THE FALL OF forty feet was considerably less thanks to the landslides, but it was still quite a distance.
Sage landed on her hip, her left hand thrown instinctively out to catch herself as her right curled around to protect her face. Her left sleeve and pant leg were drenched in blood and water, and when she tumbled down the mound of earth, she rolled over several shattered jars of dremvasha, which burst into flame as it touched the moisture on her clothes. She expected to feel heat, but there was none, only pain.
Get out get out get out
When she’d hit the ground, she knew which way was the shortest path out of the fire, but as she screamed and writhed, she lost all sense of direction, all sense of dignity.
Don’t touch anywhere else
It would only get worse if she got more of it on her. Sage lunged in the only direction that seemed possible to move in and nearly fainted from the wave of agony. Screaming gave her an anchor in consciousness, gave her the energy to lunge again.
And again.
And again.
A tall figure stood on the edge of the fire around her, on her. Casseck. He reached out a gloved hand, and she rolled and threw her good arm at him, and he grasped it and yanked her out.
The flames followed her from the river of fire as he dragged and rolled her across the sandy ground. Some of the jelly smeared and extinguished briefly before reigniting.
Hands on her waist, jerking her breeches down. Half the cloth had burned away and the rest melted to her skin. She cried out as they came apart. Her sleeve was already gone, but Cass tore the edges of that off, too. And her glove. The thick glove came away, and she saw it was on fire, but it had protected her wrist and hand, though they were blistered. Somehow they hurt more than—
Through a haze of pain, Sage managed to focus on her leg, which was red as raw meat but still had ashy patches of fabric on it. She reached for one with her right hand, thinking to peel it off, when Casseck grabbed her to prevent it.
“I just want to get it off, it doesn’t hurt there,” she told him. Those places were islands of calm in the sea of agony that was the left side of her body.
And then she saw her left arm, and it was close enough in her pain-blurred vision to see the same patches that were not, in fact, black cloth but charred skin.
She felt no pain there because there was nothing left to feel.
Sage looked back down to her leg, where the skin bubbled and blistered, and fresh waves of pain washed over her. Then she cast herself into the ocean of it and let the depths swallow her into their blackness.
109
AFTER THE LANDSLIDE, everyone had stood still, shocked by the explosion of flame and light and heat. But Alex had only one thought: Sage.
He kept no count of the men he killed or maimed to get to her. Most were fleeing, not fighting, but he made no distinction as he cut his way through them. They were obstacles, nothing more.
Casseck was already there, bent over Sage near a river of fire flowing out and around a huge mound of dirt and glass. Alex fell to his knees beside her and took everything in. Cass had already stripped away the affected clothing, though Alex suspected most of it had burned off. Her left arm and leg lay exposed, red and blistered with sickening patches of black, but she didn’t look in danger of burning more. He felt her neck, praying for a pulse, and found it, shallow and rapid. Alive but unconscious, which was better for her.
Flames spewed from the top of the pile of earth. The stones themselves seemed to be melting, though it was hard to tell through the waves of heat. Molten streams advanced slowly, sputtering out of cracks between the rocks near the base. He needed to move her, but how to pick her up? If he cradled her on her left, he would grind against her wounds, but he could shelter them better. From the other side he’d still have to hold her, perhaps centering pressure in places that would damage her further.
“I need a blanket,” he shouted to Casseck. His friend pushed to his feet and ran. Alex put his arm under Sage’s shoulders and pulled her up and against him, putting his mouth to her ear.
“I’m here, Sage,” he whispered. Her back arched, and her eyelashes fluttered against his neck. “Stay with me. I’m getting you out of here.” He pressed his lips to her soot-smeared forehead.
Spirit above, it was just like Charlie—
The sound of a sword being drawn from a scabbard made him look up. Casseck stood between them and a Kimisar fighter dressed in Demoran clothing. Swirling tattoos decorated his exposed forearms. The man raised his hands, palms out, then slowly reached up to push the hood of his cloak back. He wasn’t very much older than Alex himself, but he looked much wearier. His brown eyes looked past Casseck to Alex cradling Sage, and there was recognition, though Alex couldn’t recall ever seeing this man before.
“Get back!” Casseck shouted through the roar of fire and smoke. They didn’t have more than a minute to get Sage out of here.
The man shook his head and pulled his hands around to undo the clasp at his neck. Slowly and deliberately, he shrugged off his cloak and held it out. “Take it,” he said in Demoran. “Carry her away.”
The Kimisar was armed with knives at his belt, so Cass reached for the cloak without lowering his sword. As soon as Casseck had it, the man retreated, hands in the air again, until he faded into the smoke.
Alex didn’t even consider that it might be a trick, but Casseck never turned his back on the spot where the man had vanished as he brought the cloak to them. After a moment’s hesitation, he jammed his sword in the ground and spread the rough cloth next to Sage.
Alex grabbed an edge and pulled it under her torso and rolled the rest of her onto it so she lay on her uninjured side. Then they folded the end around her, making a hammock. Alex grabbed his sword and stood, and they lifted her together.
“This way!” he shouted, tugging his end. Casseck followed him into the smoke.
110
SHE LAY AT an angle, so her weight rested on her right side and her back. Her left side was almost too painful to comprehend. It both throbbed and stabbed with a thousand daggers. Yet it was better than the first time she woke, when they’d been cleaning sand and dirt from the wounds. Her jaw still ached from biting down on the leather strap they’d put in her mouth. She’d screamed and thrashed at first, until she became aware of Alex holding her against him where he could. He was whispering in her ear, trying to soothe her, but his own choking sobs were impossible to hide. She focused on his voice and managed to quiet down and also stopped fighting, other than the twitches and jerks she couldn’t help, and tears from Alex’s face fell and mingled with hers.
Now a moist fabric lay over her body to keep her wounds from drying too much. Most of the outside of her leg, her hip, and the middle section of her arm had been burned to huge, painful blisters that ran into one another and burst before sloughing off, leaving weeping rawness behind. A spot on her thigh and another on her calf, plus one on her upper arm, had burned to the point of charring. Her hand, though, protected by her thick glove, had only been comparatively singed. She only ever looked at her burns once. That was more than enough.