Ike had no idea that healing could be so violent. Holding his trusted companion down as he was being healed sounded like a simple task, but when Dereks’ hands were placed on his friend’s body, the wounded man’s entire being seizured as the healing light surged through him. A rasp, much like the sound of a rusty sword drawn from an old scabbard, escaped the man’s throat. The body continued to shake so much that Ike had a feeling his comrade would fall apart right before his eyes. And just when he thought he could not go on any longer, it stopped. The man had fallen from consciousness, the sporadic twitching of his limbs and ragged breath the only indicators of life yet within him.
“What now?” Ike asked, his chest heaving from exertion.
“Now?” Derek replied as he wiped sweat from his brow. “Now, we pray.” He looked at the others around the table; Gali, Arily, Caim, Ike, and a few of Ike’s men. They each met Derek’s gaze with apprehension. He looked down to the man on the table. The bones on his face were no longer exposed. A gray, flesh-like substance stretched across the man’s face, covering the wound. His good eye was closed, but the other was gone. No eye, no lids, just the gray substance gently swirling, pooling inward, hinting cruelly that a feature once existed there. His other wounds had caused him a great deal of blood loss, but they were not nearly so ghastly.
“He looks like death,” one of the soldiers whispered.
“And death may yet still claim him,” Derek replied. “I’ve done all I can for him. Ike, you should have one of your men watch over him. Note any changes in his condition. Come, let us tend to the other wounded.”