The Writer - Chapter 30

The Healer

The man spun around, still clutching Clara tightly to his chest like a human shield. Bones stopped dropping the gladius and instead he tossed the scabbard away and held the weapon in front of him. Titus’s blade glowed orange like he had heated it himself, and his lips were pressed together in a thin line. 

With her allies around her, Clara knew she was safe. She slammed her heel backwards into her captor’s groin and he yelled loudly. She darted away, grabbing Brooke and preparing to lead the girl to safety. Then Titus was at her side. 

“What about Bones?” Clara panted, but as she sent a look over her shoulder, she knew even the weasel man was no match for him. Bones was a whirlwind of fury and attack. The man toppled and Bones held out a thumbs-up for Clara to see. 

She kept running. Her heart pounded and Brooke was beside her, panting for breath.

Bones will be fine, she told herself. Worry about getting Brooke back to the camp where she’ll be safe. 

Clara herded Brooke along, losing Titus somewhere along the line as he split off from the group. When Clara finally saw the lights of the camp ahead, she slowed, pulling Brooke with her. Brooke turned to face her, hair plastered to her head from the rain. 

“Find Gale and Keenan and stay with them,” Clara ordered. “They can keep you safe.” 

“What about you?” Brooke asked. “And what if Gale and Keenan can’t protect me well enough? Why can’t I go with you?” 

“If you don’t trust Gale and Keenan, find Cinnamon, Lou, and Kalaia. As for me - I need to go save as many people as possible,” Clara said softly. Namely Titus and Bones and make sure they aren’t killed. “It’s not safe out there - Baelle’s obviously sending officials after you.” 

Instead of pouting like Clara had expected, the girl wrapped Clara in a tight hug. “Be safe, please.” And then she scurried into the camp. 

Clara let herself catch her breath. Night was turning to morning now, and Clara was exhausted. Just a few more hours. 

She then stole two daggers and a sword from the armory, which was being guarded poorly. She held the daggers in her hands as she made her way back onto the field, nearly dropping both of them - her hands slick with sweat and the rain. 

Immediately, her internal compass pointed her to the right and she followed the feeling to a wounded soldier. There was a large scratch on his head and a spear buried in his gut. 

Clara choked back her emotions as the soldier’s breathing became even more labored. It was too late to save him now. She ran before she could let the tears stream down her face. This was so much harder without Brooke at her side. 

She continued her work, finding an increasing number of dead soldiers. Every life she saw diminish added to her emotional pain and her stomach sank. 

Roughly half an hour later, Clara heard the loud call of a horn sounding from inside the rebel camp. What had the horn meant again? She momentarily stopped her work on a woman rebel who was missing a fair bit of her arm. 

The lady placed her good hand on Clara’s shoulder, startling her. 

“You should head back, angel,” the woman whispered, her voice strained from pain. “The horn means reinforcements have arrived. The captain will most likely suggest the lot of you flee. Save yourself.” 

“Reinforcements?” Clara choked, and the woman nodded. 

“You’ve done well, honey,” the woman assured her. “But the kingdom’s armies are much more impressive than ours. You’ll do better work alive than dead. So run.” 

Clara stood, letting a tiny drop more of her Blessing flow into the woman before taking her advice - though not completely. Reinforcements were indeed bad and Clara knew that the rebels should take heed and run. 

But it was not in Bones’s nature to surrender. Which meant he would still be fighting it on the field. 

Clara ran as fast as her feet could carry her, sliding over the slick ground. Twice she dripped over a soldier begging for her help - one of which was actually a silver soldier who had been abandoned by his own troops. Clara felt sick to her stomach but ran by anyways. 

As the sun kissed the horizon, it illuminated the field with a beautiful, rosy light. 

But the only thing Clara saw was the carnage. Most of the soldiers were gone on the rebel side, the silver soldiers teaming up. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Bones. His neatly trimmed mustache glinted in the rising sunlight. With a start, Clara realized that his hands were bound and he was being led to a prison carriage painted in chipping silver. 

“Bones!” The scream escaped her lips without warning and she rushed towards him. One of his captors wheeled around, catching her around the waist before she could get close. 

“Clara?” Bones was pale, and Clara wanted to heal him. She could sense that he was injured, but she didn’t know how. He recognized her, but he didn't fight against the soldiers. His gladius was noticeably missing. “Clara, go back. Find Titus and run.” 

“What?” Clara burst, struggling against the man holding her. “Why?” 

Bones risked a glance at the men holding the ropes attached to his arms. “They … Baelle has Emmeline, Newt, and Beckett. Now they have me too - and they won’t capture you if I go quietly.” 

Clara was confused. Why had Bones traded his freedom for hers? Sure, she was a healer and all. But Bones was the leader of their rebel army - they needed him more than anyone. 

“Trust me, Clara,” Bones begged. His eyes were filled with pain. “I’ve seen what must happen - and you have to trust me. So run, Clara. Run.” Tears were welling in his eyes, so Clara listened. 

She ran again, the soldiers not chasing after her. 

Had she ever asked where Bones was from? She didn’t think so - but he’d said he’d known what had to happen. If he was a Blessed from Ibeni, there was a chance that he did. Clara wished she’d gotten to know him better. 

She closed her eyes, not even caring anymore. Bones was willing to go to Baelle - who had the rest of her friends too. 

The only one left to turn to was Titus. 

Clara stopped. Titus. She had to find him and tell him what happened. Maybe they could lead an attack on Baelle and rescue everyone. 

She opened her eyes and immediately someone slammed into her. There was a shout, a cry, and a brilliant light as fire swept across the field. It consumed everything that it touched - except for Clara and the person who had pushed her. 

When the fire died, it left behind only a small pile of ash and a figure gasping for breath in front of Clara. 

“Titus?” she whispered, rolling him over. 

His eyes were glazed and his charred fingers were grasping the hilt of a sword that was buried in his gut. 

He must’ve taken a sword for her while she was too busy being an emotional wreck. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice a rasp as his breath rattled in his lungs. “I’m so sorry.” 

The shock wore off and Clara scrambled to heal him. Her shaking hands reached for his chest, but his fingers stopped hers. “No.” A trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth and his voice was strained. 

Clara ignored him, pressing her fingers to his chest. The skin was warm, but her Blessing seemed to encounter a roadblock. “Titus, let me help,” she pleaded. 

“No.” 

Clara pushed her Blessing harder, but it was stopped. Titus’s chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. 

“Don’t leave me,” Clara begged, a tear rolling down her cheek. “Titus, you can’t leave me. Please. Please. Please.” The words poured from her mouth like blood from a wound. No. No. Nononono. This couldn’t be happening. 

“I want to see her,” Titus said. 

Clara tried placing her fingers on his temples, but her hands were shaking too hard. “Titus, please. You can’t leave me.” 

His chest stopped and his eyes fluttered shut. He didn’t look dead, just asleep. 

Something inside of Clara snapped. She felt the world fall away as she held Titus’s hand. He was dead. Dead. Cold. 

“Bring him back!” she screamed at no one. “Bring him back!” 

Surprisingly, she got a response. 

I’m so sorry, my child. It was Elyviella, Clara knew it. 

“You don’t get the right to be sorry,” she spat, her grief and anger churning inside of her. It seemed like just yesterday that Clara had finally accepted Titus. He wasn’t a grief-broken boy like everyone said. He was loyal, charming, and overall a good person. 

You’re like … like the little sister I never had. And you’re one of the only people not to look at me like I’m broken or fragile. 

My deepest condolences- 

“Bring him back!” Clara screamed again, her throat raw. “You’re the goddess of healing and life - do something! Anything!” 

There’s a fine line between necromancy and healing, Elyviella corrected. Besides, he wanted this. Do you really wish to disrespect his wishes by trying to bring him back? The dead are dead, my child. 

Clara felt the hatred burning inside of her like the ball of fire that Titus had used to wipe out the battlefield. 

Hatred for Elyviella. Hatred for the goddess. The Rogues. Baelle. Titus. Emmeline. 

Herself. 

“You think he wanted this?” Clara asked angrily. “He told me just yesterday he was afraid of losing me.” 

He wanted to be with her, Elyviella replied. Her being Marlene, of course. 

“I thought Titus forgot her.” 

Let this be a lesson for you and your Reader friend: you can alter the past as much as you want, but you can never erase it. 

Titus had wanted to be with Marlene. Clara couldn’t hold that against him. Besides, he had saved her life after all. 

That didn’t mean she was ready to forgive him. 

“He left me,” Clara whispered to herself. “He left me all alone.” 

This time, Elyviella offered no comfort. For once in her life, Clara felt painfully and truly alone, like it was her against the world. 

There’s a fine line between necromancy and healing. That’s what Elyviella had said. 

Clara only wished that there wasn’t such a difference because she wasn’t sure that a healing could fix her broken heart. 

She wasn’t sure how long she had been knocked out, but Titus’s body was gone and Clara was lying in a medical cot. A bottle of water was sitting on the shelf beside her and she reached out to grab it. 

“Not so fast,” someone chastised and Clara jumped. 

Brooke stood in front of her, wearing a yellow sundress and a bandage on her shoulder, her arms crossed. “Let me get that for you,” Brooke offered. She sat on the side of Clara’s bed and handed her the water. Clara gratefully took the water and chugged it. 

“Where am I?” Clara asked. 

Brooke let out a small laugh, but there was no humor in it. “We found you lying in the field beside … beside Titus.” Her voice was equally small, and her eyes welled with tears. “Oh Clara, I’m so sorry. We weren’t sure what happened, but … Gale and Keenan couldn’t save him. We brought you back. It’s been a few hours.” 

Clara wanted to yell at Brooke for apologizing. Why was everyone saying they were sorry? Sorry wouldn’t bring Titus back. 

“I’m hungry,” Clara said in an attempt to change the subject. 

Brooke nodded. “I already told one of the uninjured soldiers to bring you something. Are you feeling okay?” 

“I’m fine,” Clara said bitterly. 

Brooke was silent for a moment. “We lost about 75% of our numbers,” she said morosely. “Bones was captured.” 

“I know. Emmeline, Beckett, and Newt are also in Baelle’s castle. Forrest and his team aren’t in communication with us.” Clara felt a little better after she said the words, but she still felt incredibly guilty. Only 75% of their numbers? How many had Clara failed to save? 

She pushed the thought away, boxing it away in the darkest corner of her mind. 

“When are we attacking Baelle’s castle?” she asked. 

“That’s the thing,” Brooke said, shrugging uncomfortably. “We don’t have any plans but to flee as soon as the soldiers are mostly mobile. One of the leaders suggested we flee to Waelia where there’s a rebel base.” 

“We’re … running? Like cowards?” 

“Not everyone is as brave as you, Clara,” Brooke mumbled. “I knew that would be your reaction, but yes. We’re set to leave in about three days.” 

“So what,” Clara spat, not even bothering to hide the anger in her voice. “We’re just letting our soldiers die for nothing. Baelle won this battle and we’re just going to let her have victory?” 

“I know…” 

“Titus died and no one even cares enough to say anything except I’m sorry or He didn’t want to be saved.” 

“Clara…” 

“And Bones is gone but we’re just going to let Baelle have him because that’s the kind of cowards we are.” 

“Clara!” Brooke shouted, her expression grim. 

Clara fell silent for once, tears welling in her eyes. “I don’t want your pity, Brooke. I want my vengeance and I want everyone back. Why does death have to take everything from me?” 

“I’m not giving you my pity,” Brooke whispered. “Now keep your voice down.” 

Clara was intrigued now, if feeling a little guilty. She watched as Brooke sat a satchel on the end of the bed. 

“I put clothing, water, food, bandages, and some daggers in here,” Brooke said softly. “There’s a horse already saddled in the stable. I know you don’t want to run, so I’m letting you fight. I’ll hold off Gale and Keenan for as long as possible.” 

“You don’t want to come with me?” 

“Nope.” 

“Why are you doing this?” Clara asked as Brooke han

ded her the satchel. “Why risk getting punished?” 

“Because you’re my friend,” Brooke said, a small smile on her face. “And because I want to see you whip Baelle’s butt.” She wrapped Clara in a hug before helping her out of bed. “Just be careful, okay?” 

“I will,” Clara promised. “Thanks so much, Brooke. You’re a great friend.” 

“I also want a souvenir,” Brooke added. “Do you think that Baelle’s castle has a gift shop?” 

The horses that Brooke had picked for Clara was fast, to say the least. She rode for about an hour until she reached a small farm on the outskirts of a village, where she tied the horse to a pole and went into a clump of bushes to change. 

Brooke’s choice of clothing was also fairly well - if the cloth was a bit loose. The tunic and trousers were softer than Clara was used to, and they weren’t covered in blood - already a step up. Clara changed as quickly as possible, making sure to check she was headed in the right direction before heading off again. 

The rain had stopped while Clara was asleep, but the ground was still saturated and wet. Maybe Lou was taking pity on her - if the Rogues had figured out she’d run away by now - and giving her kinder weather. 

By what was probably midafternoon, Clara was only a few miles from Argenti. Getting in without being caught was probably the hardest problem to overcome, but Clara was formulating a plan quickly. The sun warmed her face and Clara pushed the horse a bit harder. Just a little further, she pleaded. 

The ride also gave her plenty of time to mourn over Titus. Everytime she thought of him, the picture of his limp body took form in her mind and she would shudder and ignore it. 

Elyviella had said that it was his choice, which Clara knew was true. That’s probably why her Blessing refused to work on him. She’d never really thought about people not wanting to be healed before. 

There’s a fine line between necromancy and healing. 

All this time, wasn’t Clara just delaying death? Or - in a way - preventing it? 

She’d never met a necromancer - they weren’t even considered real. Some believed that Dixral’s favorite - the ones who recieved the best of her Blessings - could bring back the dead. 

What if all this time it had been Clara who was - without intention - practicing necromancy? No, that couldn’t be true. After all, Clara had never brought anyone back from the dead. That was impossible, wasn’t it? 

The thought made her consider all the soldiers that had been dead on the field? Sure, she probably could’ve saved some of them. Others were long past dead, weren’t they?

You must stop thinking of such things, Elyviella chastised. This is what tears apart the majority of the people I Blessed. The dead are dead, and you cannot change that. 

But what if I could, Clara wanted to say. Isn’t death just the worst injury of them all? 

You - Clara - cannot raise the dead,  Elyviella continued, as if - no, probably - reading her thoughts. Let it be before you tear yourself apart. Think of the people you did save, the people you did heal, the lives you helped continue.  

Clara wanted to. She wanted to think of herself as a hero. 

But with Titus dead and Bones captured, the only thing she could see herself as was a failure. 

As she drew closer to the castle and saw the walls approaching, Clara closed her eyes. She could picture Titus at her side, and Bones whispering in her ear what to do. Beckett, Emmeline, and Newt were inside the castle. 

Clara was their only hope - and she could still redeem herself. 

Author's Note

One of my biggest struggles in writing is effective emotional scenes - so any feedback will help (though, no spoilers, there might be better scenes in the future).