Grace. It was Grace whom Lirith had pictured in her mind.
Aryn rested a hand on her belly, but she could not feel the child move within. She tried to use the Touch to sense the little life, but the threads were too fragile, too tangled. Or maybe there was no life there to sense. Maybe the man who had burned his home, his family was right. Maybe there was no hope after all.
Behind her, Teravian let out a soft moan in his sleep. The nightmares again. Aryn knew she should go to bed. Instead she stayed at the window, gazing into the night, and watched the fires burn.
34.
The sun sank toward the horizon, its light spilling across the desert like blood. Grace knelt on the edge of the patch of slipsand, staring at the place where Travis had vanished. This couldn’t be happening; he couldn’t be gone.
Farr bound a rag around his right arm. “The bloodspell that created the sand creatures must have been keyed to Travis. I think he knew that. I think he knew, if he perished, the sand creatures would as well.”
Larad’s shadow fell upon Grace. “He saved us, Your Majesty.”
“Then let us save him!” Vani said, pushing Larad aside. She knelt beside Grace. “You sensed him, didn’t you? Where is he?”
Grace shook her head. It didn’t matter. She had felt his thread go dark. Travis was dead. Truly dead.
Vani gripped her shoulder. The T’gol’s fingers dug into her flesh. “I said where is he, Grace?”
The pain cut through the dullness in Grace’s mind. “There.” She pointed in front of her. “Down there. Six feet. Maybe more. I’m not sure. He could have been drawn farther down after he . . . after his thread . . .” She couldn’t speak the words.
Farr moved forward. “Six feet of slipsand is not enough to have crushed him. I will call the morndari. If I can summon enough of the spirits, they will be able to pull him out.” He started to undo the bandage on his arm, then staggered.
Vani leaped up, keeping him from falling. “No. You have lost too much blood already. You will perish as well.”
“I have to try.” He tried to pull away from her, but he was too weak to break her grip. He gazed at her, dark eyes imploring. “Please, Vani. You know what he is fated to do. Let me go!”
Vani clenched her jaw, then released Farr. However, before he could remove the bandage Larad spoke.
“Wait–there is another way.” The Runelord held the iron box that contained the Imsari. He opened it and took out the three Stones. “I am not so skilled with the Imsari as Master Wilder, but I may be able to use them.”
“If you’re going to use them, do it now!” Farr said, his voice edging into a snarl. “He’s been down there over a minute already.”
Vani’s gold eyes locked on the Runelord. “You said you did not know the rune for sand.”
“Then I will speak the rune of opening.” Larad gripped all three Stones in one hand. “ Urath,” he intoned, and with his free hand he made a cutting motion.
It was as if the ground had been struck by a gigantic hand. A golden wave rose up, spilling outward in either direction as the sand parted.
“ Urath!” Larad shouted, sweat pouring down his brow, and again he thrust with his hand. More sand flew up and out, and a trough formed in the sand, deeper and deeper.
“Cease!” Vani cried.
Larad lowered his hand and staggered back, clutching the Stones to his chest. The Runelord’s spell had formed a trench in the sand a dozen feet deep. At the bottom of it lay a crumpled figure.
Avhir had been standing a short distance away, observing everything with bronze eyes. Now the T’golstalked forward. “The walls of the trench are not stable. The sand is going to collapse back in.”
“I will get him,” Vani said, and before anyone could move she jumped down into the trough. The T’gollanded lightly, but the vibrations from the impact were enough to cause sand to begin sheeting down the walls, pouring into the trough. She crouched and lifted Travis. His body was limp in her arms.
“Take him!”
Vani was even stronger than Grace had imagined, for with a grunt she stood and lifted Travis’s body above her head, though her face was lined with effort. Braced by Farr, Avhir reached down a long arm and grabbed Travis’s wrist. He pulled back, heaving Travis’s body out of the trough.
The edges of the trench gave way with a groan, and sand flooded in just as a dark streak shot upward in a cloud of dust. The air shimmered, then Vani was there. The T’goldrew close as Avhir laid Travis’s body on stable ground.
“Is he . . . ?”
“Yes,” Avhir said. “He is dead. The slipsand suffocated him.”
Vani looked at Grace, her gold eyes brilliant in the last of the daylight. “You are a witch. You can revive him.”
No. Travis wasn’t dying, he was dead. All the same, Grace reached out with the Touch. Two years ago, she had failed to save a dear friend–Sir Garf–by connecting his life thread to hers; she had been held back by the dark blot on her own strand. Since then, she had learned to move beyond the shadow of her past; there was nothing to hinder her magic. However, magic itself was too weak now, and even if it wasn’t, it wouldn’t matter. His life thread had been extinguished. She searched, but there was nothing for her to connect her own strand to.
Larad touched her shoulder. “You can do it, Your Majesty. You have the power.”
“Witchcraft is the magic of life,” she said, the words bitter as poison on her tongue. “It can do nothing for the dead.”
“I do not mean magic, Your Majesty. Were you not a skilled healer before you became a witch? Have you not revived others who were gone? I know you have–I have heard you speak of it.”
These words jolted Grace, like the electric surge from the paddles of a defibrillator, causing her own heart to begin beating rapidly. For so long she had a been a witch, a queen; she had almost forgotten what she had been far longer, what she really was. But Travis hadn’t forgotten.
Don’t worry, Grace. You’ll save me. I know you will. . . .
He had known sacrificing himself would stop the sand creatures. Just as he had known Grace could bring him back. She was a doctor; she could do this. Except she didn’t have the equipment she needed: a crash cart, epinephrine, and a staff of nurses.
What about magic, Grace?
No, the Weirding was too weak, too easily tangled. For a moment she wondered if Larad might be able to speak the rune of lightning, to give his heart a jolt. But the amps had to be precisely tuned. Too much, and all hope was lost. There was only one way to do this.
She knelt beside Travis, letting instinct and experience take over. How long had it been since he had stopped breathing? Two minutes, maybe more. They had to begin CPR immediately. She turned Travis’s head, and with two fingers she removed sand from his mouth and trachea, clearing his airway.
“Vani,” she said, “kneel down beside him.”
The T’goldid not question Grace’s orders.
“Place your hands here, just above the base of his breastbone. When I tell you, perform fifteen chest compressions. Like this–press firmly with the heel of your hand, but not so hard as to fracture his ribs.”
Grace moved around Travis, aware of his gray skin, his blue‑tinged lips. She tilted his head back, pinched his nose shut, placed her mouth over his, forming a tight seal, and breathed. His chest rose, then fell. She breathed again, then leaned back.