talons in the child. Briefly, Vervain had an image of twisting; of something being turned inside out. And again the darkness brushed her healing warmth. This time, Vervain knew what it was, and the thought alarmed her.
Not disease. Curse.
It was the perfect opposite of all she had been taught. Dimly, she recalled learning how to summon such things in order to know how to dispel them. Tears formed beneath her closed lids. She recalled Jemma teaching… what? Gods, it was so long ago, she had been barely ten years old! Hard to recall, now that everything depended on her memory…
Yes. A third time Vervain called for the great power of Healing. This time, she remembered what to do.
She surrendered.
Surrendered herself and Allika utterly to the power of evil that raged within the girl's spirit. Felt the cold seize her own heart, felt the mammoth hate that seemed far too large to be housed in the tiny body of a seven- year-old child turn eagerly upon this new, sweet prey. Vervain saw her own thoughts and memories being twisted, tainted, as the curse tried to corrupt her as it had Allika. But it failed. She was a Blesser of Health, and the goddess's claim upon her loyalty and spirit stood firm against the buffeting of the curse. Angrily it receded, renewing its attack upon the more vulnerable little girl. Vervain felt herself drowning in the dark, black cold…
… and a fourth time called forth the red warmth of Healing. She remembered how to direct it. It scattered the bearer (bearers, thousands of them) of the dark curse with the force of a rechanneled river. Vervain began to pant with exhaustion, dimly felt sweat gather at her hairline, trickle down the back of her neck. Her body began to quiver. No… no, she had to stay strong, had to keep fighting!
The power was ebbing, cooling. She reached for it a fifth time, something she had never done before, and found no trace of the gift left. Her own strength of will had to do. Vervain gritted her teeth and continued fighting, and at last the black darkness ebbed, went away, like a shadow before a growing light.
She opened her eyes. Allika lay quietly, as exhausted by the struggle as she was. Vervain realized she was trembling. Deveren went to her, steadied her with strong arms on her shoulders. 'What… is it all right?'
She couldn't speak, only nodded. Gods, she was tired. Vervain licked her lips and pointed feebly to a pitcher on the sideboard. 'Some water… please…'
Deveren leaped up and poured her a goblet, sloshing the water on her red dress as he handed it to her. His hazel eyes were concerned. Vervain gulped greedily. Never had water tasted so sweet. She sighed, waited for her racing heart to still, then spoke.
'Allika was cursed,' she said. Deveren gasped, then glanced back up at the girl who was sleeping soundly. 'I was able to cure her, do not worry. It was spread by the rat… or, rather, by the rat's own vermin.'
'The fleas,' breathed Deveren. 'I had the rat killed, but…'
'Exactly. The fleas have no doubt spread.' She took a deep breath, drank some more water, and continued. 'I had to surrender to the curse in order to defeat it. Deveren, this is… I can hardly even articulate it. It… it likes darkness. It likes to make people do evil things. They will thrive on cruelty. Goodness, kind deeds-that weakens the victims, makes them hurt. Did you notice every time Allika cooperated, seemed sorry for what she had done, she was stricken with pain?'
Deveren nodded.
'It's like the bite of a snake. To cure, one must fight back with an antidote crafted with the same poison. To cure this curse, one must be made utterly evil, cease fighting it, in order to defeat it. It is called the Law of Similarities. Do you follow me?'
This time, Deveren shook his head. Her heart went out to him. Poor man. For all that he was a selfconfessed thief, he had a good soul. And all of this had shaken him profoundly-as well it might. 'In essence, then, Allika and I surrendered completely to evil-and then I was able to fight back, to pull her out along with me.' She wiped a hand across her brow, greasy with sweat. 'We almost didn't make it.'
Deveren reached for her hand, squeezed it. 'You look exhausted.'
'I am.'
He voiced the question she was thinking but did not dare articulate. 'Vervain… if one healing does this to you… how can you expect to cure a whole city?'
She closed her eyes, opened them. 'I can't. Not with heart magic alone. But there may be something else… perhaps I can come up with an herbal substitute. I have been able to do that on occasion for people who are too ill to come to me themselves, or too far away for a Healer to reach.' She forestalled Deveren's exclamation of relief with a wave of a weary hand. 'It won't be easy. And truthfully, I am not hopeful. Even if I am successful, it will take time to create… and the victims must be cured one by one.
Her body ached. She rubbed her stiff neck absently as she added soberly, 'And such a struggle of the soul… the cure could even be fatal to some.'
They sat for a few moments, weighted down with the new, dreadful knowledge, the only sound the rhythmic breathing of the slumbering child and the crackling of the fire. At last Vervain struggled to her feet. 'We must finish burning the clothing. Then Allika must be bathed.'
At the sound of her name, the child roused, groped sleepily. 'Where's Miss Lally?' she asked, stifling a yawn.
'Here she is, honey,' Deveren replied swiftly, reaching to pick up the rag doll from the floor where she had fallen during Allika's struggles.
'No!' Vervain's voice was sharp.
'But…?' Deveren was confused. Allika sat up, sensing trouble.
'The doll is as contaminated as her clothing. Perhaps more so,' replied Vervain. 'I'm sorry, Allika. But…' she glanced helplessly over at Deveren. 'We have to burn her.'
'B-burn her?' Allika's lower lip trembled. 'But you can't! She's my baby! I have to take good care of her!'
The tone in her voice was different. Vervain noticed it immediately. This was not the wild Allika, enjoying being spiteful. These were the words of a hurt child, crying out for the thing she loved. If Deveren was right, and she was a thief, familial love must not be easy for her to come by.
But even as Vervain gazed at the doll, she saw a small insect crawling over its faded, painted face. She shuddered. It had to be destroyed.
'Allika,' she said gently as Deveren still clutched the doll, 'Remember how sick you were just now?' The girl nodded, her eyes brimming with tears. 'Well, Miss Lally's sick, too. But I can't heal her. And unless we put her in the fire, she'll make you sick again.'
'But… Miss Lally's never gotten sick. Not even…' Allika gasped. 'I made her sick! I made her sick! I make everyone sick, and then they have to get burned, just like on the ship!' She buried her face in her hands and sobbed.
'Dear gods,' said Vervain, her face going white. 'She must have been on the Death Ship.' What a dreadful thing that had been. She had fought to be permitted to go aboard, to try to Heal the sick, but had been denied.
'But there were no survivors,' said Deveren.
'That we knew of,' amended Vervain. 'Allika, do you think you killed all those people? Made them sick?'
The little girl nodded wretchedly. Vervain's heart went out to her. 'Oh, honey, you had nothing to do with that. And Miss Lally didn't get sick because of you, either.'
'But… I saw them burn…' She turned brimming eyes toward Vervain. 'I don't want to make you or Fox sick.'
'You won't,' Deveren replied swiftly. 'We'll be just fine.'
'But…' Allika paused, wiped an arm across her streaming nose, and said softly, 'Miss Lally makes me brave. She got me through that night when the, the black-soot men came, and when I found the rat…'
Deveren picked up Allika, blankets and all, and sat down with her in his lap. 'Allika, you've got it backwards. You made Miss Lally brave. And now you have to make her brave enough to go into the fire so that she won't make you sick again. You know she wouldn't want that.'
Allika's eyes searched Deveren's. Vervain watched them both closely. Neither spoke for a long time, but neither had to. She wondered if Deveren could see the aching need for love in the child's small face; wondered if he realized how his own softened and brightened when he was with the little girl. Somehow, sadly, she doubted it.
