57 pages, comb bound, white cardstock cover
Art by Marian Crane; Angela K. Scott; Lyria Hall; Misty Millen; Ellen Million. Cover by Marian Crane.
Rennan was dreaming. Even when she was completely exhausted, a small part of her mind paid attention to her dream, and she'd trained herself to always be able to recall them the next morning. Her dual Gifts of Farsight and Foresight had first manifested themselves in dreams, and continued to do so; she did not want to miss anything important.
Her dreams that evening were normal, and had focused mostly on Lanis. It'd been so hard, leaving him for her internship. He was the first person she could ever say she'd been in love with, and she was still insecure about her position. He'd sworn to wait, and Annellan didn't seem concerned, but still...
Vision changed. She was at the gates of Haven, pounding on them, Annellan with her. They opened...she was running through the Palace, faster than she'd ever thought possible...she burst into the Throne Room. Queen Selenay and the Heir on the dais, leaping to their feet...suddenly the air around the throne curdled and twisted in on itself--turned black--and something came through, heading straight for the Queen...
Ret'eena was numb, beyond fear. Her companions had already preceded her, one by one, to the blood-stained stone slab in the center of the clearing. Around her the strange worshipers of the strange god who had claimed the other members of the trading party performed the rites that would culminate in her death. She prayed to the Lady, not quite beyond hope but nearly so. The head priest came to the cage, watched her for a moment, and nodded. He made a sweeping gesture. The dancers stopped, and the musicians fell silent. All of those in the clearing--a mixture of the odd inhabitants of this part of the Pelagirs--waited in anticipation.
"Yes, child, pray," the priest told her. "We saved you for last, so that your terror and the anguish you felt for your companions will make your sacrifice all the sweeter for our god. So pray all you want, it will do you no good. We do this in direct service to our master. Gods don't fight gods, and they rarely interfere with each other's business. Your Star-Eyed Lady will not act directly to save you, and can not send any of her avatars. And any of her worshipers among the Plains dwellers would arrive too late to help you."
In the silence that followed this pronouncement a calm voice spoke from beyond the circle of bonfires.
"That's why I'm here."
Chaya stared down at her hands, blinking back tears, and tried to shut out her teacher's words.
Alidorn would have none of it. "Goddess take it, girl, look at me!" snapped the Healer. "You're not stupid, you're not clumsy, and you're not useless. But you're not a Healer, either. Listen to what I'm telling you. Yes, I know how much this meant to you, and yes, you do have some kind of magic. But. But, it isn't Healing, and whatever it is, it's blocked anyway. You're just going to have to make do with plain old--"
Chaya stood up abruptly, knocking over her sturdy camp stool, and stumbled out of the tent. She ran headlong through the camp, weaving through the startled mercenaries until she reached the lake. There Chaya flung herself to the grassy bank and railed at the cruelty of gods and fate. A tight, hot urge rose fitfully inside; angrily Chaya forced it down.
Asherah. "Healer's Need," said the old songs. The need to help, to mend, to make things better. An urge to serve, and to give--but Chaya had no Gift to give. To be a Healer one needs a head for puzzles, a heart for caring...and the healing hand to make whole the broken.
Chaya had the head and the heart in plenty, but not the hand. She could remember the most obscure bits of knowledge, and patiently fit splintered bone and tattered flesh together. She could not, however, wave her hands and make that tattered flesh whole again, as could her teacher Alidorn and the other Healers in the camp. For two years she had studied diligently with the other apprentices, only to find that her one true desire was forever out of reach...
Chaya would never be able to Heal so much as a hangnail.
Smoke rose, black and oily against the crystal blue of the early morning sky. Healer Jaysen fixed his eyes on it in bleak determination. The smoke was foul looking, hanging like a gloomy pall upon the air. But watching it was better than looking at the grotesquely contorted carcasses, bodies of the Pelagir-spawned varsura, that were rapidly being consumed in the flames.
Jaysen felt a hand touch his shoulder. "Rivershine is awake, and asking for you," a gentle voice, dearer than life itself, spoke from behind him. Jaysen swallowed hard and only nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
The hand lifted away, and Herald Debrin stepped around to look at him. Jaysen kept his eyes fixed on the smoke. If he looked at Deb he would see the bandaged leg and the sling that glared at him in mute reproach for being the only unharmed person of a party that originally had numbered seven.
"It's called 'survivor's guilt'," Deb said, his empathic perceptions coloring his tone with understanding. "You have no cause to feel that way. You are a healer, not a fighter, ashke. Everyone here knows as much."
Snowswift was a healer too, came the bitter, unbidden thought. She fought anyway, and died for her courage.
"Snowswift had special training," Deb said, answering his unspoken words. "You don't. Hey," He put a hand to Jaysen's face, forcing the healer to meet his eyes. "What's past is past. You cannot change that. The living need you now."
"Drat that bell," Windsong thought. She had just about been able to corner Starfire in the Library for a private discussion of sorts when the lunch bell rang and Starfire, oblivious to her actions, packed up his work and headed to lunch. Windsong watched him go with her fists clenched. This was yet another attempt in a long line that had failed to give Windsong time alone with Starfire, to let him know of her interest in him.
A chuckle brushed her mind. :He seems to have escaped yet again. Fate seems set on keeping you two apart.:
:Well, I will not give up that easily. In fact, I will not give up until the Star-Eyed herself shows up and says that it is not to be,: retorted Windsong to Fideles, her Companion. :Maybe I just need to be more aggressive.:
:Or maybe you need help. If I were you I would talk to Kellor. That bird of his has always had a soft spot for you,: Del offered.
:Jacquelle, come quick!:
"Lancer!!" I burst out of the classroom and ran towards Companion's Field, fearful. I had never heard Lancer call me in such a Mindvoice of pleading and fear.
I vaulted over the top of the fence and continued running. Lancer came towards me at a gallop, and I swung up on his back. He pivoted and ran back in the direction that he had come from. As we neared the other side of the Field, I could see one downed Companion and a group of other Companions standing around it.
"Lancer, what happened?!" I asked as I dismounted.
:It's Ailena-:
"Ailena! Where's Kora?!?"
Kora, my half-sister, was Ailena's Chosen. I looked around, but I couldn't see her.
:That's just it--she left yesterday and no one has seen her since. She's blocked from Ailena's mind, and when Ailena tried to reach her, she couldn't. That's when she panicked. She's so afraid, she can't Speak and she can barely Hear.:
