Page 34 of Bought By the Revenant
Her eyes stay closed. I check her pulse again and find it even weaker than before, a barely-there flutter under cold, damp skin.
Nell rushes in with a basin of steaming water and an armful of clean cloths. Tomas follows right behind her and goes straight to the cabinets, from where he pulls out my surgical kit and various jars and bottles.
“Cut away the bandage,” I tell Nell, who nods and begins working.
The soaked fabric falls away in pieces, revealing the deep gash on Amity’s inner arm. The Elder’s knife cut deep into her flesh, slicing through layers of skin and muscle. The wound gapes open, still seeping blood despite the pressure I’ve been applying. She’s lucky to be alive at all. I start cleaning it with antiseptic solution. Amity doesn’t move or make a sound, not even when I have to probe the deepest parts of the laceration to check for debris. Her complete lack of response terrifies me more than her screaming would.
“She’s lost too much blood,” I say.
I have an idea, desperate and risky, but possibly her only chance at survival.
“I need to give her some of mine.”
Nell looks up at me. “Master?”
“My blood.” I start rolling up my sleeve. “I’m a universal donor. My body is made of many parts, many blood types. I’ve used it before in emergencies.”
That’s not entirely true, because I’ve never done this exact procedure before. In Ethelburg, I had better equipment than I have here. I’ll have to make do with a very rudimentary setup.
“Tomas, bring me the small brass box from the cabinet. The one with the red symbol.”
He hurries to retrieve it while I continue preparing. Inside the box, there are instruments I’ve collected over the years for various purposes: hollow needles of different sizes, glass tubes,rubber stoppers to create seals. The equipment is primitive, but it will work for what I need.
“Nell, prepare her other arm. Clean it with alcohol.”
They both work without questioning me, trusting me even though what I’m about to attempt seems impossible. I select two of the largest needles, and a length of clear glass tubing, then sterilize everything with alcohol before passing the needles through the flame of a lamp to ensure they’re perfectly clean. The method is crude but effective: direct transfusion from my vein to hers.
“Hold her arm steady,” I tell Nell.
I locate a good vein in Amity’s uninjured arm and slide the needle into place, then secure it with a strip of clean cloth tied around her arm. Next, I do the same with my own arm. Dark blood wells up around the insertion point, so dark it’s almost black in the lamplight. I connect the two needles with the glass tube, making sure the seals are tight before positioning my arm above hers. My blood begins to flow through the transparent cylinder, traveling from my body into hers in a steady stream. I watch the dark fluid make its journey, both fascinated and terrified by what I’m doing.
“Is it working?” Tomas asks in a hushed voice.
“We’ll know soon. Keep watching her color.”
Minutes pass. Then I see it – the faintest touch of pink returning to her lips.
“There,” Nell whispers. “She looks better already.”
I continue the transfusion until I judge she’s received enough blood to stabilize her, then carefully disconnect the apparatus from both our arms. Tomas presses a clean cloth to the puncture on my arm while I prepare for the next step.
“Now for the wound.”
I select a needle and a special thread I’ve created for my own use – fine silk infused with herbs that promote healing, and atouch of magic, too. As I thread the needle, I begin to hum. The melody rises from somewhere deep within me, from memories that precede my physical existence. The language of the cosmos flows from my lips, though I’m sure I’m pronouncing many of the words wrong. I don’t know their meaning, but I know they’re powerful. When I make the first stitch, the thread glows faintly where it touches Amity’s skin. The light pulses in time with my heartbeat, spreading outward from the suture in soft ripples.
Nell makes a small sound of surprise but doesn’t interrupt my work.
I continue stitching the wound closed while the ancient words pour from me in a half-remembered song. Each suture seems to become part of Amity’s flesh rather than just holding the edges together. The magic will do more than close the wound, it will prevent infection, speed the healing process, and minimize scarring. It will also change her in small ways, most likely too subtle to notice. I’m not stitching her whole body, just her left arm, so she won’t lose any of her humanity. I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t think it was necessary. When she got cut in the fence, I did a simple stitch and didn’t use any magic. But her life is at stake now.
When I tie off the final stitch, I go silent. The glow fades, leaving behind a neat line of black thread that looks decorative rather than medical. The wound is perfectly closed, and there’s no more bleeding.
Nell begins cleaning the dried blood. “Will she recover, Master?”
“I believe so. The next few hours will tell.”
I run a hand through my hair and wince at the pain in my side. I was so focused on Amity that I forgot I was stabbed. I pull off my ruined shirt to examine the wound. The edges have already begun to knit together on their own, but it still needs proper cleaning. One of the perks of being a revenant is that weheal quickly. It takes me ten minutes to wash and bandage my own injury, then I pull a chair close to the table where Amity is sleeping. Nell drapes a blanket over her. Tomas has already gone with the instruments I used, and I know he’s sterilizing them.
“You should rest, master,” Nell says. “I can watch over her.”
