Dichtende Designerin

genre: fantasy // tw: death of a soldier, mention of battle wounds // oc: mage Saoirse Dearbháil // word count: 1,268 // under the cut: rest of the story and my taglist

“Do we really need to get that witch involved? I don’t trust her.”

“You know that he is going to die if we don’t seek her help!”

“I’ve heard she only heals men when she gets paid upfront or the wounded returns a favour. Can we even afford this healing process?”

“Well Arthur is a good soldier and we need him in the battlefield. Who else is going to lead the troop in a fight against the Myanoi warriors? They fly on dragons while we ride on horses!”

I can hear them chattering while they are approaching my tent. How disrespectful these peasants are! Calling me a witch! Unbelievable. A hand pulls the woolen curtain covering the entrance of my tent to the side and the first soldier steps in with a respectful nod in my direction. A handsome, tall man with brown fuzzy hair, barely showing his anxiety. The other soldier follows reluctantly and gives me a wry smile. His hunched figure sways in despise. My black lips part to remark: “I’ve overheard your conversation. It seems you are in desperate need of my healing magic. How much are you willing to pay to save the life of your comrade?”

They don’t answer right away. Their eyes dart over my various possessions, in search of something witchy. Maybe they expect to see the devil himself in my bed! A laugh nearly escapes my mouth at this ridiculous thought. The few things I own consist of some old leather books full with ancient spells my grandmother passed down to me. A few flacons with selfmade potions. A lot of dried herbs hanging over an iron cooking pot and a few self-sewn clothes sprawled over the silken sheets of my bed. Nothing a mage with my abilities would be proud of, but I’d rather be on my own than to serve in the court of a king.

The sound of a dry harrumph brings me back into the moment. “So… how much does his life cost? My service is not cheap”, I remind them. The taller soldier straightens up his posture and reaches for his pouch. The smaller man remains unmoved. His eyes are fixated on the swirling snake in my crystal amulet. Wearily, I brush over my cleavage and stare back. I could eat your soul, I send out a telepathic warning. Shocked, he jumps back a step and I’m pleased by how little he knows I can do. Mages always keep their secrets.

“Are a hundred Guldens enough?” Our hands touch slightly as he hands me over the pouch full of Guldens. ”I will see what I can do. Where is the wounded soldier?” We leave my tent and stroll over the battlefield. Many soldiers are badly injured, but I can’t help everyone. Not without payment. Don’t judge me, I have to make a living. Some legs are in my way, rotten flesh hanging down in pieces. Disgusting, but a view I got used to. Quickly, I step over them and breathe in the fresh smell of my herbs while following the soldiers. Fifteen more steps and there he lies. Barely breathing, a wrecked body in tattered clothes. Blood is oozing out of the stab wounds at an alarming speed, drenching the grass in dark red.

“You didn’t mention that he is so close to death. How am I supposed to save his life? There’s not much left to save”, I spit out. It scares me to get nearer, but I won’t show this weakness. “We paid you more than enough! You are obliged to heal him”, the handsome one shouts. “Don’t waste precious time!”, the other scolds me. “It might take a while. I can’t undo all the damage done. Stay behind me! Give me the space and time I need”, I advice them. They look uncomfortably at each other, brows furrowed in distrust. “I will try my best to catch his fleeting heart”, I promise. With a deep sigh, I fall on my on knees, crack my knuckles and place both hands on his bare chest. I’m here to help you, I say to his mind. Can he hear me? It might be too late. His skin is already turning cold under my fingers. Under shivers, I reach deep down into my core and unleash my magic.

My finger tips turn hot as I pour my magic into his chest, through the layers of skin and flesh and blood vessels, right into his barely beating heart. No spells needed, I’m using untamed intuitive magic, but I mumble some incoherent words to reassure the soldiers. The pain hits me in waves. It starts as a tingle on my skin, then quickly turns into an itchy rash spreading all over my body and seeps deeper, until I’m burning from the inside. The fire consumes me. I am burning alive.

I hate this feeling I hate it so much it hurts please make it stop it hurts aah it hurts I’m not dead no I’m alive I’m okay it hurts make it stop no no no please stop

Feet shuffle over the dried grass and I can feel bewildered looks over my shoulder. Oh for devil’s sake! I was so absorbed in the healing process, I didn’t realize I was sending my thoughts directly into the minds of the soldiers waiting behind me. Shame takes over my consciousness, but I shift my focus back to the matter at hand. My mind can’t be occupied, so I clear it from these unwanted thoughts. Ihave to trust in the healing process. I have to trust in my magic, however twisted it might be. No matter how much it hurts me. I will bring this man back to life!

Come back to the living world, I whisper gently. There’s not much magic left in me, the last drops seep through my fingers as I press them into the bleeding wound. It feels like death is sucking his soul out of his body and I have to catch his soul and force it back into this bleeding mess. In a way I feel sorry for not letting him die. His time has come. It’s unnatural to force him to keep living. But I do what I get paid for. And these soldiers think they need him, so who knows if he will be thankful or mad for getting a second chance? A last wave of burning heat rolls through my body, breaking the painful bonding. A shudder shakes me to the core and I break away from his body, hugging myself, completely exhausted. His breaths grow longer and steadier. Slowly, the long lashes part and reveal a pair of dark eyes, full with disbelief. What the hell did you do to me? I waspreparedfor this question, but it still hits me right in the gut. I did what they paid me to do. Enjoy your second life, I reply in my mind, a sad smile on my lips.

Swiftly, I get up and turn around to face the soldiers. “My work is done here. He will probably need six to nine weeks to heal from his various wounds, but then he will be ready for the next battle.” The tall soldier seems pleased. “He’s alive! It’s a miracle!”, he exclaims happily. “It’s witchcraft”, the hunched one murmurs, visibly disgusted by what he just witnessed. “No, it’s magic”, I correct them and scoffingly wave goodbye. I have to get out of here! In a quick move, I ruffle my skirts and rush to the end of the battlefield, back to my homely tent. Why am I even doing this to myself? I can’t catch all fleeting hearts. After all, nobody ever catched mine.