Page 137 of Mates for the Raskarrans #1-6

Callif screams past the stick in his mouth, biting down on it hard, his fangs digging into the wood.

His whole body jerks, and I’m not really strong or heavy enough to stop his leg from thrashing.

I do my best, but as soon as Shemza casts the bowl aside, he leans over and presses a hand to Callif’s thigh, adding his strength to mine.

Between us, we keep him pinned as the pain rips through him, preventing him from tearing his injuries, making them worse.

The djenti berry mixture slides over his skin, mingling with the blood, and everything’s so red, it’s like the blood is in my eyes and I’m looking at everything through it.

My whole body shakes, and it’s not the effort of holding Callif down. It’s the effort of keeping the memories out, all of them crowding behind my eyeballs, wanting to play out.

Me in my nightgown, covered in blood. Mercenia’s agents collecting me. The faces sneering at me outside the court. Their voices ringing in my ears.

Scumbag. Criminal. Evil.

And always Rosa’s face right alongside them, looking at me with horror. Smashing any chance that I could hold on to the belief that I was a good person who did a bad thing.

Scumbag. Criminal. Evil.

Murderer.

A sob builds in my throat, but I have to keep it together. I can’t let my damage render me useless when Shemza needs my help. When Callif needs my help.

Don’t die. Just please don’t die.

I don’t think I could bear watching someone’s life leave them again.

Anghar returns a moment later, carrying Grace on his back.

She has a pack of supplies, which she sets down, immediately taking out different plants and herbs, laying them all out on a leather cloth to keep them off the ground.

Shemza says something to her, and she nods, immediately going to work.

Moments behind her, Vantos appears with Rachel in his arms, setting her down so she can help Grace, before coming to where I am, taking over.

Harton and Namson arrive next, Harton carrying the stretcher, Namson one of the jugs of water.

Grace uses it to wash her hands before threading a bone needle with a bit of sinew.

Her hands are shaking a little, but she gets it threaded in one go.

She blows on a strand of hair that’s getting in her eyes as she leans down.

I move to her side, holding her hair back out of her face.

I’m covered in blood and getting it all over her, but she gives me a quick smile of thanks, before leaning forward again, moving in to stitch Callif up as Shemza rinses away the blood and berry mess.

Callif doesn’t fight it. I think he’s passed out from the pain.

Grace is quick and neat in her stitching, and it’s not long before Rachel’s darting in with strips of clean leather to pad the wound, absorb the blood.

Shemza has Jaskry and Vantos lift Callif so a bandage can be wrapped around him.

Rachel ties it off, and then it’s on to the stretcher and back toward the village and the healer’s hut.

Harton and Namson take him, Jaskry and Anghar collapsing with exhaustion to the forest floor.

In the strange peace of the moment, I forget myself. Lift a hand to my face and push my hair back.

The thick blood coating my hands smears across my brow, sticky and still a little warm.

Or maybe that’s just in my head, I’m not sure.

All I know is I feel it on me, as if pumped straight from the source, and with a suddenness that’s almost violent, I’m not in the forest, I’m in my bedroom, and the knife is in my hand, and it’s plunging in, slicing through flesh easily.

So easily. Blood pumps out around it, coating my hands, my body, my skin.

It’s everywhere. On my clothes, in my hair, soaking into the carpet beneath my feet.

I didn’t mean to.

I didn’t mean to.

I collapse to the floor, shaking so hard the knife slips out from between my fingers, and I’m left staring down at the red on my hands, one thought going round my mind over and over and over.

What have I done?

“Lorna.”

The voice is distant, but firm, summoning me back. I try to blink away the memory, but it’s as sticky as the blood on my skin. Hands touch my face, but I can’t see them. Just my room and the red.

“Lorna. Five things.”

Five things.

Five things I can see.

Blood. Blood. Blood. Blood. Blood.

I’m breathing so fast, I’m afraid I might pass out. But the voice is calm.

“Slow, Lorna. Slow.”

A tap on my nose, on my chest.

Breathe slow. Okay.

I make myself draw air deep into my lungs rather than snatching my breaths.

My head swims, but the room and the blood and the memory start to fade.

Instead of sticky, plush carpet, I feel leaves and mulch beneath me.

The forest floor. I blink, the brilliant red fading into monochrome.

And then I can see Shemza through it, his big brown eyes staring at me.

No emotion in them, just calm. Healer Shemza, not confused, hurt Shemza.

“Five things,” he says again.

“Leaves,” I say, my voice reedy and high, but saying it out loud forces me to breathe more evenly. “Trees, mud, fire, Shemza.”

I dig my hands into the mud, let it squelch through my fingers, erasing the tight feel of the blood drying on my skin. I touch a spiky twig. Run my hands over my trousers. Shemza picks up a leaf and places it on my palm, and I slide the tips of my fingers over the waxy skin.

I close my eyes, listen to the sound of the bodies around me. Use them to push away the sounds of the chants, the voices condemning my actions.

Jaskry and Anghar breathing hard. Someone shifting their weight and crunching the leaves beneath their feet. I reach a hand out and place it over Shemza’s heart, hearing the strong, steady beat with my bones.

I breathe in, acknowledge the copper tang of blood. Dismiss it. Focus on Shemza’s scent instead.

One thing I can taste.

Shemza places a stick in my hand. It’s the one he’s used to mash the djenti berries. I bring it to my lips, touch it with the very tip of my tongue. Let the explosion of bitterness on my taste buds root me firmly back in the present moment.

“Okay?” Shemza says to me, waving his hand in the ‘okay’ signal.

I nod. Shemza looks to the side. Says something in raskarran.

“It’s okay, go,” Rachel says. “I’ve got her.”

Arms wrap around me, arms belonging to a soft, female body. Shemza nods, then takes off running in the direction of the village.

“I’m going to help Shemza,” Grace says.

“Good. I’ll be along as soon as I can.”

Rachel takes me to the bathing pools to get cleaned up.

She takes off my boots, but otherwise just sits me down in them with all my clothes still on.

She helps me wash my hair, and it’s like the early days of my time in the village all over again, when I couldn’t get properly clean without help because of my arm.

The soap root suds turn pink as the blood comes away from my skin, but Rachel keeps up a steady stream of conversation about nothing, keeping my mind in the now.

Keeping the whispers of the Mercenia Agents, my prison guards, and all those other people who knew me for what I was and let me know about it with a word spoken into my ear, and sometimes a fist driven into my gut.

Murderer.

When I’m clean, Rachel wraps me in a fur and takes me back to my hut, fetching me bed clothes to change into.

It’s not late, but I’m exhausted, emotionally and physically, and I don’t really want to face the world just yet.

Sinking down into a deep, dreamless sleep sounds amazing, but as Rachel puts me to bed, I start to shake, terrified of the dreams that are going to haunt me if I close my eyes.

“I’ll be back in just a minute, okay?” Rachel says, stroking a hand over my hair. “I’m just going to fetch something.”

When she returns, she has a cup of steaming tea. I recognise the smell. The sleeping tea Shemza used to give me when the pain in my arm kept me awake. I never dream when I’ve taken it. I drink it down, trying to smile my thanks to Rachel. She hugs me, then tucks me into bed.

“Is she okay?”

I hear the voices at my door, even as darkness creeps in at the edge of my vision, sleep coming to drag me into blissful oblivion.

“Just in shock. Callif’s injuries… They’re bad. Worse than Vantos’ were.”

“Is he going to be okay?”

“I don’t know. I need to go. I should be helping them.”

“We’ll take over with Lorna. Is there anything she might need?”

“Just… Maybe someone should stay with her. So there’s someone there when she wakes up. Just in case.”

“We’ll sort it. Go.”

“Thanks, Liv.”

Rachel’s footsteps as she heads towards the healer’s hut are the last thing I hear.