Malady

Ruste is a young Erumean girl who faces a great sorrow. In her grief, she severs the ties to her family, to her friends and even to her gods. She leaves them all behind. In Vama, she finds a new home, a new job, and a new set of friends. They help Ruste to get on her feet again. But even if Ruste can walk away from her gods, she cannot make the gods walk away from her. The Winter Swan has plans for Ruste, and he has the means to force her to play the game. His first move is a gift…

Chapter 1   Mala

"Mala..."

Ruste couldn't stop staring at Mala's face: at the soft roundness of her chin; at the smooth skin of her forehead; at the eyelashes that, light as fly wings, rested on her cheeks. Ruste's gaze lingered on the lids that covered the baby girl's blue eyes. Mala's eyes were glassy and lifeless beneath the lids.

Ruste couldn't breathe. The tears that she couldn't cry out were choking her throat.

"Ruste, my poor, little bird."

Manka sat down beside her daughter who hadn't moved from Mala's side since the baby died two nights earlier. Ruste didn't seem to notice. She just sat there, staring at the dead face of her daughter. 

As, in yet another attempt of comforting her, Manka smoothed Ruste's hair back from her face, Ruste did the same with Mala's. A concerned mother and a grieving grandmother, Manka wiped a tear from a corner of her eye. She was unable to help either of her girls.

"Le Ne Manka, how's Le Ruste today?" one of the lamenter wives asked Manka in the compassionate manner typical of her profession. "The wives are ready to begin with the Lament of Mala's passing as soon as she is."   

"Oh, Le Ne Tosha," Manka said in anguished tones. "I'm afraid that my daughter isn't any closer to being ready today than she was the day Mala died. She hasn't left the room for anything but to reveal herself, and she hardly eats. And what's even worse: she doesn't let us even touch Mala anymore."

"Oh, the poor thing. Let the Winter Swan ease her pain!" Tosha said abandoning the official tones. She quickly ripped one more tiny tear in her scarf before wrapping her arm around her friend's shoulders. "It's been a week already, Manka. Ruste's in bad shape."

"In very bad shape, yes. But we can't wait any longer. We can't live with a dead person in the house!"

"No! Mom, you can't!" Ruste cried out as Manka lifted Mala's dead body off the bed. "Don't take her. She's coming back, I know she is... Please, Mom," she wailed, "don't take her out. Mom!"

"No, Ruste," Manka said quietly, stopping at the threshold of the room. She sighed and turned to look back at her daughter. "Mala is gone, child. She won't come back. You have to let her go."

As gentle as the words were, they hurt them both.

"No, no, no..." Ruste whimpered almost inaudibly.

Her eyes were brimming with tears; then, as she lifted her eyes to meet Manka's, the tears suddenly dried. "No! You... you rat's bride!" she cried.

She rushed up and ran to her mother. She grabbed Mala's feet, trying to pull the dead body out of Manka's grip.

"Get your hands off my daughter!" she screamed at top of her lungs. Her eyes were hateful. "Give her to me or I'll kill you! You want her dead! I won't let you! I'll kill you first!"

Ruste hit her mother's hands and face and tried to rip out her eyes.

"Ruste! Stop that! You're hurting me!"

"Good!" Ruste's face twisted into a madwoman's grin, then she let out a horrible, hollow cackle and spit out, "You deserve to hurt, bitch!"

Ruste was beyond reason, and with the dead body in her arms Manka couldn't defend herself against such an assault. She had to give up. As soon as Ruste got the corpse she rushed out of the room, out of the house, and into the woods behind the building.

"Ruste!"

"Oh, Winter Swan, bring her back!" Ruste whispered across the dark water to the white bird that was barely visible beneath the low hanging branches of the evergreen trees. She was standing on the sacrifice stone by the sacred pond. Her words echoed from the steep cliff behind the bird, filling the little clearing with her anguish.

"Bring back my baby. I'd do anything, I'd give anything, even my life, if it brought her back. Mala is my life."

Ruste dropped on her knees onto the cold stone and cried. Her tears ran down the smooth surface of the stone, dripping to the pond, one after another.

"Why, of why, must my town lack a Healer! If only we had one... my Mala could still be with me...

"Why should there be Healers in abundance in Vama and not even one here! It's not fair! It's wrong! I hate them..." she cried.

"We found Ruste at the Pond; she's alive," Tiro, Manka's husband told her a few hours later. "We had to force her to come home, but probably because she ran all the way there, she was too tired to put up much of a fight."

"Where is she now?"

"At the goldsmith's. MarvaLaNa's house is the only one in Erume that has a room with a lock on the door."

"You put a grieving mother into a prison," Manka said, shaking her head in dismay.

"What else could we have done?"

"Nothing, but I don't like it, and neither do you."

Tiro nodded in agreement, and after a brief silence, Manka asked what they had done with the corpse.

"With the weepers," Tiro affirmed her guess. "The ceremony will take place tomorrow, at dawn."

Two weeks later, Ruste was still held in the goldsmith's strong room, but the residents of the house were ready to kick her out. She was filled with rage, and she screamed curses on everyone in the village. Some days, hours on end, she cried for Mala.

"When does this end, TiroLaNa? RusteLe is impossible to live with," the goldsmith asked as Tiro brought Ruste's breakfast. "What about Mala's father? Does he have no influence on RusteLe? Mala was his daughter, as much as RusteLe's, even if they didn't marry. He should do something to curb her feelings!"

"Ruste never told us who the father is, MarvaLaNa. She's been suffering alone from the beginning."

Marva nodded his head in agreement. "It was a hard pregnancy."

"She was so very young, just thirteen. Too young to become a mother." Tiro kicked his toe on the threshold, welcoming the physical pain.

"Too young to lose a child, too," Marva commented softly. "How old is she now? Fifteen?"

"Yeah, barely," Tiro sighed. "Too young. Way too young."

 "How are you feeling, little bird?" Manka asked Ruste the next morning. Her tone of voice held a little more hope than in any other morning since Mala's death. "Are you feeling better? Or not feeling well? You seem different this morning."

Ruste was acting differently that morning. As soon as Manka got to the house, the goldsmith's wife told her that all of a sudden Ruste was being very quiet.

"I'm not sick or getting sick. I'm just tired," Ruste said in a lifeless, little voice. She didn't lift her eyes from the floor; she just kept staring at the planks in front of her, expressionlessly. 

"It's a hard job, grieving," Manka agreed in compassionate tones.

At her words, Ruste shivered slightly. "I want to come home."

Finally, Ruste looked at Manka with her big, gray eyes.

Empty, her eyes, Manka thought. Almost like Mala's...

"Mom?"

O, Sweet Swan: how blind have we been! Ruste needs us. She needs the comfort of the family.

"Come, child," Manka said reaching out a hand. "Let's get you home."   

After a few, quiet seconds Ruste stood up and walked to the door, but she didn't take the hand Manka offered or say one word.

"Tiro!" Manka cried as soon as she saw him the next evening, coming in from the day's work in their field. She was standing at the door of their house, wringing her hands.

"Ruste isn't in her room, Tiro. I haven't seen her since this morning, just after breakfast. Do you know where she is? Have you seen her? Is she with you?"

"Ruste? No, I haven't seen her. What's the matter, Manka? She's been out of your sight before."

"Not like this and not in the state of mind she is in right now. I'm afraid she has gone for good; she took all her clothes and other stuff."

"Hmm. What 'bout money? Did you check our strong box?"

"Tiro! She wouldn't..."

"In the state of mind she's been since Mala's funeral? I would check the box." But despite the harsh words, Tiro didn't seem angry. He sounded defeated.

"She took all we had, Tiro," Manka's eyes were shiny with tears. "Every last nickel. She hates us that much."

"Of course not, Manka. Well, on the surface, in order to alleviate the too fresh pain, she might tell herself that she hates us, but deep down? No, wife; she doesn't. She is just in too much pain right now."

"She isn't coming back."

"No, she isn't." Tiro took Manka in his arms. "Not now, but I hope that, one day, she will find her way back to us."

Manka cried against his shoulder for a long time.

Chapter 2   Frog & Snake

"Hey, little bird! What's your name?"

A big, red-bearded man gave a barmaid's braid a playful tug as she went by taking empty tankards to the kitchen. The braid was long and thick and lustrous, russet gold in color: a tantalizing sight in the gloomy room.

"Little bird will do just fine." The girl's answer to the stranger's flirtatious words came in cold tones, over her shoulder. "What do you want, mister?"

"A tankard of your best ale and a smile from you, Birdie, for starters," the man ordered, openly ogling the attractive behind of the maid.

"Coming," the maid said without so much as a hint of a smile and left.

"Moth!"

The pub keeper stood in the barmaid's way as she walked into the kitchen, making her stop. He sported a scowl the reason of which she could easily guess.

"I've told you a million times that you have to smile more, girl. You scare away the customers."

"They order your beer, I put it under their noses and bring you their money. For that I get my pay. You don't pay me for smiling."

Moth kept her voice cold, her eyes hard. She always did. The frustrated man gave the girl his best angry glare, but it didn't faze her. They had the same quarrel every night.

"But, if you were more friendly with the men you'd get better tips," the man argued half-heartedly.

"Yeah, and we both know what kind of friendliness you are talking about, don't we?" Moth smiled her ugliest smile. "But I'm no whore!"

The man snatched the tray from her hands. "Go back there! Make yourself useful: as useful as you can with that attitude, you wretched girl."

 She pivoted on her heels and walked out. As he stared at the closing door, the man muttered, "Impossible bitch. Why do I keep her here?"

Moth filled her jug with ale. Since the patrons of the pub were already well in their cups she did not fill it with the best ale in the house. With an obviously fake smile plastered on her face, she took the jug and a tankard to the red-beard's table.

"My name's PitjoLa, Birdie," he said with a wide grin as Moth poured him a drink. "How ‘bout you telling me yours? It's not Birdie, right?"

Pitjo tried to pull Moth into his lap, but she had years of experience with dodging grasping hands of the drunkards and easily escaped him. The man was less agile; he almost fell to the floor.

"It makes one-fifty," she said ignoring the question about her name and, without any interest showing on her face, watched as Pitjo dug out his purse. "Sorry. Tassers are no good here," she commented as the man tried to give her a coin from the neighboring town state. "The Frog & Snake takes only fullars."

"But they weigh the same!"

"Regardless."

"Take the money, girl, and stop being a pain in the ass."

"I don't make the rules here."

"Stupid rules. You could stretch them rules a bit. And if you take me to a room upstairs tonight, there are more tassers here for you." He jingled the purse for good measure. "What do you say, eh?"

"One-fifty, in fullars, please," Moth just said, as if she hadn't heard either of the propositions.

"What a cold fish you are," Pitjo growled. "There. I hope the ale isn't as hithon cold as you are!"

"Thanks," Moth said, pocketed the fullars, and left. From an experienced barmaid a common curse like hitho didn’t warrant even a blink.

"That girl needs a lesson," Pitjo growled a couple of hours and considerably more than a couple of tankards later.  He was eyeing Moth who was circling the room, filling tankards with ale from the jug in her hand. "Keeps her hithon nose up enough to rain in, that one, as if she was better than me."

"Don't take it so seriously, friend. Moth is always like that, with every man. You're not the only man she's turned down tonight," a man chimed in from the other side of the table, "and come tomorrow, she'll be turning us down again. It's no big deal. There are more fish in the sea."

"...better than the rest of us!" Pitjo wasn't listening to the other man. His growl rose in volume until he was all but shouting. "Come 'ere, Little Bird, my tankard is empty!" he hollered over the hubbub of the busy pub. "Come 'ere, wench!"

Reluctantly Moth did what Pitjo asked. As she expected, as soon as she was close enough he reached for her breasts. She threw the ale in the jug at his face and loudly enough for everyone in the room to hear cried, "Get your hands off me!"

"You hithon bitch!" Pitjo yelled. He rushed up and took a swing at Moth who nimbly ducked under the fist. That angered him even more. "I'll teach you manners, slut!" he cried.

The other men at the table rushed up, too. They quickly took a hold of the man. "Calm down, fool!" a big, bald-headed man growled, holding one of Pitjo's arms. When the man didn't cease fighting, he wrenched the hand behind Pitjo's back. "If necessary, I'll dislodge your hithon shoulder, and I won't warn you again! Now, stop!"

By that time, the three bouncers had noticed the fight and walked over to the table. "What's going on in here?" the man at their lead, a sable-haired man with shoulders wide as barn doors, demanded to know, but noticed then the ale on Pitjo's face. "Ah-ha. Moth's special, I see. Tried to grope her breasts, right?"

"Bastard. I'll swipe that grin from your face!"

The drunkard tried to take a swing at the big man, but the other bouncers restrained him quickly.

"Let go of me! I'll beat you into pulp, bastards."

"Stop flailing your arms around!" cried a bouncer that Pitjo managed to strike at the stomach.

"Make me!"

"Gladly," the big sable-headed bouncer growled and forced the man to sit down. "Now, keep still and quiet." 

"She owes me, that wench, for ruining my vest and shirt," the red-beard argued. With hatred showing in his eyes, he stared at Moth who had returned behind the bar. "You'll pay for this, bitch. I won't forget!"

"Shut up!" the big bouncer snapped. He told his friends to kick Pitjo out of the door.

Peace of the night restored, Moth refilled her jug and went to work. As she went by the sable-haired man, she gave him a fleeting smile. Passing by the men at the table, she nodded her thanks.

"You're welcome, Moth," the baldhead said quietly.

Three hours later, leaving for the night, the bouncers found the red-beard still hanging about the pub.

"What the hitho are you still doing here?" the big, sable-haired one demanded to know.

"It's not your business, you whelp of a whore."

"If you're waiting for Moth to come out, don't bother. She isn't coming."

"Huh?"

"She isn't coming out."

For a moment it seemed that Pitjo didn't know how to react; then his demeanor brightened up considerably. "Hah," he snarled. "I should've known better than to believe her, or you. All barmaids are whores: everyone knows that.

"Hitho! You two succeeded in confusing me. Of course the little minx turns tricks!" The man slapped his forhead, belching loudly. "What was it? Did I offer her too little for her trouble? Or..." the man directed a sly look at the big, sable-headed man, "was it that I didn't offer the money to the right person? How much will it take?!"

"I'm not a pimp, and you're delusional. Moth actually is a good woman even if she works in a pub. She lives with the pub keeper’s family at the back of the house. That's why she isn't coming out. She isn't whoring upstairs."

"Liar!"

Pitjo tried to punch the other man in the stomach, but the bouncer easily avoided the strike.

"Go your way, man, unless you want to spend the night in the jail," the man said as he straightened up after the swerve.

"I'll crush you into a pulp, you rat-piss," Pitjo howled and once more tried to pounce on his adversary. However, the bouncer wasn't alone, and again his friends brought the attempt into an abrupt end.

"This night, the jailer will have to work for his pay, I'd say," one of the bouncers chuckled as the men took the red-beard to the town jail.

"Once again, Moth caused a fight, Kaja," the pub keeper told his wife as they were closing the house for the night. "The girl is nothing but trouble!"

"I know," Kaja sighed, "but Losa dear, you know that she doesn't do it on purpose. It's not her fault that drunken men are horny and stupid."

"She isn't even a beautiful girl, just pretty, but because the men know that they can't have her, she seems extremely interesting to them, and her haughty attitude just makes it worse. She plays hard to get, and naturally, the men try harder and harder to get her. They make a game out of it, but nobody ever wins. If she took even one man upstairs every night the men would calm down!"

"Losa! You can't force her to whore! Not her, not our Moth. I would never forgive you!"

"Calm down, woman," Losa said in tired tones. "I know what we owe her, but it doesn't change the fact that she is trouble. I just hope she would be more like the other girls."

"All those whores? You'd like Moth to be like them? I'm appalled, Losa."

Kaja spun around and, stiff-necked, walked into their bedroom.

Losa lingered awhile. He scratched his balding head. During the last four years, ever since Moth saved their son's life, there had been too many fights between Kaja and him.

They had agreed on the hiring of the fifteen year old girl without parents or place to stay; it was the least a man could do for the girl that saved his son, Kaja said. But, it hadn't been enough for Kaja. She wanted the girl to live in their household. Losa had had doubts, and he had said no to her plea. It had taken a lot of tears and a significant number of unfulfilling nights in the marital bed before he had changed his mind. Moth had moved in, and peace had moved out.

Losa was willing to admit that Moth was an easy person to live with. She kept her sleeping place clean and tidy, and the few things she owned were always in their proper places. She did her chores well and without complaints. She never said a bad word of any member of the household. She was a quiet, almost invisible presence that didn't bother anyone.

But, Moth seldom smiled, and she never laughed. She never talked with any of them. Moth wasn't their friend. She didn't hate them, but she didn't like them either.

And, she always seemed to avoid Sero, the boy she saved from death. Sometimes, when she looked at Sero, Losa saw regret in Moth's face. Losa hadn't mentioned it to Kaja. She would never believe him. She wouldn't believe it even if she saw it with her own eyes.

He wasn't proud of it, but he didn't like Moth. He wouldn't be sorry if she decided to leave them. But, she never would. Kaja would make sure of that. Moth would never find a man that would be good enough for Kaja. Such a man didn't look for a wife in a bar.

"Well, Kaja," Losa mumbled as he followed his wife into the bedroom. "I guess you won't keep me awake this night either."

"Moth, would you bring us something to eat?" asked one of the bouncers as the pub was preparing for the next evening.

"Kaja has a kidney pie put aside for you, Kota, and for your friends, as always. She knows how much you like it, La Roi," Moth answered turning to flash a smirk at the sable-haired bouncer.

"Don't even try that formal act with me, lass! I don't buy it," Roi grinned. The grin revealed the lingering boyishness in the otherwise stark face. Despite his form and strength that suggested a much older man, Roi was just 23 years old. In teasing tones he went on with, "I bet it was you that suggested that particular pie for today's special. You're a wicked little thing, Moth."    

"RoiLa, shut up. I wouldn't do such a thing."

Someone who didn't know Moth well would've missed the slight, teasing note in Moth's voice, but Roi didn't. "I guess I knew that you didn't," he just said, though.

Moth gave him one of her rare, genuine smiles.

"And of course, you're right, Moth darling," the other of Roi's friends chimed in. "Roi knows nothing as tasty as Kaja's kidney pie, do you?" He went on without paying attention to Roi's groans. "Bring the pot to the table, little sister. Let's hide some pie, guys!" 

"He's a nasty piece of work, our Reume," Roi laughed turning to Moth. "Come, Sis, let's eat."

He helped Moth dig the pot out of the cinders in the fireplace that had kept the pie warm and carried it to the table at the back of the room. Moth followed him quietly. Nobody paid any attention to her or to the bouncers. The men adopted Moth as their sister soon after she started at the Frog & Snake. She always ate her evening meals with them.

In a couple of hours, the night was in full swing. The last remnants of Kaja's kidney pie had found their way into the hungry bellies, and in their well-fed state, the men soon started to feel no pain. Moth and the other barmaids were hard pressed to keep the men's thirsty throats quenched and their lusty hands occupied with something other than their body parts. The clamor in the room was earsplitting.

As the men got more and more inebriated, Roi, Kota and Reume made their presence more and more visible among the patrons. As there weren't strangers in the room that evening, they could easily predict problems and prevent them from escalating into anything more serious then word fights.

The later the hour got, the more intensely the bouncers kept an eye on the girls. As usual, there were a couple of men that didn't want to take 'no' for an answer, but Roi and his friends knew those men well enough to solve the matter without using violence. In short, it was a usual evening at the Frog & Snake.

Moth took a look around the room, trying to see into every dark corner. She was feeling a bit worried. Hesitantly, she crossed the floor to Kota.

"I haven't seen Roi for a while, Kota. Do you know where he is?" she asked looking at her feet. She was feeling like a fool, bringing her worries to Kota like that, based on nothing more solid than her feeling of uneasiness.

Roi is a grown man, strong and capable of defending himself, Moth thought. Why would anything be wrong with him?

"He went to the little house, you know," Kota said with a little grin.

"That was my first guess, but it's taking him quite a while, don't you think? I just thought that, maybe, there's someone making trouble out there. He might need help..."

"Now that you point it out, yes. He's taking awfully long to pee... uh, sorry, Moth."

"No, need. I know what the little house is for. Let's get out there. Nu-uh." Moth pointed a finger at Kota. "Don't say it. I'm coming with you. I can fetch Reume if there's need, and you can stay and help Roi."

"Come then, Sis," Kota conceded and hurried to the door.

Trying to keep up with him, Moth was almost running. "To the Little house, first?" she gasped.

"Yeah, I guess that's the place to start."

"It's dark out here. Too dark."

"True. There should be a lamp lighting the backyard, but the light is out," Kota said in alarm. "Roi! Where are you?"

When Roi failed to answer, Kota broke into a run, leaving Moth behind.

Moth found Kota just outside of the little house. He was kneeling by a dark mound on the ground.

"Is that...? Is he...?"

"It's him. He's been beaten pretty bad, what I can see in this light, and he's been knifed in the chest. There's blood everywhere, but I think he's still alive..."

"Let me see!"

Moth kneeled beside Kota and put her hand on Roi's neck, trying to find a pulse.

"The pulse is very weak," she said in a faraway air. "He's all but gone."

"I'll go to the Healers," Kota said and stood up. "Maybe they'll help."

Moth grabbed his pant leg. "Don't!"

"What! You can't mean that. I know what you think about them, but Roi has no other chance. Even if the chance that a Healer would use his gift for a common bouncer is slim, it's all he's got!"

"No."

"Moth!"

"No, Kota. There's not enough time for that."

"I can't bear to do nothing!" Kota couldn't stay still: his body was filled with nervous energy. "I can't just watch him die. Moth, I can't!"

"A Healer from the temple isn't Roi's only chance. He's got us, you and ...me." Moth stood up, too.

Kota's chin dropped as he took in the woman in front of him. The Moth that he knew so well had disappeared, replaced by a stranger. She had Moth's russet hair and her features, but she wasn't Moth. "Who are you?" Kota whispered.

"It doesn't matter now. Roi hasn't got the time for explanations: he's bleeding to death as we speak. He can't be moved, either. I need to work right here, so you'll keep watch. Keep everybody out of the backyard until I'm done. Now, go!"

After a brief hesitation, Kota did her bidding, but he kept his eyes on her. 

For a moment, the woman stood rock still beside Roi. Then she reached up with her right hand and to the ground with her left one.

"From Heaven to Earth," she recited quickly, "from Earth to Heaven, the River of Life flows. I'm Le Ruste, the Healer of Erume, and... Hitho!"

Her voice broke and tears rose into her eyes. "The Healer of Erume, indeed. I got what I wished for, didn't I? I got what I so carelessly wished for," she whispered bitterly as she knelt again beside her fallen friend. "Winter Swan, be damned! Your cruelty has no limit!"

But, it wasn't the time to dwell in such thoughts. Taking a deep breath, Ruste took control of her emotions. She concentrated and focused her inner vision on Roi's body. Somehow she knew what was wrong, what was needed to make it better, and how to do it. At once, she detected that the worst of the damage was the chest wound: a cut artery and a punctured lung. Other than that, the wounds weren't life-threatening. The rest would have to wait while she worked on the chest wound.

In addition to muscle and vein, the knife had severed something that had no tangible form. Ruste saw it as a pulsing flow of energy that run from his core to every part of his body and back in a continuous loop. Now, the loop was broken at Roi's chest, and the energy was flowing out of his body. Ruste knew that before she could knit together Roi's broken organs she needed to fix his energy flow.

She closed her eyes and focused on her own life-energy. Tapping into it, she reached out a hand and put one finger on the bleeding wound.

"Mala!" she gasped as her flow touched Roi's. It hurt. 

Despite the pain, she managed to channel her energy into the gap in Roi's energy flow. For a moment nothing happened, and she concentrated harder. Then, hesitantly, Roi's energy started to seep into the conduit she was offering. The two flows mingled and danced and finally Roi's energy flowed through the conduit back into his body. Immediately, Roi's physical state became more stable. As soon as he was stable enough, Ruste withdrew from the contact with Roi's flow. The pain of the contact faded away.

Swiping sweat from her brow, Ruste turned her attention to the severed artery and some smaller veins. She knew that Roi had already lost too much blood. She rebuilt the blood vessels as quickly as she could. Then she knitted together the punctured lung tissue. Roi had several bad bruises and a dislodged shoulder, but Ruste didn't touch them. His body was well equipped to deal with those.

The more prominent problem was the loss of blood. With her mind she was able to tap into Roi's life energy without pain, and she was about to transform a portion of it into blood when something told her to stop.

Ruste kept her touch on Roi's flow light, to not disturb it in any way, and took a calming breath. She took a mental step back and tried to see the situation with fresh eyes.

What a fool I am! she berated herself as soon as she understood why she needed to think more closely what she was doing. If I use the little extra energy Roi has left to make blood there won't be energy left for him to heal the bruises. That would be disastrous, too. But, does this mean that I've done everything I can?

For a moment, Ruste didn't know what to do, but then she got an idea. As before, she put a finger on the open wound and touched Roi's energy with her own. The contact jolted her again, making her gasp in pain, but as soon as she recovered enough, she fed some of her extra energy to Roi and turned that energy into blood. With a sigh of relief, she withdrew from the painful contact.

For a moment Ruste looked at Roi, her face pale and tense; then her face twisted into an anguished mask.

"Oh, Roi, I hate you," she sobbed as she gently brushed a few stray, black curls back from his eyes.

Ruste was exhausted but she couldn't rest just yet. After a couple of minutes, she wiped the tears from her eyes and called Kota back from the front yard. He came running.

"Is he alive?" he asked as soon as he stopped beside Roi and Ruste.

"Yes. I think he'll pull through. He's stable enough at the moment."

"How can that be? He was all but dead. What did you do?"

"He isn't bleeding any more," Ruste said being deliberately vague.

"Yeah," Kota said at a loss for words.

"Keep an eye on him, will you," Ruste said quickly, "while I go find Reume. We need to get him inside as soon as possible."

Ruste left. As she reached the lighted part of the yard, Kota called after her, asking her to wait, but she walked on.

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