Page 16 of A Lie so Pretty and Poisonous

A piercing scream broke through the trees to our right. I jolted, and Cora stiffened in my arms. It was a scream I recognized immediately, having heard it countless times as an herbalist. It was a scream of desperation.

Gabriel was off his horse before I could process what to do. “Dismount now,” he commanded, taking Cora in his arms and setting her on the ground behind him. The rest of the soldiers formed a circle around us, swords unsheathed, taking in the forest and readied to strike at any sign of a threat.

“Mom?” Cora’s voice wobbled. She hooked her arms around my waist.

“Help! Someone help my son!” a woman pleaded, her voice riddled with fear.

A following crash through the trees raised the hairs on my body. I peeked my head around Gabriel’s torso, who was shielding us both, to see a figure moving toward us, clutching something to her body. A seraph breached the tree line, and a child, a few years older than Cora, lay limp in her arms. Her body trembled.

She dropped to her knees at the sight of our group. “Please! My son!” Her eyes darted around and landed on me. The terror in her voice and the pleading in her eyes were a beacon, a call to action that I responded to without hesitation. A mother in need of help from another mother. I pulled away from Cora, stepped around Gabriel, and ran to her side.

“Rory!” Gabriel yelled. I could hear him running behind me. Whether he was angry or worried, I couldn’t tell. I didn’t care.

I crashed to my knees in front of her, and I turned to the group of soldiers in admonishment, noting their lack of urgency. “The boy needs help! Someone, bring me my satchel.”

The mother laid her ghostly pale child on the ground. A silver dagger was lodged in his side, and blood seeped from a wound, saturating his tunic in crimson. I gasped and looked up at the mother’s tear-soaked face. “How long has he been like this?”

“I don’t know! I found him this way. He was playing in the woods, and when he didn’t come home, I went looking for him. Please! He can’t die,” the woman cried out.

The boy’s pulse was weak but present. If I could get the bleeding to stop, he would stand a chance.

Gabriel stood behind me, hand on his weapon, like this was some sort of trick that would lead to a battle. I looked up at him. “Gabriel, please heal him.”

He knelt beside me, eyes tracing my face. “I can’t, Rory. Not at this level and with that type of dagger.”

“I thought seraphs have healing enchants!” I said frantically. His lack of trying twisted my stomach.

“We do,” he swallowed, “for minor injuries. He needs an actual healer. The closest is several miles away. He’ll never make it. I’m sorry.” He placed his hand on my back.

Stubbornness was both my blessing and my curse. I had never been a woman to accept defeat while there was a heart still beating. I looked into the frantic mother’s rimmed-red eyes and back at Gabriel. “I can help him. I need my satchel!”

Gabriel shouted, “Caleb! Bring the lady her satchel and hurry!”

My eyes flicked to Cora, who stood next to Devoruh and shifted her weight back and forth, chewing on her bottom lip.

Caleb handed me my leather bag, and I tore it open, strewing the contents on the damp ground. “Water! I need water and a bowl or container of some sort,” I shouted to nobody and everybody.

The frantic mother clutched her youngling’s hand, whispering in a hushed voice, rocking back and forth with her eyes clenched. There was hope underneath her pleading. A promise in her unintelligible murmurs.

I grabbed herbs of yarrow, neem, dittany, and horsetail. Caleb returned with a water skin and a marble bowl, placing them next to me. I uncorked and poured the herbs into the bowl, using a rock to crush them finely. “What’s his name?” I asked the mother, keeping my voice steady as I poured small amounts of water into the bowl to create a paste.

“Bonvis. Please save him, miss.” She ran her hands across his ashen face.

“I am certainly going to try,” I reassured her. “Gabriel, when I say, please remove the dagger.”

He blinked and nodded hesitantly. “Sure.”

The herb paste sat at the ready. I took one steadying breath and said a silent prayer to Airmed to give me a steady hand. “On my count. Three, two, one.”

Gabriel yanked the dagger from Bonvis, and I clapped my hand on the wound, keeping pressure. A breeze gusted through the forest, caressing my face and cooling my heated body. I removed my hand and packed the paste in and around the puncture, firmly pressing it down. There was no air moving in or out of my lungs while I waited to see if the herbs I used, the only ones I had on me, worked. I had never tried them on such a deep wound. If I could get the bleeding to clot, then maybe we could get him to a healer, and he would be saved.

“Stay with us, Bonvis,” I whispered. “Don’t give up.”

I slowly lifted my hand. We hung in a moment that would either tear this mother to pieces or gift her more time. We simultaneously drew air into our lungs. A connection—mother to mother.

I let out the shaky breath I was holding. “It stopped.” Her pained eyes met mine, and she released the same shaky breath.

Bonvis’ pulse weakly fluttered under my fingertips. He was still with us. Still had a chance. Hope and tears swam between the mother and me. I couldn’t remember a time when I was more relieved. Working with herb combinations that were not the normal protocol was risky, but Airmed guided me straight and true.