Mortalis

Pony started to respond, but nearly choked as Braumin's blunt response registered fully.

'She is afflicted with the rosy plague,' Braumin said quietly. 'The red spots, the fever… there can be no doubt.'

Pony was nodding with each word. 'I was told as much already,' she said. 'But you do not understand what that means, I fear,' Braumin replied, 'else you would not have driven so hard to bring her here.'

Pony stared at him incredulously. 'Where, then?' she asked. 'Where am I to bring one so ill if not to St. Precious Abbey? Who am I to turn to for help if not Abbot Braumin Herde, my friend? '

Braumin put his hand up in the air as she spoke the words-words obviously painful for him to hear. 'The rosy plague,' he said again. 'Do you not know the song? '

Pony stared at him curiously, and Braumin began to sing the children's rhyme.

Ring around the rosy, Gather bowls of posies

Burn the clothes

And dig the holes And cover us with dirt.

Help to one in twenty Dying people plenty

Stupid priest

Ate the Beast And now can't help himself.

Praying people follow Into graves so hollow

Take their gems

Away from them And cover them with dirt'.

Pony continued to stare, but the words began to sink in, began to ring in her heart the truth about her doomed friend. 'Where, then?' she asked weakly.

Braumin came forward and wrapped her in a tight hug. 'You make her comfortable, as much as possible, and you say good-bye,' he whispered.

Pony let that hug linger for a long, long while, needing the support. Finally she pushed Braumin back far enough so that she could look into his compassionate face. 'Where is she?' she asked quietly.

'There is a house not so far from here that already knows the plague,' Braumin started to explain.

'She is not within St. Precious?' Pony asked, her voice rising with her surprise.

'I could not,' Braumin answered. 'I should not have let you in so soon after you spent such intimate time with her.' Pony's eyes widened.

'But I could not refuse you,' Braumin went on. 'Never that! And yet you must understand that I had to send several brothers to you with soul stones, to search your body for signs of the plague. Still, I should not have let you in, in accordance with Abellican canon.'

Pony's eyes stayed very wide.

'Did you not understand the words of the rhyme?' Braumin asked, turning away from her with a withering glare. 'One in twenty we may help, but one in seven will afflict the tending monk. The words are true. We of the Order, even with the gifts of God's gemstones, cannot wage battle against the rosy plague.'

'One in twenty, you say,' Pony replied, a distinct edge to her voice. 'Will you not, then, try? For Colleen? For me?'

'I cannot. Nor can any of my brethren. Nor should you.'

'Is she not your friend? '

'I cannot.'

'Did she not stand strong with us against the darkness of Markwart? '

'I cannot.'

'Did she not escape De'Unnero, to spread news of my capture and of the march to the north? '

'I cannot.'

'Did she not suffer imprisonment without denouncing us, or Avelyn, or any of the principles that we held dear? ' Pony continued to press, coming closer with each statement, so that she was, by this time, leaning heavily over the desk, staring Braumin in the eye from a distance of less than a foot.

'I cannot!' Braumin answered with even more emphasis. 'It is our law, without exception.'

'It is a bad law,' Pony accused.

'Perhaps,' said Braumin, 'but one without exception. If the King of Honce-the-Bear became ill with plague, the Abellican Church would offer only prayers. If the Father Abbot became ill with plague, he would be forced out of St.-Mere-Abelle, beyond the tussie-mussie bed.' Braumin settled back, his voice going low and somber. 'There is but one exception I would make. If you, Jilseponie, became ill with plague, I would abdicate my post and my calling, take one soul stone in hand, and would go to you with all my heart and soul.'

Pony just stared at him, too stunned by this unbelievable information even to find the words to respond.

'But even if I was successful, even if you proved the one in twenty, then I would be banished for my actions and not allowed back within my abbey until after the plague had abated,' Braumin explained, 'a decade, perhaps. By that time, I would likely have met with my own death. And if not, it is even possible that I would be branded a heretic for offering such false hopes to the general population. This is much larger than you or me, my friend. It is a matter of the very survival of the Church.'

'I am going to Colleen,' Pony remarked.

'Do not,' said Braumin.

'What stones might I combine with hematite to help shield my work? '

'There is nothing,' Braumin said bluntly, his tone rising. 'Hematite will bring you to the disease, and there you will succeed if you are fortunate and its hold is not great, fail if moderate, and fail utterly, and sicken yourself, if it is thick within the victim.'

Pony considered those words carefully in the context of what she had found awaiting her previous delving into the tortured body of Colleen Kilronney. Could the plague be any thicker within a living person? she had to honestly wonder, shivering at the mere memory other encounter with the disease.

'I cannot bring her here,' Pony said calmly.

Abbot Braumin, though his expression was pained, shook his head.

'And you cannot go with me to her.'

Braumin winced even more, but again he shook his head.

'And what will you do through all the years of plague, then?' Pony asked sharply. 'Will you remain in your abbey behind locked gates, discussing the origins of the various human races? '

'That and other matters philosophical,' the abbot explained. 'It is long tradition within the Church that times of plague are times of retreat for the brothers, to discuss and debate the greater questions of existence.'

'While the world suffers.'

Abbot Braumin seemed wounded. He sighed deeply. 'What would you have me do? '

'I know the path before me,' Pony answered.

'And it is one that I again bid you not to walk,' Braumin replied. 'You are more likely to die trying to help her than to give her any aid.'

'I have already tried with my soul stone,' Pony replied honestly, 'and failed utterly.'

'Then why go?'

Pony stared at him, disappointed in Braumin for the first time since she had met him. Then why go? she echoed incredulously in her mind. To hold her, of course, and talk to her, to comfort her and to say farewell! How could generous Braumin not see so obvious a duty? How could he place tradition over compassion?

'I will have my clothes, and be gone,' Pony answered.

Braumin nodded, then paused for a brief moment and moved behind his desk, pulling open a drawer. He produced a small sack. 'One of every gemstone available at St. Precious, including the very same cat's-eye circlet you once wore,' he explained, handing it over to Pony. 'In times of plague, the folk may be driven mad. You might need these for protection.' Pony took the sack, but stared at Braumin skeptically.

'Also, since I know your heart, and doubt not your talent, I hold a hope that you will again prove our savior, that you will find a gemstone combination that will prove effective against the rosy plague. God be with you, Jilseponie.' He hugged her and kissed her on the cheek, then he led her out to retrieve her possessions.

They said good-bye at St. Precious' front gate.