The other woman shook her head. “If you do that, he will die. Let the man have peace and dignity.”
“And if you leave the spear in, he will die.” His azure eyes became steely. “There might be a chance. He is beyond your skills, but I have magic—let me try.” The two women stared at Nathan, and he encouraged them to leave. “You go tend to someone you might save.”
They nodded, gently touched the dying man, and hurried off to the other injured townspeople.
When the pair of healers had gone, Nathan grasped the slick, bloody spear. As gently as he could, though there was no gentle way to deal with such an insult to the man’s body, he pulled the wooden shaft out. The man let out a gasping scream. Fresh blood gushed from his mouth, and a bright flow ran out of the ragged hole in his chest. As the man writhed, the wound in his lung made a loud sucking, gasping sound. He would be dead in minutes.
Nathan summoned the magic within him, grasped for the tingle, the touch of his Han, and increased it to a surge, a flow of energy. Additive Magic. He had done this many times before—so many times. It was child’s play for one with the gift, and he knew he could control it.
He pressed his hands against the open wound, pushed his palms down on the streaming blood. He could feel the healing force, and he let the magic flow through him. With his restored gift, he sought out the ripped blood vessels, the torn tissue inside the lung, the brutal hole the spear shaft had tunneled through his chest and back. He could reattach strands of muscle fibers, cement the splintered fragments of bone. He would fix this! He would knit it all together, make this man whole again … whole, as the witch woman Red had said Nathan needed to be. Whole again! The gift wasn’t gone from him. The magic was still his to control, even if he hadn’t yet found Kol Adair.
Nathan gritted his teeth and concentrated harder, forced this man to heal. The magic writhed like a serpent trying to escape, but Nathan made his demands. He could heal. He was in control. He was strong again!
But in a malicious twist, the healing magic fought back, recoiled, and did exactly the opposite of what he wanted. Instead of sealing the bleeding wound, the magic ricocheted and rebounded, becoming a monster that destroyed rather than repaired.
Magic flowed out of Nathan as he pressed down with his hands to stop the blood. The vengeful backlash erupted—ripping the spear wound into a huge gash, splintering the man’s ribs, and turning him inside out. His heart and lungs spilled out in a horrific explosion of blood and tissue. The man didn’t even have time to scream, but lay back arching his neck, then collapsed.
Nathan stared in revulsion and disbelief down at his blood-drenched hands. He had felt the magic. He had tried to heal the poor victim … but instead of just dying peacefully, the man had been split open like an overripe fruit. Nathan had done that! The victim would have died anyway, but not like this!
Nathan staggered back, opening and closing his mouth, but he had no words. He thought he had lost his magic, but this was worse than merely being impotent. The gift had turned against him. If his ability did come back to him, what if he couldn’t control it?
He stared in dismay at the appalling, mangled corpse, sure that a crowd would gather to accuse him of a terrible crime. He wondered if even on her worst days as Death’s Mistress, Nicci had done such an awful thing.
When he looked up, he met Bannon’s glassy gaze. The young man seemed so filled with horror at the events of the night that this new instance had very little effect on him.
Bile rose in the wizard’s throat, and he turned away, his shoulders slumped. He didn’t want Nicci to see this either, though perhaps she could help him understand what had happened. How could his gift have turned so violently against him? For now, even if he sensed magic returning to him, he didn’t dare use it. He might cause an even worse disaster.
Another astonishing realization came to him. What if he had decided to hurl a ball of wizard’s fire at one of the Norukai ships during the battle, and it recoiled on him instead? If the furious white-hot flames had struck back, they could have wiped out half the town of Renda Bay.
Nathan groaned deep in his throat and lurched away from the people who were busy bandaging and tending the injured, splinting broken bones, propping up wounded heads on rolled cloths. He felt ashamed and afraid.
He was dangerous.
Instead, he picked up a bucket and joined the firefighting crews to help extinguish the last blazes that still spread through the town. In that, at least, he could cause little damage.
CHAPTER 25
The fires in Renda Bay burned until morning, and afterward smoke continued to curl into the gray sky, staining the dawn. Houses and boat sheds still smoldered, some charred all the way to blackened mismatched skeletons. A group of fishermen had salvaged six boats from the ruined docks, while throughout the town numb-looking people assessed the damage, talking in subdued voices.
Nicci reflected on the previous day’s easy activity, the relaxed conversations among neighbors, the quaint town activities, the small but busy market square—a way of life now struck down by swords, fire, and blood from the raid.
Seemingly in a stupor, Bannon sat recovering on a splintered wooden bench next to an overturned gutting trough. Silver fish scales spangled the wood of the trough like miniature coins in the morning light. He gripped Sturdy’s leather-wrapped hilt with both hands, as if drawing on its strength. His shirt was torn and stained with soot and blood.
As she stepped up to him, Nicci noted at least five deep cuts on his arms, across his back, on his shoulder. The young cabbage farmer looked engrossed in thought, refighting his battles. He had aged greatly.
Though Nicci was exhausted from expending so much magic during the battle and treating the grievously wounded afterward, she found enough strength to heal Bannon’s cuts and wounds. He didn’t even seem aware of them.
Nathan came up to them with haunted eyes, his long white hair and his borrowed shirt matted with clumps of gore. Dried blood caked his hands.
When Bannon looked up at his mentor, his face showed little recognition. The wizard said in a soft voice, “You fought like an unbelievable warrior last night, as if someone worked a rampaging spell on you—but I know that was no spell.”
The young man’s face was drawn and pale. “Slavers were attacking the village. I had to fight. What else could I do?”
“You did well enough,” Nicci acknowledged. “You fought even harder than you did against the selka.”