“One life is all we have and we live it as we believe in living it. But to sacrifice what you are and to live without belief, that is a fate more terrible than dying.” Joan of Arc. If our loved ones were dying, how far would we go and how much would we spend to make them better again? How ready would we be to make the same sacrifices for the loved ones of our loved ones? In her new series, Lauren Kirk-Cohen takes us into that journey… What price is too much for the life of Clara’s love, Eric? And when will enough be enough?

I glance back at the trail, but don’t see anyone following. Still, I quicken my pace. The wind whistles through the trees, masking the possible sounds of anyone following me. I see a tall, gnarled tree that I recognise. I’m almost there.

Finally, I break through the trees, my hands clutching at the small bundle that represents my only hope.

The streets are quiet and dark. No one is so much as peeping out of their windows. They view what I am about to do as suicidal, to say the least. My fingers clutch compulsively at the bundle.

“Eric,” I whisper as I slip inside, closing the door firmly behind me.

“Clara,” his hoarse voice comes from the corner. I sag in relief. He’s still alive. “Don’t do this,” he whispers. “You don’t know the price. There is always a price for magic.”

I ignore him. We have had this argument many times over the last few days, and it always comes down to the same thing. I will not let Eric die, no matter what price I have to pay.

He tries to protest further as I kneel down on the floor beside him, but he is interrupted by a bout of violent coughing. With shaking hands, I pull the small jar out of my bag. I used most of my life’s savings to buy it from the sorceress – and that’s apart from the mysterious price of magic that you only ever know after the fact – but money is worth nothing to me if Eric dies.

Slowly, I put the lip of the jar to his mouth. “Drink,” I whisper. He is either too weak or too delirious to resist, and bit by precious bit, the remedy slides down his throat. When it is done, he gives a great, shuddering gasp, and his body goes limp. I put a shaking hand to the side of his neck.

For the first time in weeks, a worn smile tugs at my lips. His pulse is already stronger. I watch the steady rise and fall of his chest. His breathing evens out and the horrible rattling subsides. Too exhausted by stress to do anything else, I pull the blanket over both of us and lie down. I am asleep in moments.

When I wake up in the morning, my hands go straight to Eric. Weeks of waking up wondering if he’s still alive still linger in my thoughts. It takes only a few seconds for the spike fear to lift. He is awake, watching me with bright eyes.

“Thank you,” he says, leaning forward to press a light kiss on my lips. “It was stupid and reckless, but you saved my life. Thank you.”

I don’t answer, but just hug him tightly, trying to shake the fear that has haunted my every breath for weeks. “I just hope the price isn’t worse,” he adds.

“Nothing could be worse,” I murmur into his neck.

We sit there for a few minutes, resting before the day. Finally, I break away.

“We need to go tell your parents you’re ok – they’ve been worried sick. My family as well, you’ve always been a son to them, even before we were married.”

“Ok,” Eric says. “Let’s go.”

Even though I know he is better, I am still jumpy as he gets up, half expecting him to topple over at any moment. His movements seem steady, though, and I manage to take my eyes off him to get changed into new clothes.

Eric and I grab pieces of fruit on our way out. We can have a proper breakfast later, once everyone knows he is ok.

We walk between houses, navigating our way to his parents first. It’s like walking through a town of ghosts. Usually at this time, the streets are full of people going about their business. Now it is as silent as a grave. I guess they’re still mad at, or scared of me, because of what I did.

Not many dare to use magic. The prices are said to be too high. But there is no price too high for Eric's life.

Smiling, I grab his hand and practically skip up to the door. I knock, but no one answers. My spirits drop a bit. Surely Eric's own family will be glad he is alive? 

Eric gets his key out of his pocket and opens the door. There is an ominous air in the house; something feels wrong. Together, we walk through the house until we get to the bedroom. I gasp and feel my knees buckle. 

Eric's parents are lying on their bed, their breath rattling. It is unmistakable. They have what Eric had, what has no cure.

This is the price of his life.

Continues

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