The campfire burned low, a dull red eye glaring in the dark. Its glow played over Tusk’s battered frame, all scar and sinew and ruin.
'Do I want to know?'
“Depends,” she murmured, “If you only like pleasant answers, probably not.”
“Some of these were traded fair,” she admitted and placed the red crystal on his chest. The next crystal, the smaller, bright as winter sunlight. She cradled it in her palm, then leaned forward and set it against his forehead. Then came a black crystal that had a surface that resembled an oil spill. She placed that one in his left hand. A shard of azure blue, laced with veins of gold like lightning frozen mid-strike placed in the middle of the collarbones. "There is a deva who lives alone in the high passes north of Aram Vale. The air’s too thin for most folk and the stars hang so close you feel their breath on your neck.”
She reached for the translucent one, clear as glass except for a faint shimmer within, thumb brushing the smooth surface. “He calls them tears of the firmament." She placed it in Tusk's other hand.
Daniyah placed the last of the crystals. The pink one she set low, just under Tusk’s navel, where life begins and unravels both. It caught the firelight like frozen blood. A metallic one followed, placed at his solar plexus, dull and heavy as a big purse of coin. The last, one ugly grey stone that looked like nothing more than a pebble from the roadside, rested on his thigh, just above the knee.
When all was done, she sat back on her heels. “Don’t move." When all the crystals were aligned, a faint hum of the stones set in the bones, like a vibration, a soft purr of a sleeping beast. Daniyah placed her palms lightly on the side of his head, two fingers pressing on his temples. Thumbs pressing against the crown of his head. “Breathe slow. Don’t fight it."
She murmured the low, each syllable a thread drawn from the marrow of his wounds. A pulse of heat shivered through her palms, a tether of agony linking him to her. Pain coiled beneath her palms, raw and furious, and she drew it out, threading it through the ashes of a dead man.
Somewhere down a twisting, blackened tunnel, a pale convulsed as the pain surged into it. A ghost, long starved for warmth and light, felt the sudden invasion of pain. Its wailing cry cut through the stone corridors, confused, unsteady. Its mind, frayed and brittle, surged with aggression, claws scraping against walls, echoes of torment seeking release. The runes of ashes, one after one, dissolved.
Daniyah’s hands moved with purpose, pressing the other moon-crystals against Tusk’s skin. Gold-white to his brow, pink to his navel, metallic to his solar plexus, grey to his thigh. Energy throbbed, a pulse like a distant star imploding in the marrow of his bones. Tendrils of light threaded through him, knitting burnt sinews, sealing torn flesh, turning death’s hand aside.
'Do I want to know?'
“Depends,” she murmured, “If you only like pleasant answers, probably not.”
“Some of these were traded fair,” she admitted and placed the red crystal on his chest. The next crystal, the smaller, bright as winter sunlight. She cradled it in her palm, then leaned forward and set it against his forehead. Then came a black crystal that had a surface that resembled an oil spill. She placed that one in his left hand. A shard of azure blue, laced with veins of gold like lightning frozen mid-strike placed in the middle of the collarbones. "There is a deva who lives alone in the high passes north of Aram Vale. The air’s too thin for most folk and the stars hang so close you feel their breath on your neck.”
She reached for the translucent one, clear as glass except for a faint shimmer within, thumb brushing the smooth surface. “He calls them tears of the firmament." She placed it in Tusk's other hand.
Daniyah placed the last of the crystals. The pink one she set low, just under Tusk’s navel, where life begins and unravels both. It caught the firelight like frozen blood. A metallic one followed, placed at his solar plexus, dull and heavy as a big purse of coin. The last, one ugly grey stone that looked like nothing more than a pebble from the roadside, rested on his thigh, just above the knee.
When all was done, she sat back on her heels. “Don’t move." When all the crystals were aligned, a faint hum of the stones set in the bones, like a vibration, a soft purr of a sleeping beast. Daniyah placed her palms lightly on the side of his head, two fingers pressing on his temples. Thumbs pressing against the crown of his head. “Breathe slow. Don’t fight it."
She murmured the low, each syllable a thread drawn from the marrow of his wounds. A pulse of heat shivered through her palms, a tether of agony linking him to her. Pain coiled beneath her palms, raw and furious, and she drew it out, threading it through the ashes of a dead man.
Somewhere down a twisting, blackened tunnel, a pale convulsed as the pain surged into it. A ghost, long starved for warmth and light, felt the sudden invasion of pain. Its wailing cry cut through the stone corridors, confused, unsteady. Its mind, frayed and brittle, surged with aggression, claws scraping against walls, echoes of torment seeking release. The runes of ashes, one after one, dissolved.
Daniyah’s hands moved with purpose, pressing the other moon-crystals against Tusk’s skin. Gold-white to his brow, pink to his navel, metallic to his solar plexus, grey to his thigh. Energy throbbed, a pulse like a distant star imploding in the marrow of his bones. Tendrils of light threaded through him, knitting burnt sinews, sealing torn flesh, turning death’s hand aside.
