‘As you say,’ Gurren interrupted, and then he moved past the officer, walking over to where stood Hale and Aras. Ignoring the Legion cutter, Gurren edged close to Hale. ‘You can tell ’em to all go away, witch.’

The woman shook her head. ‘You stubborn whorespawn, Gurren. You ain’t been listening. This is Denul he’s talking about here. If Ilgast Rend had made it to your wife before her last blessed breath, she’d still be alive. The cutter says he can mend the broken bones and even save her eye. The cutter can give her back her future, Gurren, so wipe that miserable scowl off your face and let ’em inside.’

Gurren stepped back. Numb, he nodded at Aras. The man quickly slipped past, followed by the second Legion healer.

Witch Hale said, ‘And listen to me. Your rotted lungs – might be Aras can—’

‘No. I’m going to my wife.’

‘And you’ll just up and leave Renarr all alone?’

‘She’s known it was coming. My girl’s got protection now. Legion protection. I’m going to my wife.’

‘Town needs a smith—’

‘I’m going to my wife.’

Snarling something Gurren couldn’t make out, Witch Hale went back into the house.

Gurren found he was wiping his hands over and over again, but all he managed was to smear them evenly with sweaty coal dust. With his mind he felt inside his body for the places of sickness. They sat like empty absences in his chest, things that felt nothing even as they sickened everything around them. He saw them as lumps of coal, and the blood he coughed up showed the black from those lumps. Those numb gifts were carrying him to Shellas. He loved them dearly.

Renarr would grieve. That had been the worst part in all of this. Grieving and alone, their little girl. He looked over at all the soldiers, wondering why they had all come down just to deliver a pair of healers. He saw how they had ranged out, watchful – but not watching Gurren or the house; instead, they faced outwards, and something about them made him shiver.

They would take care of their little girl, and might be Shellas would be happy with that, with them being Legion and all. She could rest easy and look kindly on him, and might be she’d step forward after watching him crawling towards her for so long, long enough to confirm that his love for her had never died – she’d step forward and lift him up, and reach into his chest, and pull out those black lumps of grief. He’d watch her throw them away, so that he could breathe again, without coughing, without feeling the horrible tightness.

Heal me, my love, as only you can.