Jisten slid down, high priest in his arms. The Valers ooohed at that. Then boys began offering goats and chickens to the dragon. Scorth watched Jisten anxiously. Do I need to transform? Do I need to come in? He ate a few whole chickens to appease the boys who chased them right under his snout.
“Stay in draconic form,” Jisten advised. “Safer from attack. The Valers can’t fend off guards or sun priests.”
Scorth shook out his wings and coiled his tail around his legs and proceeded to look fierce, which didn’t stop the goat and chicken offerings. You can count on me, Scorth told Jisten as he ate a goat.
The Mai’eras opened her door. Her bright eyes looked at Scorth, then at Jisten, and then at Rak.
“Mai’eras, I bring S’Rak, High Priest of the Thezi sect under Lord Zotien. He was injured. Ylion Forael sutured him using me as a sunset bridge, but now he’s in shock and I didn’t know where else to go. The Ylion is exhausted.” Jisten gazed at her with trust and hope.
“No want blast in Sun Temple, eh? Only highest sun priest manage sunset bridge.” Asfalea waved her carved walking stick at Jisten. “Inside! Inside!”
Jisten carried the injured man into the lopsided cottage. The old lady pointed to a couch. Jisten sat on it and kept Rak on his lap. Asfalea nodded in approval, set down her walking stick, and stood over the two. As she was extremely short, she could reach Rak easily. Her gnarled hands were gentle as she ran them over the high priest. She stopped over Rak’s belly, made noise, and then moved on.
“What? What is it, Mai’eras? Why did you make that noise?” Jisten asked, rapid fire. Rak stiffened and buried his face against Jisten’s tunic. “You know what it is? What is it then? Will he be all right? Can you help him?” Jisten continued, half asking Rak and half asking the old lady.
“No know?” Asfalea asked, her bright button eyes fastening on Jisten.
Rak’s fingers gripped Jisten’s uniform jacket, knuckles white.
“Know what? Do I have to tell you what happened?” Jisten blushed. “Do you need details?”
“You dare give child to sacred kironi?” She whacked him on the head with the staff.
“Ow! Child? What?” Jisten cringed and held his bruised head.
“You shame your clan!”
Jisten’s face blanched. “I have. I didn’t protect S’Rak.”
“Go to hearth,” Asfalea told Jisten. She chanted something low, deep, and threatening.
Rak focused as she chanted. “Stop!”
Asfalea stopped obediently. “Yes, High Priest? You wish revenge?”
“My Valer did not hurt me. Only helped me. Jisten did not do this.” Rak touched his belly, flushing.
“Jisten no make baby, who then?” Asfalea asked.
“Baby?” Jisten asked in a small voice. He tightened his grip on Rak.
Asfalea whacked Jisten again, but lightly. “No know sacred kironi! Bah!” She muttered darkly about lost knowledge in the present generation.
Rak froze again and made a small noise deep in his throat. “I…I remember fire and pain and light, but not that. Not that,” he whispered.
“I tell, if want,” Asfalea said. “Si’Yeni always tell sire. But heal first. Then talk.” She continued her exam from the belly onwards.
She clucked when she reached Rak’s groin. She slid her hands around back to his buttocks. She cursed in Valer.
“Can you help him, Mai’eras?” Jisten looked up at her, trying to impress his own sense of urgency on her.
“Need power,” the old woman muttered. She shuffled away, toward the hearth.
From a back room, a middle aged woman shooed out a young apprentice with wide green eyes. “I will help, Mai’eras,” Elenna said. She had wide matronly hips, with the pleasant plumpness of a mother and the calmness of the same.
“Grain, wine,” Asfalea ordered. “Not bad enough for greater summoning. Lesser enough.” She threw something into the fire on the hearth. A sunset flared up inside the stone hearth and she sang to it, crooning in her old lady voice. Elenna bustled back with the items in her hand.
“Grain, for family,” Asfalea said and threw the grain into the sunset on the hearth “Wine, for joy in night,” she said and poured the wine into the fire. The offering was consumed and glowing power visibly infused into her tiny frame. “Now can heal.” Asfalea stood over Rak and laid her now flawless hands on him. She began to sing a lullaby.
* * * * Healing warmth flowed from Asfalea’s hands. They were the loving hands of Drespel, of Tyll, of Ave, of his children. The hands stroked him and healed his hurts, and Rak’s eyes opened and he focused on the priestess. He remained still until her healing was done.
Asfalea staggered back and Elenna guided her to the intricately carved chair with the black and tan embroidered seat.
“Who is guarding Jethain?” asked Rak as he stabilized.
“Sedrael and Orste. They’re good men.” Jisten stroked Rak’s wings. “They can stop Murson?”
“Senior sun priest Murson?” Jisten asked. “They’ll let him right in!” He reflexively clasped Rak to him as he sat straight up in alarm.
Rak tried to sit up himself. “He will kill Jethain. We must go and stop him.”
“There is no
we
about this,” Jisten said.
Rak yawned. “Okay, you stay here and I will go. Where did I leave my boots?”
“At the palace,” said Jisten. “I didn’t stop to change you out of your sleeping robe before I carried you here. I have to warn Sedrael and Orste.” His voice was heavy with regret as he slid Rak off his lap.
“Send a mastigi,” said Rak. “Message.” Trelo crawled out of Rak’s hood and clicked. Once the message was winging towards the palace, Asfalea cleared her throat, drawing their attention.
“Baby sire also named Murson,” Asfalea said and frowned. “Same Murson sun priest?”
Rak blanched. “That
vlakas!
