He gave her everything he had left after trying to hold the Temple up beneath the time Safrin had bought them. He pushed power through his hands, offering the music of his soul if it would bring Amalia back from the edge a second time, the scene flashing with darkness and fire from a LongNight past. He saw the staff poke past him, but had no energy to turn and see who wielded it. There was only Amalia beneath his hands, only the magic that sang as it wove them together, finding damaged organs and broken bones.
It wasn't perfect. A god might have healed Amalia in one miraculous breath, but Jigano was only a mage, and his magic had limits, as all mortal things must. He could not fix everything... but he could keep her alive, keep her among them, until Deimos and Zuriel arrived and the unicorn added her strength to his, and Deimos moved the rock that Jigano's magic could not.
"Amalia, Ama, stay with us," he murmured, half beneath his breath, litany and prayer, mantra and pleading as he worked, but it wasn't his name she called, when enough strength returned to her for consciousness to reassert itself.
It wasn't Deimos's either, nor Rory's.
It was Wessex she called for, and the pain of that burned in his throat, silencing whatever else he might have said. It was Wessex she asked her questions of, and in the love and respect he had for her he stayed silent to let the Wraith answer, focusing only on the magic and the Healing, putting right what he could until either his power ran dry or there was nothing more it could do.
It wasn't perfect. A god might have healed Amalia in one miraculous breath, but Jigano was only a mage, and his magic had limits, as all mortal things must. He could not fix everything... but he could keep her alive, keep her among them, until Deimos and Zuriel arrived and the unicorn added her strength to his, and Deimos moved the rock that Jigano's magic could not.
"Amalia, Ama, stay with us," he murmured, half beneath his breath, litany and prayer, mantra and pleading as he worked, but it wasn't his name she called, when enough strength returned to her for consciousness to reassert itself.
It wasn't Deimos's either, nor Rory's.
It was Wessex she called for, and the pain of that burned in his throat, silencing whatever else he might have said. It was Wessex she asked her questions of, and in the love and respect he had for her he stayed silent to let the Wraith answer, focusing only on the magic and the Healing, putting right what he could until either his power ran dry or there was nothing more it could do.
