An hour later—how was it only an hour?—Jeron perched on a crate in a Mageguild tent, recovering. Kate and Moya had joined him, hunkered on their own crates, one on each side of him. They looked as bleary-eyed and exhausted as he felt.
“It was a miracle, Jeron. You said those words about healing, and then the entire world lit up like a sunrise.” Moya’s voice hitched. She clapped Jeron on the back so hard he almost choked on his restorative potion.
“Moya tells me you did well, Jeron. We all know it truly is a miracle because you managed a spell that big with no fire or explosions,” Kate added with a small smile.
Her words might have been teasing, but Jeron caught the seriousness in the other Sage’s eyes. She was smarter than half the Mageguild combined, and now thanks to Moya, Kate knew how far he had pushed his magic.
Moya leaned forward, fixing Jeron with an intense gaze. “You saved a good woman today, Jeron. A good friend. Just thanks, big guy. And welcome back to the land of the living. Try to stay here a while, eh?”
She reached out, her hand trembling over his fingers. He had never seen the unflappable Valiant so shaken, or so relieved.
“The Source can wait a few more decades for the joy of my company, thank you very much.”
“That’s the spirit. Now, I should probably get back to work. Be safe, you lot,” Moya said, then stood and wandered off to help with cleanup.
Kate turned an assessing gaze to Jeron.
“I’m grateful—and truly impressed—that you saved this woman when she was in such a dire place, but you know I have to ask. How far did you push yourself?”
Jeron fought the urge to look away. He had deliberately chosen the particular spell he used, knowing full well the potential dangers. He was not ashamed.
“I added some magic of my own devising to a full Hallowed Healing,” he said, his voice carefully even.
“Added to a Hallowed Healing? Jeron, what have you done?” Sage Kate watched him, expression carefully blank.
“I called on everything I had. Everything,” he repeated, realizing with a sudden clarity what that meant. “I summoned something bright and big and—well, it knocked me clean on my backside, but now someone I care about is still alive.”
“You’re alert and steady, at least,” Kate observed, voice softening.
“What you did was brave, Jeron. Not every healer will make that kind of sacrifice, and honestly, that’s with good reason. We must be able to help the many, not the few. But I know you are not mainly a healer, and I understand you are friends with this young woman.”
Jeron’s mind raced. He had likely taken a few years from his own life in saving Niamh, maybe even depleting his access to leylines. He’d known the cost and was more than willing to pay it. But what would Niamh think of what he had done? Would it change how she saw him, knowing what he’d given up for her?
He didn’t want to burden her with this knowledge. Their friendship was too important to him to risk it changing because of a choice he had made willingly but that might make her feel obligated to him.
“You can’t tell her,” he blurted out, surprised by his own vehemence.
“I was going to ask what you planned to do about that,” Sage Kate said. “At some point, she must know. But I’ll not say a thing… for now until you’ve had time to recover yourself. Speaking of healing—Novice Rexi told me Niamh asked for you before Sage Traval administered another round of potions. The good news is she’ll pull through, probably even be back up and about in a few weeks.”
“Is she awake now?” Jeron wanted—needed—to see Niamh as soon as possible.
“Back in restorative sleep, at least half an hour ago.” Sage Kate looked up as someone called her name.
“Any other wounded to tend or are we all squared away?” A grim-faced soldier poked her head past the canvas tent-flap, a portable magelamp in her hand.
“We’ve sent everyone to the rallying site,” Sage Kate replied.
“That’s welcome news. I’ll be on my way,” the guard sighed with relief.
“Wait, a rallying site?” Jeron cut in. “Are we opening a temporary portal?”
He could scarcely believe that they would use the valuable resources necessary to create a portal from the expedition to Easthaven. The danger might not be as past as he thought. Then again, people from Easthaven had created their own permanent short-range portals to jump all around the city and were more accustomed to using magic than most.
“It’s not open yet, but two Senior Sages are inscribing the runes, and everything else is prepped and waiting. Moya and the rest of Captain Hawke’s detachment are managing weapons and armor repairs. The magecarts should be back in action by the morning, and since you’re a fancy-pants engineer, you’ll probably be joining them and pulling an all-nighter to make it happen.”
“Ah, yes, fancy-pants. That’s absolutely me. I’m happy to help, but when will the portal be live?”
Jeron tried not to think about Niamh lying on a cot, unconscious, waking up alone in a strange hospital bed in a foreign city. Easthaven was so different from the cities in Sylvania, villages and hamlets strung like fairy lights through ancient, beautiful and perilous forests.
The only “forests” in the huge busy port of Easthaven were civic gardens and manor grounds. Niamh had spent only a few nights in the city before shipping out to the expedition. When she awoke, Jeron knew she would need friends.
“Your apprentice said she’d let us know. They’re going to need every mage and their aunties and uncles on deck to get those wounded back to Easthaven.”
“We’d better hop to it, then. Air magic and engineering ability mean I’ll be meddling with space and time to make this happen,” Jeron said and grinned weakly.
Jeron’s apprentice, Novice Rexi Briseas, barreled into the tent like an orange-haired, bristle-tailed maelstrom. The young Sionnach, one of the fox-folk of Sylvania, had energy he could only dream of.
“You’re both wanted at the portal site in a quarter hour. Better get moving, slow bottoms.”
Sage Kate groaned and stood reluctantly. Jeron held the tent-flap open as they filed out.
“I need to see Valiant Starsong before they take her away,” Jeron called out to Rexi’s back. “Where can I find her?”
Rexi spun on her heel and flashed him a grin, tufted ears perked. “A cot at the far western end of the rally. The end with all the portable magelamps — hard to miss.”
Jeron nodded. “Go on. I’ll catch up.”
He did not wait for a reply, doubling his pace as he cut toward the central bonfire, winding through a maze of crates, carts and gear racks. It was barely controlled chaos like always, except tonight, there were no smiles, jokes or excitement about the day’s work.
Healers darted among the wounded, their cots clumped near the makeshift dais housing the portal focus—the rare and valuable piece of ancient Waystone used to create temporary portals linking to larger, existing ones. Soldiers and mages all went about their duty with a quiet urgency Jeron had never seen.
He scanned the crowd until he saw a scattering of pallets illuminated by the glow of magelamps hanging from folding mounts. Niamh lay on a cot, face turned away from the light. Jeron rushed forward, cursing his legs for their slowness. He drew up short and gazed down, stomach sick remembering how close to dying Niamh had been.
Now, she slept so quietly he instinctively knelt and pressed his forefinger to her neck, searching for a pulse. Her heartbeat was stronger than before, but not by much.
Jeron gazed at the soldier he had known for some weeks before she had almost died. How could he feel so connected to someone in such a short time? And that bond was deeper than ever–the healing he’d performed had brought Jeron soul to soul with her. He’d seen her strength, her fear; had felt her soul flickering like candlelight in a strong wind but flaring with hope and a desperate desire to live.
Jeron dug in his robe pocket for the ready-quill and parchment he kept handy for last-minute calculations or flashes of engineering genius. He pressed the parchment to the side of a crate and scribed a note in his sharp, precise script.
Niamh –
Somehow, with the Source’s (and Moya’s) help, I healed you. Wounded are portaling to Easthaven, rest of us to follow. Please find me at 817 Hyacinth Way if you feel up to it. I would be eager to see you since I have ways to help in your recovery. If we end up parting after today, it was a genuine pleasure to serve as your Goodwill Ambassador, but I won’t lie—it would be good to see you again.
–Jeron
He tucked his note into the satchel slung over the end of Niamh’s cot and placed his hand on hers.
“Be well, Niamh. I’ll be waiting for you.” Jeron tore himself away to join the other leymages gathering by the portal focus.
It took every leymage in the camp working together for an hour to open a massive, onetime portal, but thanks to hard work and one still-functioning mage-cart, they ferried the wounded to Easthaven in record time. Jeron was so busy concentrating on his duties that he never saw Niamh’s cot pass by.
“All through! They’re all through,” someone cried out.
Seconds later, the portal collapsed. Jeron slumped in relief. He felt a coolness against his palm and looked down to see his third bottle of restorative potion of the night pressed against his fingers. Rexi grinned up at him in her fey way, then darted off, her basket of potions clinking against the settling quiet.
Niamh had made it safely. Now, there would be discharge papers. Weeks of recovery. Maybe a medal of honor from the Premier herself would be in the works.
Jeron drew a deep, shaky breath, finally steadying himself. Leaving Niamh behind was harder than he’d expected, but he forced his focus toward the portal preparations. She was safe, and he had done all he could. For now, that had to be enough. Still, he couldn’t help the strange, dull ache filling his chest with an emotion that was hard to name.
“Please come find me,” Jeron whispered into the night, hoping against reason he’d see her again.
Lizzie Sinclaire 