Page 59 of Stormvein
We’ve been changed. Both of us. What was separate has become connected. What was distinct has become intertwined. The prophecy I denied now weaves us together in ways I’d never have foreseen when I cast that summoning spell all those years ago.
We’ll survive together. Or not at all.
Chapter Fourteen
ELLIE
Order requires isolation. Intimacy breeds resistance.
Authority Codes
“How arewe going to move him?”
I look down at Sacha. His breathing is steadier than it was before, though still labored. The infection that nearly killed him has cleared, but the wounds covering his body are still horrific. Deep gashes cross his torso, his skin mottled with bruises in various stages of healing, purple fading to sickly yellow-green. The brand on his face is still raw and angry, but the skin around it is no longer black and dying.
He slipped back into unconsciousness a while ago, but it seems more like a healing sleep now, rather than the gradual slip toward death I’ve been watching for days.
“He can’t walk.”
“We’ll do what we did to get him here. We’ll carry him.” Varam’s voice is low, a finality in his tone that doesn’t allow for argument.
“Throughmountains?” I gesture to Sacha’s body, the reality of what’s being suggested hitting me anew. Every bump, every jolt will reopen wounds barely beginning to heal.
“We don’t have a choice, Ellie. If the Authority finds us here, all our efforts to rescue him were for nothing. We would have needed to move soon, even if he hadn’t woken. We have no food. What we’re finding isn’t enough to keep us alive.”
Sacha lies still. His eye is closed, but the tension in his jaw makes me suspect he’s conscious and listening. Is he calculating what this choice will cost him? Or is he fighting to on? I wonder if he regrets giving the order to leave here.
“We still have the stretcher,” Kiran says.
Varam nods. “It’s our only option. Four carriers rotating every couple of hours.”
“What about the horses?” Mira asks.
“We have to release them. Send them running east. They’ll draw attention away from our actual route.”
They separate to gather up their belongings. Kiran heads outside to find where we left the stretcher, while Mira examines what clothing and supplies can be sacrificed to help make Sacha more comfortable. I remain where I am, beside him, watching his face for signs I’m right about him being awake. At least that’s what I tell myself, instead of it being because I’m afraid that if I look away, he might vanish between heartbeats.
His eye opens, focusing on me with visible effort. The pain he won’t acknowledge is written into every line of his face, in the way he holds himself perfectly still.
“Water.” The word is barely audible.
I reach for the waterskin and help him drink, supporting his head. His skin is too cold. His hair clings damply to my fingers, matted with sweat and blood. He takes several swallows before turning away, even that small movement exhausting him, a tremor running through his frame.
His weakness scares me more than I want to admit. Before Ashenvale, he was strength personified—shadow and power and unbreakable will. Now he’s a ghost of that man, barely clinging to life. His cheekbones, once high and defined, are hollowed out, casting shadows on his cheeks that weren’t there before. His remaining eye is sunken and dull where it once burned with intensity.
And I keep thinking …
If this connection between us matters, why can’t I stop this? Why can’t I do more than watch him fade?
Every labored breath feels like an accusation against my uselessness. The light inside me pulses with my frustration, but offers no answers, no help, just a silent reminder that I’m still an outsider here, still learning rules to a game where the stakes are his life.
Outside of our little corner, preparations are moving forward with quiet urgency. Kiran returns with the stretcher, the wood damaged from being outside. Mira sorts through our meager supplies, setting aside anything that might serve as padding. Varam oversees the stretcher’s reconstruction, testing each component.
“We’ll need to secure you to it,” Varam tells Sacha when they bring it over. “For the steeper sections of the journey.”
Sacha doesn’t argue, which frightens me more than any protest would have. The Sacha I met in the tower would have bristled at any suggestion of limitation. This version nods once, conceding something he doesn’t have the strength to fight.
When everything is ready, Varam crouches beside him. “Are you ready?”
