima’s forehead again. “Hima? Hima? Are you still with us?” Nydra asked, her voice stiff with forced calmness as she gently slapped the icewinder on her cheeks.

“Sssss.” Miro could hardly hear Hima – her eyes were closed and her lips were slightly parted and didn’t move as she spoke. “sss … cold.”

“Here.” Peteri tore off a scrap of his undershirt and stepped in to scrub off the black substance that remained on Hima’s fingers.

“Miro, you’re a fire mage,” Nydra said as Miro stood dumbly by the bedside, his 2 Intellect points rendering him entirely useless.

“What? Damn it. Yes,” Miro said finally, finding his throat so dry he almost couldn’t say anything.

“Are you able to help her?”

He should have. Hima herself had told him so – that the powers he was able to use outside of his prescribed spells could warm someone who was suffering from hypothermia. Would it work in this case? There was only one person who had the power to confirm either way.

He pushed past everyone else to Hima’s side, putting one hand on her shoulder and the other on her forehead. Nydra was right, she wasn’t just cold, she was freezing cold and it was a wonder that Hima was even still alive. He closed his eyes, concentrating on his hands, on the life-giving powers they contained. Vivid memories of all the times he’d tried and failed came unbidden to his mind – a collection that had grown too substantive. But what had Hima told him? The less thinking he did, the better it was for everyone. He summoned the first flickers of flame– for the moment merely an orange glow that covered both his hands. How was he supposed to do this? Yet it was supposed to have been natural, he didn’t need to ask himself how to hop on one foot, he just did it.

The four adults in the room that was not big enough for all of them watched him with urgency, while the only one who was able to show him what to do was the one that needed him most. Miro stared at his hands until his world shrank to the point that they were all he could see. They were foreign agents though, co-opted by his debuff, rendered flashy but useless like a card trick not played for money. He could feel something happening at his fingertips; a surge of energy that needed to –

Miro immediately threw both his arms to the side, sending two fireballs into the wall of the tiny bedroom, setting a support beam ablaze. Peteri quickly pulled off his coat and used it to smother the flames before they did any lasting damage.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry I’m sorry,” Miro stammered, throwing his apologies both at their hosts and at Hima, whom he’d almost accidentally finished off.

“Hey, lad, shhh it’s okay,” Nydra said, pulling him in from his pacing with one arm and giving him a squeeze. “It’s alright. She’s still with us, that’s all that matters right now.” She turned to the old couple who stood quite helpless but with concerned expressions as they watched Hima. “Is there a doctor that lives in these parts?”

“A doctor?” Olbav said, somewhat startled. ”No, no one that we know.”

“But a Healer,” Daimir suggested, turning to his wife.

“Oreksei? They could be able to help, but with Joyko –”

“That was a different case.”

“Yes, of course.” Olbav then turned to Nydra. “One of us can ride with you. You have a horse, right? Then we should be able to make it back here with the Healer in less than two hours.”

“She might not have two hours!” Miro nearly screamed, and Nydra pressed him even closer towards her as she continued to talk to Olbav and Daimir.

“Sounds like this Healer may be our best chance,” Nydra said.

“I will lead you to them,” Olbav said. “Daimir, you stay here with the girl.”

Her husband nodded. “I’ll brew something to warm her up,” he said, and disappeared out of the room.

“Miro,” Nydra clasped both of his shoulders in her hands and looked him dead in the eye, “You and Peteri stay with Hima, Olbav and I will return soon.”

He tried to find a way to speak, but found little air getting in and even less getting out, yet he pushed back the stone that was crushing his chest and asked, “What should I do?”

Nydra spoke slowly and gently, though by her grip on him, Miro could tell that she was ready to burst out of the house. “Best you can do is stay put, keep her company, and remember to breathe. Understood?”

He was out of words, so he just nodded.

“Good.” And with that, she was striding out the door, Olbav nearly hopping along behind her, and then she was outside, calling something to the horses, which was followed shortly by the sound of receding hoofbeats.

There were fewer people on the room, yet Miro somehow found that there was even less air to breathe. Death had seemed to be all around him recently, even flowing directly from his hands, but this was different – it was hard to even look at Hima. Still, he owed it to her, at least to make sure that she was still with them, because even though her skin was drained of most of its colour, and what remained was greyish and drab, she continued to move her lips, and in the silence that was broken only by Daimir’s fussing around in the kitchen, Miro could occasionally make out only one word: “Cold”.

“Hang in there, Hima,” Miro whispered back, “We’ll figure out a way out of this.”

It wasn’t long before Daimir returned to the room, carrying by a wooden handle a small metal pot that contained a steaming green liquid that smelled like nothing that should be anywhere near a person’s digestive tract.

“What is that?” Miro asked, almost stepping in to stop the man from coming any closer to Hima with that stuff.

“I know it smells like the foulest thing in creation,” Daimir said, “But it helps with the chills and it’s what she needs.”

Despite the old farmer’s assurances, Miro watched with great concern as Daimir gently propped up Hima’s head, and poured some of the drink into her mouth.

“Take heart, Miro,” Peteri said as he put his hand on Miro’s shoulder. “Hima is stronger than any of us.”

He would regret it later, shrugging off that gesture from the old archer, but everyone seemed to have their hands on his shoulders these days, telling him to calm down or take heart or cheer up when all he wanted to do was rage uncontrollably; to possess an infinite number of fireballs if it meant being able to lay waste to every last inch of that black creeping substance.

Daimir managed to get more of the noxious drink into Hima’s mouth and for a moment it seemed to be helping her. She stirred, her eyes fluttering open to the narrowest of slits, and her lips moved with the sound of another word that Miro was startled to recognize as his own name.

Almost tripping on the rug that poked out from under the bed, Miro knelt by Hima’s side and strained to listen.

“Miro?” Her voice was scratchy and cold and there was an urgency to it that he did not like.

“I’m here.”

“Did you hear it?”

“What?”

She went silent, so Daimir poured her some more of the hot drink.

“I can still hear it,” Hima murmured and turned her head slightly. “Coming from there … the whispers.”

Her eyes closed again and in a panic Miro was about to try to shake her awake when Daimir checked her forehead and said, “It’s bought her some time, but I do hope your friend hurries back.”

Permitting himself the barest sigh of relief, Miro’s gaze followed where Hima had turned her head – in the direction of window that opened to the barren field where the black river flowed.