by Jena Rey
Ephema smiled, crossing the room silently, the stone smooth under her toes. “How about jellyfish stingers?”
“Osephetin’s blood, not them either.” Darian tried a smile, but she could still see how uncomfortable he was. “Good to see you up and about, and with no bandages. Is that from their stuff, or did your magic return?” He shuddered. “Please tell me it is your magic, because I’m tired of the goo and herbs. I smell like I’m being prepared for roasting.”
“Oh please, you big baby.” Fressin shook his head. “It’s not that bad.”
“Stinging nettle on open wounds. Have you tried it?”
“I’m not rash enough to venture into a situation that would require me to need it.” Fressin sniffed. “Before she heals you, allow Priestess Kadama and I to inspect how much healing your body did with the aid of our skills so we know what we can do in the future.”
“Didn’t you do that this morning?”
“I want a final look before she does her thing. We need to know.”
Darian sighed and nodded. “Go ahead.”
Ephema ducked around Fressin and Kadama to stand in front of Darian, caught between curiosity and fear that his burns would look as bad as they had days ago. Burns were awful.
Fressin and Kadama worked in unspoken harmony as they stripped away the bandages and placed them into bowls where they could be cleaned and reused, or burned depending on the stains. They were careful not to pull too hard, not wanting to cause any further damage.
Under the wraps, Darian’s skin was still red and angry with paler edges where the lost skin met up with his darker, uninjured skin. Blood welled up to the surface in a couple of places, but they were fortunately few, the moisture from the mixture protecting the healing tissue and allowing new skin to begin to form. Ephema was surprised at the progress, given how extensive the burns had been. It had arguably been much more effective for Darian than herself, but he had been under more constant supervision.
Kadama arched her eyebrows, nodding with approval. “Oh yes, that last mixture has made a big difference.”
“Very much so.” Fressin bent close and peered at Darian’s skin so close he almost touched it with his nose. “This section here was nearly charred, and there’s new skin appearing here and here.” He pointed to a few sections without touching Darian’s body. “I think you were right to add crushed marigolds into the mix; that seems to be helping nicely.”
“So am I done, please?” Darian grimaced. “Please tell me I’m done.”
“Yes, you’re done. The mixture was helping, no matter how much you griped about it.” Fressin stood back from Darian and bowed low. “He’s all yours.”
Ephema was impressed by how much they’d accomplished. She briefly considered teasing Darian by threatening to leave him in their care, but that seemed mean. She inclined her head to Fressin and then laid her hands on either side of Darian’s throat, just above the burns. The moment her prayer began, power surged through her fingers, but this time it was controlled, and the light that poured over him was tinted with a warm golden hue.
Ravaged flesh came together and skin formed, sloughing off the dead and burned remains. Even parts of his body that had been completely scorched were healed, and within a few minutes the light faded. Darian slowly moved his arms. “Oh! It feels good to be able to do that.” He dusted off some of the flaking skin, stopping when Fressin stepped up with a wet rag and sponged it off. “Thanks.” Darian cocked his head. “That’s the first time your healing has left a mess behind.”
It took time before Ephema replied, her eyes closed as she savored reconnecting with her Goddess and with what her power was meant to do. She blinked and looked down at the powdery pieces of skin. “It happened with Bishop Lam too, but you didn’t see it. Burns are different. The skin is too ruined to knit back together. It’s better just to replace it.”
Kadama shook her head. “I’m still surprised that works.” She tapped on the side of her head. “All of you are supposed to be crazy, but crazy or not your healing works.”
Crazy. Ephema was growing weary of everyone reminding her about the fate of the Goddess’s followers. And it was even more unwelcome from Kadama. Ephema was sure she wasn’t crazy. Or wasn’t crazy most of the time. She turned to Darian. “Feeling better?”
“Much better, yes, thanks to you.” He made a wide sweep with his arms this time, testing his range of motion. “My skin feels kind of tight, but I guess that’s normal since it’s all new. Do we need to go see the High Priest, or can I eat first?”
“Here.” Fressin tossed Darian a shirt. “Put that on and go eat. Everything else can probably wait.” He looked over the room, his lip twisting with annoyance. “I’m going to go find a broom.”
Despite Darian’s willingness, the High Priest did not call for him for another full day, giving Darian more recovery time. Even with Ephema’s healing, he was tired and sleep was welcome. Finally, the call came, and he joined Fressin, Ephema, and his mother in the antechamber near the High Priest’s chambers.
A square table sat in the middle of the room, the scroll parchment spread out on the surface and weighted at each corner.
“So this is it?” Darian peered at the parchment with a frown. It was yellowed and stained with age, but the words written across the page were clear and dark. They were also as illegible as if a child had written them while holding a brush with both hands. As he watched, the words swirled, coming back to rest in different locations from before, still clear but unreadable. He blinked twice, trying to steady his vision. “It’s like seeing double. Words aren’t supposed to move.”
“Exactly.” Fressin sighed, running his fingers across the bottom of the scroll. “I know there’s something important here, especially given how dreadfully you were pursued, but I’m not sure I’m ever going to be able to decipher these runes.” He rubbed his temples and sank into a nearby chair, clutching his hair in his frustration. “I’ve tried everything I can think of, as has Priestess Sian and Priestess Kadama and we haven’t managed a word. It’s maddening!”
Lauret raised a finger. “If I could point out, some of that time was spent working on Darian and Ephema’s wounds.”
“Yes, yes, I know that.” Fressin waved the point aside angrily. “I was hoping the break would provide clarity, but by now I should have at least gotten somewhere with it. I’m no closer than when you came sailing into port.”
Ephema cocked her head, sitting off to one side of the family members. “There is no one else who might be able to assist?”
“None that I’m aware of.” Fressin slumped lower in her chair, visibly defeated. “There was another that was as skilled in deciphering languages as I am, a few years back. But he was ambushed by some of the Lich’s forces and now walks among them, so I doubt he’s of any help.”
The door from the High Priest’s chambers opened without notice, pushing wide to reveal Adaman a few steps ahead of the High Priest who was supported by Knight Tabor. Adaman bowed low to the assembled Knights and other parties. “Your friend might be unable to assist, but we do have an answer to the question, courtesy of Ephema’s communion, and His Holiness’s expertise in dream interpretation.”
Darian rose from his chair and hurried to help Tabor as they guided the High Priest to a seat. He was fragile these days, his health fading with each passing dawn. “Dream interpretation? You managed to get something out of what happened, Adaman? All I felt or saw was light and pain.”
Adaman laughed, a noise that seemed to dart around the room and peer into the corners. “With assistance, yes. There was a message for us.” He waited until everyone had settled before continuing. “The Goddess knows about the scroll and has a solution which she managed to share, if in a very confused fashion. The High Priest put the question to Lord Osephetin and we gathered more pieces of the puzzle.” He sobered for only an instant before a twinkle lit his eyes. “So, it’s praise to the gods, though if you want to sing my praises too, I shall be happy to liste
n.”
“The gods are what got us into this mess in the first place. I’m not sure how many praises they’ve earned.” Fressin muttered. “But it seems anything’s better than where we are right now, so let’s hear it. How do we read the scroll?”
Tabor drew in a breath to speak, his expression indignant, but High Priest Calinin held up his wrinkled hands. “No, Knight Tabor, the young man is right. In many ways the Gods’ own foolishness is what brought us here.” He sighed as he settled into the chair, and curled his gnarled hands around each other. “They were not prepared for a force such as the Lich, and by the time they began to consider him a threat, it was too late to stop him. So now, it’s up to us mortals to make up for that failure, and the deific power that remains will do all they can to assist.”
He turned to Tabor. “Knight, do you have the book I asked you to bring?”
Tabor nodded, offering an old, thick, tattered tome. He made sure the High Priest had a good grip on the volume before releasing it.
High Priest Calinin guided the book to the table with a resounding thud as it came to rest. “This book is from an age long past. It predates everyone in this room, myself included. A few of these volumes still remain, kept away from prying eyes, stored and preserved as best we can as a reminder of the before times.”
“I haven’t seen that book!” Fressin protested, jerking forward before stopping himself. Darian was certain Fressin wanted to take the book from the High Priest’s hands, but no one would dare go that far. Not even Fressin.
High Priest Calinin raised a brow. “That is true. A talented scholar you may be, young man, but that does not give you access to every book in the temple. There are many things your faith is not ready for.”
He carefully opened the book and turned it so the people near the table could see it. Despite the gentle rebuke, Fressin pushed forward, so he got the best view. Darian considered pulling his brother back, but decided it was just as well if he read first.
Fressin read several paragraphs and then blinked. “Who is Whilpow? I’ve never heard of this god before.”
“You wouldn’t have, though you would like him.” The High Priest leaned back in his chair, his gaze moving to the ceiling as he thought. “He vanished early in the Lich’s culling of the gods. He was the God of the spoken word, languages, and the arts of diplomacy. Every kingdom once had a few of his disciples on retainer, especially as translators and diplomats.”
Darian raised an eyebrow, nudging Fressin aside enough to share the reading. “It says here his fate is unknown.”
The High Priest nodded. “No one knows for certain how a God lives or dies, my son. It’s not as though they leave corporeal bodies behind. We know he vanished about the time the Lich was looking for him, so the writers of this tome assumed he was killed and his essence absorbed by the Lich.”
“But since he was the god of languages, do you think his followers survived and might be able to help?”
“No. We are not aware of any followers, and even if they survived, they no longer had a deity to follow. Whilpow would have been easy prey for the Lich, as he was not a God of battles or weaponry. The stories say his followers did their best to take messages between those who fought the Lich and were hunted down and destroyed for their assistance.”
“Which probably also says something about the Gods and the way things used to be, but that’s one of those philosophical discussions which could take a lifetime.” Adaman tried to pace, but with so many people in the room there simply wasn’t space for it. “However, this particular God also loved devices and puzzles, which is what the Goddess pointed us at. There is a device which we think will make the scroll clear. It’s described as being a decoder for the unreadable, provided we can lay hands on it, which isn’t the easy part.”
“What is the easy part then?” Lauret moved away from the table and tried to find a spot against the wall where she’d be out of the way.
Adaman smiled tightly. “It’s easy to use and you don’t need a connection with the deity, just an understanding of reading and language.”
“So that means the hard part is getting it?”
Adaman glanced at the High Priest who gestured for him to continue. “Yeah, that’s the hard part. There are ruins of Whilpow’s one and only temple only about a week’s journey away. But…erm…it’s at least week into the wildlands, and the ruins are most assuredly overrun by bad things. And, because of the God’s love for puzzles, it’s not like it’s just going to be sitting there with a sign that says ‘ancient reading glass’ on it.” He took two steps, nearly tripped on Tabor’s feet and stopped himself again. “The venture is Goddess blessed though, so that should help as long as you take Ephema with you.”
“I’m going then.” Darian stood with a nod. “Getting the scroll was my quest, so this is more of the same. And I oathed to keep Ephema safe, which means staying close to her.”
“As am I.” Lauret jerked a thumb at the door. “I can be ready in…”
“No, Knight Proctor.” The High Priest shook his head. “I need you here. We have a new batch of recruits arriving in three days from Lethor, and they’re to start their Journeyman training as soon as they arrive. I need you to oversee that while Knights Ianel, Tabor, and Darian escort Ephema to Whilpow’s temple. They have traveled with her before and have shown they can be trusted with such a mission. More ships like the one that attacked your steamer have been spotted, and our defenses must be increased. We need you here.”
Lauret looked like she was going to protest. Darian understood exactly how she felt, but the idea of more of those fighters coming across the sea made him glad she would be training more help. She swallowed and nodded, short wispy hair falling across her brow. “As you say, High Priest.”
“Adaman has maps for your use and will assist with what information we know. The sooner the Knights can leave the better.”
Tabor gave a hard little smile. “Then I see no reason not to pack now.”
Lauret bowed to the High Priest as the meeting ended. She turned to Darian. “Knights Darian and Tabor, could you meet me in the hallway, please, while Ephema gets the maps and other information from Adaman?” She pivoted and strode from the room, her tone of voice leaving no question of obedience from either Knight or son.
Darian cocked an eyebrow at Tabor, who shrugged. They both followed after Lauret, who shut the door and addressed them the minute the door was shut. “You know what I am going to say, don’t you?”
Darian nodded, running his hand through his hair. “We’re to guard Ephema with our lives, and bring her back safely at all costs.”
“Good boy.” Lauret sighed, her shoulders slumping as she tried to roll the tension out of them. “With just the four of you, it should be easy to stay out of sight and avoid trouble, but I’m not counting on that. Tabor, you’re the senior Knight, so you’re the commanding Knight. Keep an eye on him, and…”
Tabor raised his brows, his heavy arms crossed over his chest. He interrupted her. “Lauret.” His voice was gentle. “He is a Knight of Osephentin, and not a boy. I am as old as you are, and you are not my commander or my mother. Ephema is as important to both of us as she is to you. Trust us to know what we are about. We will return before the end of the month.”
“Yes. Of course.” Lauret’s voice cracked once, and she composed herself. Darian had never seen his mother so worried. “Right. All right then, Knights. Your first duty before you leave is to go find Knight Ianel.”
“I’ll do it.” Darian volunteered. “I’ll shake the brothels until he falls out of one.”
Tabor clapped Lauret on the shoulder then nodded to Darian. “Start with the one nearest the docks with the pink paint job. He has a steady girl there and often stays with her when we are in Hawthan. I will requisition supplies, review the map, and we will leave at first light.”
“Yes, Knight Tabor.”
Chapter Nineteen
The morning sun, wan with winter’s kiss, rose as Darian and
fourteen other Knights hit full gallop out of the gates of Hawthan, racing along the well-traveled road to the northeast. Tabor and Ianel were in line beside him, with Ephema hanging on safely behind him. He smiled at the noise and dust they were producing. Any enemy for miles would be attracted to the sound and would come to investigate. The idea was that the other Knights would lead off anything that came hunting, opening an opportunity for the smaller party to slip away unharassed.
A few miles down the road, when the lead Knight allowed the horses to slow down somewhat, Tabor pulled his horse up even with Darian’s and motioned back to Hawthan. “I did not see the Knight Proctor this morning. Did she see you off, Darian?”
Darian barely heard Tabor over the noise and through his new helmet, but he caught enough of the question to reply and shook his head. “She did not. She never watches me leave. She’s seen me return nearly every time, but never watches me go. She did the same with my father. I think it bothers her too much, the possibility she’s seeing me for the last time.”
Tabor shrugged, his armor showing signs of cleaning and repairs which had been undertaken during their time in the city. It didn’t shine, that would be foolish, but it rode in perfect synch with his movements, the joints oiled and plates fitted snuggly. “Perhaps. We all leave behind those we are close to with no promise of return. Everyone finds their own way to deal with that uncertainty.”
“I suppose.” Darian tapped on Ephema’s leg. “Are you holding up back there? We have a long way to go before we stop to rest.”
Ephema shifted a little, but not enough to upset their shared mount, who probably didn’t even notice her. The warhorse from Tallet had become Darian’s official mount as a Knight. No one knew the horse’s previous name, and everyone had an opinion about what it should be called until Darian finally settled on Raven. Ephema wore a thick leather vest at the insistence of the High Priest. Otherwise, she went unarmored and barefoot, though she had given in to carrying a long knife. “I am fine. I’m hoping it won’t rain. I remember the smell of wet horse.”