Crossroads and Other Tales of Valdemar

:But I didn’t mean . . .: Elvida paused, finally turning toward her Companion, who clearly had a point. Only then she realized she had been deliberately avoiding looking at him. His pain had faded to dim background in her mind, but it haunted every thought, every action, and every decision. He lay on his side where she had dragged him, his fur clotted with dirt and speckled burgundy with the blood of foe and friend alike. His breaths came in pants, and his left hind leg lay at an awkward, swollen angle. Clearly, it was broken.

Elvida cried out, despising herself for not tending to him and Anthea immediately. Trapped in a web of her own grief and loathing, she had worried more for increasing her own burdens than for helping her friends. The realization only intensified her self-hatred; but, this time, she cast aside the morass of deprecation that held her inert at a time of necessary action.

Clearly riding with her on this journey of internal discovery, Raynor sent a quieter message. :Little Sister, there’s nothing you can do for me. A horse without a leg can accomplish nothing. Anthea is gravely injured.:

:I wish I were a Healer. I wish my Gift—: Realizing she was still stalling, Elvida rose and walked to Anthea. The Herald sprawled in the dirt, her Whites smeared with grime. Dark blood matted her hair, but nothing bright red to indicate a current site of bleeding. Her breaths stirred slowly, oddly peaceful, as she lay in a state beyond sleep. A more thorough examination revealed no other injuries. All the damage remained inside Anthea’s head, where no one other than a Healer could reach them. Injuries to the brain, Elvida knew, were always serious; and every moment that passed significantly decreased the Herald’s chance for survival. Leahleh must still live . . . barely.

:Your Gift is not Healing, Elvida. Do not mourn what was never meant to be.:

Gingerly, Elvida stroked Anthea’s hair. She doubted the Herald could survive the night. She asked hopefully, :But I do have a Gift?:

:You do,: Raynor confirmed, as so many of her teachers had before him. Yet, like them, he refused to elaborate.

Elvida repeated the familiar line, :I have to find it myself.:

:Yes.:

It seemed unfair in so many ways. Others were told as they trained and most had more than one. Now, it seemed, Elvida would die without ever knowing because her Companion was a stickler for rules at a time when such things no longer mattered.

Apparently reading her emotions, Raynor relented. :I will tell you this much. It has something to do with communication.:

Under less extreme circumstances, only that very morning, Elvida would have found the suggestion laughable. She who could not even Mindspeak had little education or talent for communication, magical or otherwise. Yet, now that the suggestion had come from the very one she had waited so long to talk to, it did not seem so absurd. :This is no time for riddles, Beloved. Our lives may depend upon this nameless Gift.:

:I gave you a hint. I won’t say anymore.:

:Why not?:

Raynor turned his head with a snort and a toss of his filthy mane.

Elvida sat back from Anthea, heaving a deep sigh. She knew better than to fight a futile battle long. Repeatedly punching a stone wall accomplished nothing more than broken fists.

:Look.: Raynor spoke with clear caution. :As I’ve mentioned, it’s customary to put a horse without a leg out of its misery, and Anthea can’t make another day without a Healer. Chosen, leave us. Do what you can to save yours—: