‘Surely, grandmother. It is needed to tell a wonderful tale of another person, another place, a story that a dreamer may live in to be other than he is. I know that. I will tell Jaer of the women of N’Gollo who dance on high pillars for the honour of the god.’ He stood over Medlo, face grey with fatigue, yet his spear was upright in his hand as though grafted there.
The three women lowered themselves onto cots in the adjacent room, trying to let muscles loosen with little exclamations of pain. Leona whispered, ‘Can you explain? I had wished to die from the pain of those cuts….’
Terascouros spoke through a haze of weakness. ‘Leona, tell me something of this search of yours – this thing you were looking for.’ When there was only an uncomprehending silence, she begged, ‘Please, tell me.’
‘The Vessel of Healing? It was said to have been a gift of the Thiene to the founder of the college of healers in Kra-Usthro. In the ruins of a dead city in Tharsh is a library, and in it I read that the ruins of Kra-Usthro lie on the River Sals, west of Palonhodh Pass. The college ended with the reign of Sud-Akwith.’
‘And what was it, this Vessel?’
‘Who knows? It was said to provide healing for any wound, any ill. When the founder was very old, of an age to return to Earthsoul, his students urged him to drink from the Vessel, but he refused, saying he longed to rejoin Earthsoul and that the Vessel should go with him into the loving soil.’
‘Was that done?’
‘The writing said he was buried at Kra-Usthro, but that the people of his home village stole the body away, saying that he should be buried in all honour in his birthplace. Then there was fighting between the two places, and decades of confusion. When all was done, the body was gone. The book I read said that his students had taken it to a religious house far in the east where it might have less honour and more respect, the Vessel of Healing with it. So it was written.’
‘Far in the east. It happens that Jasmine comes from the eastern edge of the settled lands. Is there not an ancient house of religion in Lak Island, Jasmine?’
Jasmine was unpinning her hair, letting the heavy, smoky grey of it tumble on her shoulders as she rubbed her aching head. ‘Oh, the nunnery? Yes, it is old. But old as it is, it is built on the foundations of a place older still. The place is so old that no one knows when it was built, or who built it, or what it was.’
‘And the nuns gave you something from the ancient buildings? Perhaps from the vaults? The cellars?’
Jasmine nodded. ‘From the cellars. The Sister said that it was very old.’ Hair pins fell from her mouth as she gaped. ‘Are you saying …’
Leona was already ripping the oddly shaped flask from the straps which held it to Jasmine’s pack, that battered, old flask into which the juices of the easeroot had been poured. Terascouros murmured from her cot, eyes closed, ‘Easeroot does not heal. Oh, it will ease pain, make dying easier, but it will not heal. Yet something healed. You are healed, Leona. Jaer is healed. Is there any sign on the flask, a name, a symbol?’
Leona polished the dark metal with the edge of her tunic, making a small silvery patch across the ancient lines. There were twisting leaves, fish, birds, a curly-maned sun, letters in a wavery script which was undecipherable to Leona. She offered it to Terascouros. ‘Can you read it?’
‘No. There is probably no one alive who can, save perhaps among the archivists in Orena. When the Thiene came into the known world, they brought with them many gifts. The first was the gift of the Sisterhood, for it was the Thiene, the Thousand, who founded the Sisterhood. Also, they explained the covenant of the Powers. It was they who coaxed the archivists out of Tchent where they had hidden themselves since the Departure to send them among the people, teaching. If the legend says that the Thiene brought as a gift a vessel of healing, I would believe it – though I am more inclined to believe that the Thiene found it or preserved it rather than made it. In the Sisterhood we are taught that certain things have great power because of the intention and dedication with which they are made and the acceptance of that by the Powers. So, who knows when this was made? What can we believe except that the Vessel is here, now, in our hands? Do you doubt it?’
‘No.’ Leona laid it reverently on the blanket. ‘I see my own wounds healed which were made only days ago. This is the Vessel I sought. This would have healed my love.’
‘Would have? Will you not beg it from Jasmine and take it to Anisfale?’
‘After five years? Fabla cannot be alive still. No. Surely she is gone to peace, a better peace than mine. I had sworn to lay the Vessel even on her grave, but perhaps the time is gone for that. I am weary, old woman. I am other things than weary, as well – things I am incapable of understanding.’
They lay quietly, Leona cradling the flask in her arms, unable to wonder properly at the miracle, too worn for astonishment. They slept. When Medlo came, his face sunken and lined with exhaustion, he woke Leona before sleeping himself. So they went, two by two, through the day and night hours, talking endlessly into the ear of the sleeper who had been Jaer, sleeping between times as though they would never sleep enough.
During that day and night, Jaer’s body changed four times. The green-clad sisters saw, put their heads
