“We’re still two day’s travel from Laegenshire. Do you believe they can survive that long?”
“I don’t believe they can survive this day.”
“Then, we must wake Alora. She must transport them to a healer.”
“Let me try to wake her.” Charles knelt beside Alora, speaking into her ear in gentle urgent tones. Ten breaths later, with no response forthcoming, he looked up with forlorn eyes.
“Perhaps I can rouse Kaevin, and he can wake her.” Jireo crouched next to Kaevin, calling out in a louder voice, while attempting to duplicate the desperate emotion that seemed to have called them to him during the Laegenshire battle. “Kaevin! Wake up, Kaevin!”
After a moment Kaevin’s eyes blinked open, and he gave a weak smile at the circle of anxious faces. “Thank you all for your valiant efforts. Alora and I are happy to die together, surrounded by those we love.”
“No! Why will you not try to live?” Jireo wanted to slap Kaevin for his benign acceptance.
“Alora’s body is fighting a losing battle; I feel her pain and her weakness. She’s drawn on our bond until I am equally weak; my head is pounding. Though our time is short, I’m eternally grateful to be free from Vindrake’s hand.”
“Jireo!”
“Darielle?”
“I’ve seen Alora and Kaevin through Graely’s eyes; he wears my sightstone. Laethan wishes to ask if Alora and Kaevin can transport to Laegenshire.”
“We can’t awaken her, and Kaevin says she’s drawn all his strength away through the soulmate bond.”
“Laethan says Graely could give Kaevin his strength, father to son. It will leave him weak, and he must break the contact before he gives too much. It won’t be enough to heal Alora, but perhaps she would have enough strength to wake up and transport them to Laegenshire.”
“Yes. We’ll do it.” Jireo knew the plan would work before he even passed on Laethan’s idea to Graely. The pressure of his defender bond diminished, and he took his first easy breath since Kaevin left the portal.
*****
Alleraen had his doubts about the suggestion, despite the fact it’d come from Laegenshire’s healer. He’d never heard that a parent could donate strength to a child. Kaevin had already fallen unconscious again, and Graely was listening to arguments about how it should be done.
“You should cut your hand, for certain. Blood is always the best way.” Morvaen raised his voice to be heard.
“But Laethan said you only need to spit on your hand,” Jireo insisted.
One voice clamored for attention, “Listen to me! Listen to me!” Arista let out a shrill whistle, and the arguing men fell silent. “Finally… I’ve been trying to tell you… I know how to do it; I’ve known for a long time.”
A few chuckles and low murmurs rippled through the group.
“I’m not lying. Mothers do it all the time. All that’s required is sacrificial love and mother’s milk. Or a drop of blood on the baby during birth. Even a single tear falling on the skin can allow strength to flow from mother to child. It’s why many women die giving birth.”
“But this is not the same thing, of course.” Graely gave a patronizing pat to Arista’s head.
“It is the same.” Arista batted his hand away. “Wait until you speak to Laethan again, and I’ll prove it. Meanwhile, I’m telling you any form of moisture will do, including spit.”
“Why not try the spit like Laethan suggested?” Charles gave Graely a little shove toward Kaevin. “If you bleed on him, he’ll probably become Borg and assimilate you or something.”
While Alleraen pondered the strange comment, Graely fell to one knee, depositing a fat drop of spittle in his palm and clasping Kaevin’s hand. Nothing happened. At least, nothing appeared to happen. He simply froze in that position, unmoving, like a statue. Ten breaths. Twenty breaths. Too long.
“Graely?” Alleraen tapped his shoulder.
Graely fell to the side, eyes glazed open, unspeaking, his hand still clinging to Kaevin’s.
“Pull him away!” Arista grasped his arm, tugging ineffectually. Morvaen lifted Graely under his armpits, dragging him away from Kaevin and Alora.
Graely gasped for air, mumbling, “Did it work?”
“Kaevin! Kaevin!” Jireo called out, shaking his arm.