The necromancer's daughter

The boy's eyes had already glazed over by the time she reached him. He was spreadeagled by the side of the dirt road, bits of gravel and sand stuck to his long black lashes and pale face. She was in time. Rigor mortis had not yet set in, she thought as she lifted his unresisting arm clad in coarse linen and inspected him for any serious damage. Mostly internal, she deduced. Perhaps a broken bone or two, but nothing that could not be remedied.
The roads were deserted ever since the soldiers had swept through the countryside. Many had died, some had fled. But still died nonetheless. It was fruitless to attempt to escape death.
She pushed back the hood of her riding cloak and stared at the boy's face. He looked young, his dark grey eyes silvery in death and his pale face with its high cheekbones and strong brows would have been beautiful in life. She checked the surroundings for any possible ambush attacks then settled back on her haunches muttering a soft incantation to herself.
The air grew warm, surprisingly so since it was almost winter and it was often chilly at dusk. Ten minutes later, a fiery red mist had gathered around her and the boy. The air felt still, stifling hot now but she could not stop or else he would be worse off than before she began.
A flame flared at the boy's feet, flickering a ghostly red and orange with white tints. Another three flickered to life at his hands and head. The last flame took longer than the rest, sparking and almost dying above his chest where his heart should have been.
As the final flame flickered to life, she leaned forward, almost kissing the boy on his forehead and whispered "Beatha". A loud roar like the sound of a bonfire made her wince and a blinding flash illuminated the trees by the roadside. Animals who had not run while she was chanting now fled with soft distressed cries.
When the flash of light faded, she blinked away the red spots in her vision and looked at her handiwork. His tousled black hair had been blown back from his face and his eyes were now half closed, muzzy and unfocused. Not glazed. She cheered mentally as he twitched his arm and then his legs, as if testing them. Leaves crunched on the ground as he tried to raise himself. She slid a hand behind his shoulders and helped him into a siting position. His lips moved but she heard nothing but a hoarse whisper. "What did you say?" she cocked her head to the side as he tried to speak again. His voice, possibly suffering from the effects of the spell, was husky, but still he tried again. "Thank you." Then he collasped in her arms, his eyes closing in the natural sleep of life.

~Rei Shiori