The Vampire & Her Witch-Chapter 1287: Even Now (Part Two)

Ollie had seen people who suffered worse injuries in the Battle of the Summer Villa. People who had faced Virve’s rage directly or suffered a blow from one of Captain Ipiktok’s Tuscan giants. He’d seen bodies that were twisted and mangled after facing power that no human body could resist, but all of those men had died from their injuries.

When Ollie looked at Lady Cerys, it was a miracle that she hadn’t yet died from hers.

Her face was pale, almost gray in the early morning light, and a massive bruise had already formed across her left temple where her head had struck the ground. Blood matted her hair on that side, and more blood trickled from her nose and the corner of her mouth. Her breathing was shallow and rapid, and each breath was accompanied by a wet, rattling sound that spoke of broken ribs and worse injuries beneath the skin.

Her left arm lay at an unnatural angle, and Ollie could see the white gleam of bone protruding through torn skin where the sharp edges of broken bone had torn through her flesh. Her left leg was twisted beneath her in a way that made Ollie’s stomach turn, the ankle clearly dislocated or broken, and dark bruises were already spreading across the exposed skin where her riding dress had been torn in the fall.

But worst of all were her eyes. They were open, staring up at the lightening sky with a glassy, unfocused quality that made it look like her vision was already focusing on the barrier that separated this life from the next one, only waiting for the door to the void to open so she could begin her journey to the next life. She was conscious, but only barely, and Ollie wasn’t certain whether she could see the people around her or not.

"Please, lady," Harrod was saying, his voice urgent but gentle as he tried to get the woman to focus on him. "Please, you need to drink this. It will help with the pain. Just a few sips, please." 𝕗𝕣𝐞𝐞𝘄𝐞𝚋𝚗𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹.𝚌𝕠𝚖

He held a small porcelain bottle to her lips, but Cerys turned her head away weakly, a low moan escaping her throat as the movement sent fresh waves of pain through her broken body. It was the same thing she’d done every time he tried to help, and his frustration grew with every act of stupid, foolish resistance. Didn’t she know that her son was right here, watching her suffer?

"No," she whispered, the word barely audible. "No... demons... witchcraft... no..."

"She’s been saying that from the beginning," Harrod said, looking up at Ollie with eyes that were filled with clouds of dark emotions. "She won’t let me help her, even if it’s just something for the pain. She just mutters about demons and witchcraft... She even tried crawling to get away from me," he spat, clutching the bottle in his hand tightly enough that it nearly spilled.

"You have a child, woman," Harrod told Lady Cerys. "Do you really hate me so much that you won’t let us save you for him?"

"Dalwyn," Cerys whispered weakly. "Run... Escape from..." -COUGH- -cough- "Escape... Demons..." she said, turning her head in the direction of her son as much as she was able to, though her unfocused gaze never found him or her husband, as her vision swam with the slightest movement of her head.

Ollie knelt down beside Harrod, his hands already moving to carefully assess the extent of Cerys’s injuries even as his mind raced through everything Heila and Ashlynn had taught him about injuries and healing.

"Step back," Ollie said quietly. "Let me see what I can do."

Harrod moved aside immediately, clearly relieved to hand the responsibility over to someone with more skill, but Ollie’s relief at his friend’s cooperation was short-lived. As soon as his hands touched Cerys’s uninjured shoulder, the woman’s eyes snapped into focus on his face, and a look of pure terror crossed her features.

"No," she gasped, trying to pull away from him despite the agony it caused her. "No... Not you! Not you. Get away from me, witch. Demon. Don’t touch me with your..."

Another coughing fit interrupted her words, and blood flecked her lips as her body spasmed with each cough. The movement caused her broken ribs to shift, and she let out a strangled cry of pain that made even Harrod wince.

Ollie waited for the coughing to subside before speaking, his voice calm and gentle despite the urgency of the situation.

"Lady Cerys," he said softly. "You’re very badly hurt. You have broken bones and worse, you’re bleeding on the inside... Without my help, you won’t survive for more than an hour. Maybe two at most. Please, let me help you. I can ease your pain, I can stop the bleeding, I can..."

"No," Cerys whispered, and despite her weakness, there was an iron determination in her voice. "I don’t want... your help. I won’t be... tainted by your witchcraft. I’d rather... I’d rather die."

The words hung in the cold morning air like a death sentence, and Ollie felt his heart sink even further as he looked down at the dying woman before him.

Behind him, he could hear Dalwyn’s voice rising in a wail of anguish.

"Mama! Mama, please! Don’t die! Mama!"

But Lady Cerys had already closed her eyes, her breathing growing even more labored as she turned her face away from Ollie’s outstretched hands, rejecting the only chance she had at survival rather than accept help from the witch she believed was leading her family to damnation.

Even now, at the edge of death, she refused to have anything to do with witchcraft.

"I’ll wait for you..." she said softly, her unfocused eyes searching for Dalwyn and Cynwrig. "On the Heavenly Shores... so you have to... Escape demons... Reject witches... For me," she struggled to say, coughing up flecks of bright pinkish blood as she struggled to say her last words. "Leave this... Madness... Be together... Again..."

"Damn it, no!" Cynwrig said, scooping Dalwyn up in his arms and carrying the young boy over to his mother’s side. "You don’t get to do this! You don’t get to leave us like this, not when Sir Ollie is right here. He can help you, like he helped Gavin last night... He can save you, so let him!"

"Cynwrig," Cerys said, reaching out with her right hand to touch her husband’s face, feeling the rough stubble on his chin and smiling faintly in relief that he’d arrived to rescue Dalwyn. "Take care... Of them... For me..." she said before her eyes drifted shut.

"Cerys! No!" Cynwrig cried, letting go of Dalwyn to clutch at his wife’s delicate hand.

"Cynwrig," Ollie’s voice rang out firmly in the chill air of the early morning as he put a hand on the distraught knight’s shoulder. "Stand aside or help me carry her to the trees," he said resolutely. "There’s not much time left to save her..."

If he could at all, he thought, but he didn’t say the words. If Heila were here, or Lady Ashlynn, he was certain they would be able to bring Lady Cerys back, even from the edge of death, but his talents lay elsewhere. He was far better at protecting people and stopping them from being injured in the first place, but he had to try...

Even if she hated him for it for the rest of her life, he would rather see her alive and filled with hatred for the witch who ’defiled’ her than leave Dalwyn without a mother and Cynwrig without his wife. Even if there was almost no hope, he still had to try...