Pony looked at Mullahy's insubstantial hands for the blood.
'I spoke for Avelyn,' he explained. 'This is the covenant ofAvelyn.'
Pony snapped her gaze back to the mummified hand, to see, to her surprise and her delight, that there was indeed a reddish liquid upon the palm.
Dainsey cried out then, as Death reached for her. Pony reacted faster, reaching down and lifting her face to Avelyn's hand, pressing Dainsey's lips against the palm.
The effect was immediate and stunning, for Dainsey went limp but not in death. No, far from that, Pony knew; Dainsey was-so suddenly-more comfortable than she had been in many days!
Pony laid her down gently before the arm, then she, too, leaned in and kissed the bloody palm-and that blood seemed not to diminish in the least.
She felt the warmth all through her body, and knew then for certain that she had contracted the plague from her work with Dainsey, that it was within her, beginning to gather strength.
But no longer. Pony felt that implicitly.
Whosoever tastes the blood of my palm shall know no fear from the rosy plague.
Pony looked down at Dainsey, who was resting and breathing easily. She glanced back to Romeo Mullahy, but the ghost was already gone, its message delivered.
Bradwarden came up to her.
'Ye got blood on yer lips,' he remarked.
'Avelyn's,' Pony tried to explain, shaking her head. 'The taste of his blood grants freedom from the plague, so said-'
'The ghost of Mullahy,' the centaur finished. 'I seen him jump meself, back then when Markwart and King Danube came to catch us. Hit them rocks hard.'
'How can it be?' Pony asked.
Bradwarden laughed aloud, shaking his head with every rolling bellow. 'I'm not for disbelievin' anythin' comin' out o' that arm,' he said, and then he paused for a moment, staring from Pony to the still-bloody hand. 'Are ye goin' to take some with ye, then? '
Pony, too, looked at the hand. 'I cannot,' she explained, and indeed, in her heart, she knew. She understood all of it now. ' It is the blood and it is this place.' 'What're ye thinkin'?' Bradwarden asked suspiciously. 'We're a long way from yer homeland.'
Pony just turned a determined look his way.
'That Mullahy ghost tell ye that? '
'No,' Pony answered with perfect calm. 'The spirit of Avelyn did, just now.'
Bradwarden and Pony stared at each other for a long while, then the centaur came in low and kissed the bloody hand.
Chapter 37
Symphony ran as never before, bearing Pony straight to the souti thundering down the roads to Dundalis. Bradwarden carried Dainse now, who was recovering with each passing minute, but the cental couldn't begin to pace Symphony and Pony. Even when Symphony ha been carrying both women on the trip to the Barbacan, Bradwarden had t run on much longer each night to keep up.
But Pony couldn't wait for her two friends. Now that she knew Dainsey t be out of danger and was confident that no goblins would surprise the cur ning centaur, her purpose shifted to the wider world, to all the plague vie tims who had to know the truth ofAvelyn's arm. A thousand variables rollei about in Pony's head. Would her newfound immunity against the plagui allow her to begin a general healing process throughout the southland:
Would plague sufferers begin to make the pilgrimage to the wild Barbacan! How would Pony protect them from monsters and animals, from th‹ weather as the season turned to winter? And what of food? Would she offei blind hope to thousands only to have them starve on the road to the north?
Too many questions, too many dire possibilities. But none, Pony pointedly and repeatedly reminded herself on that wild run to the south, were nearly as dire as the reality that the folk of the kingdom now knew, the reality of the rosy plague and so many dying with each passing day.
With each passing minute, she told herself; and she used the malachite as much as she could to lighten Symphony's load; and she used the soul stone to catch some of the strength from nearby deer and other animals, giving it to Symphony; and she used the cat's-eye circlet to see in the dark, then transferred those images to Symphony so that the run could continue long after sunset.
On one such night, in the light of Sheila, Pony found a solitary form standing vigil on the ridge north of Dundalis; and she was not surprised, but her heart was warmed.
'Greetings, Roger,' she called, urging Symphony ahead. The man nearly fell over trying to get to her. 'Tell me!' he cried. 'Where is Dainsey?'
'With Bradwarden, some miles behind.'
'Did you get to the B-Barbacan? ' Roger stuttered, hardly able to speak the question. 'Did Avelyn…'
Pony slipped down from Symphony's back, and when she turned, her beaming smile was all the answer Roger Lockless needed. He exploded into motion, wrapping Pony in the tightest hug she had ever felt, his shoulders shaking with sobs of joy.
They were in Dundalis soon after; and there Pony, strengthened by the miracle of Avelyn's blood, fought the rosy plague.
Her spirit entered the body of an afflicted man. But now she held no fear of it at all. None. It could not latch on to her spiritual arms as she attacked the disease, scraping it from bone and organ, her healing spiritual touch dissipating the greenish disease.
She stayed with the afflicted man for a long time, moving to every edge of his being, fighting and fighting wherever she found sickness.
Finally, exhausted but satisfied, Pony made her way to her own body. She sat back, her eyes closed, reorienting herself to her corporeal form.
'I am healed!' she heard the man cry, and then came a host of responding cheers.
Pony blinked open her eyes, to find Roger and Bolster and Tomas Gingerwart and many, many other folk of Dundalis gathered in the room or just outside the window. And all of them were cheering for her, for her healing of this man.
But Pony knew the truth of it. 'You are not cured,' she told the man bluntly. The cheering stopped immediately, and the man seemed as if he would topple out of his bed. 'I have granted you time, a temporary reprieve, but there is only one way for you to be truly cured.'
She paused and looked around, to find them all, every man and every woman, hanging on her every word.
'You said that Dainsey was cured,' Roger dared to remark.
'You must travel to the Barbacan,' she explained, 'to the flattened top of Mount Aida and the arm of Avelyn Desbris. You will see blood in his palm. Kiss it, taste it, and you need not fear the rosy plague anymore.'
'The Barbacan?' the man replied, his face bloodless. All about him, people began repeating that question, that name.
Pony understood their terror. Along with the fact that the Barbacan was a place of legendary evil that had been home of the latest incarnation of the demon dactyl, the difficulty of that northern, wild road gave them all pause. Again that tumult of questions, simple logistical problems, assaulted her thoughts. They had to go to the Barbacan, everyone afflicted-and even those who were not yet caught in the grasp of the plague would do well to make the journey. But how?
Pony went back to Fellowship Way soon after, needing rest. The townsfolk had asked her to lead them to the Barbacan, and she had told them that she would answer them in the morning, but in truth, she had known her answer all along. She could not go back now. No, her road must continue to the south, to Caer Tinella and to
