Carolyn's Travels

        The man perched on the edge of the settee opposite Carolyn, his
eyes flickering over her unconsciously, trying to take in her form.  She
couldn't blame him for being a touch disconcerted.   Her golden eyes
were unusual enough, and her dark hair she kept shorter than was
fashionable, barely to her shoulders.  But it was her chair that was
attracting his attention, she knew.  It was a wheeled contraption made
from light steel, with wheels made of steel covered with Eastern rubber,
a vastly superior replacement of its wooden predecessor, which burned in
a fire over a year ago.  Because of the chill this morning she had
covered her legs with a lap quilt, hiding most of her broken lower torso
from view.

        "Can I get you some tea, Master Twill?" she asked, trying to put
him at ease.  They were the sitting room of Carolyn's rowhouse, which
she used to greet patients and do minor Healings.   If surgery was
needed, she usually took people into the dining room, which was kept
scrupulously clean by the widow who boarded upstairs.  Her own chambers
towards the back of the house, next to the kitchen and the always warm
fireplace.

        "No, thank you, Healer Carolyn," he said.  Something in his
stance changed from nervousness to disappointment.  "I fear I have only
wasted your time this morning."

        "Hardly wasted.  I had no patients scheduled," she said.  "Your
card that you left yesterday said you wished my aid in a healing.  Has
the situation changed?"

        "No, it has not," Twill admitted.  "But if you were to heal him,
it would mean a long journey, and I fear that it doesn't appear to be an
option for you."

        Carolyn smiled gently.  "Don't be so certain.  I traveled from
Duestchlund to Astmoor in the same condition you find me now, alone.
Tell me what ails your patient, and we'll see whether my journey is
needed."

        "Duestchlund to here, in that?" Twill asked, more to himself
than her she suspected.  His eyes widened slightly, and some of the
disappointment seemed to leave him.  "Very well then," he said.  "I am
in the employ Mistress Gailen de Parses, a merchant who lives in the
free port of New Aveon.  She has one son, Angelo, who is nine years old.
Two months ago he was struck ill by a mild fever.  It seemed a normal
enough illness, and he was treated with willowbark extract and made to
rest and consume plenty of fluids.  Then, after two days, his fever went
inexplicably up, and he fell into a comatose state.  His eyes are open,
and they appear to focus on things, but he neither moves nor speaks, nor
makes any other reaction to the world around him.  No lay healer in New
Aveon can do anything for him, not even the Firebrand herself."

        "Has a priest tried to heal him?" Carolyn asked.  In some ways,
her own abilities were superior to priestly healing, but in others the
PaterOmni's servants were better suited. 

        "Not successfully," Twill said. "Gailen... Mistress de Parses,
rather, has a... difficult... relationship with the PaterOmni, or rather
some of his servants.  I fear she made some enemies within the Church
hierarchy in New Aveon."  His face twisted in barely suppressed anger.
"They have made it known that it would not be wise for a junior cleric
to be seen in her presence.  Or her son's."

        "They are denying the child treatment?!" Carolyn exclaimed.
Twill nodded unhappily.  "I fear so. She has sent a letter of protest to
Templeshire, but by the time any action is taken, it may be too late do
any good   Not all holy folk have heeded this order of course,
preferring to follow their own conscience, but the ones that have tried
to help were unsuccessful.  Then my mistress heard rumors of a healer in
Astmoor who seemed able to heal ills that would confound even the
holiest priest.  So she sent me here to find you, and hopefully convince
you to come to New Aveon for consultation."

        "To harm a child because of their damned... politics," Carolyn
spat.  She gripped the padded armrests of her chair, fighting to retain
control.  There was no sense in losing her temper in front of poor
Master Twill, who obviously as upset over the situation as she was.
Instead she took a deep breath, held it for a five count, then let it
out it carefully.  She then released her grip on the armrests, and
deliberately folded her hands in her lap.

        "Mistress de Parses will have my aid, Master Twill.  Give me the
afternoon to settle my affairs here, and we can set out to New Aveon in
the morning," she told him.  She had no idea whether she could truly
help de Parses' son, but she was certainly going to try.  And the Church
and its corrupt masters could get _stuffed_.



        By the next morning, Carolyn had put together her battered old
traveling pack, complete with a small, but well equipped first aid kit.
The previous afternoon had been spent going round to the other healers
in the city, letting them know that she would be away for several months
and that Widow Tallis would be directing them to her door.  She had even
managed to get a hold of Doran and inform her of the situation, asking
her to check up on old Tallis from time to time to make certain she
would get along by herself.  When she told the young girl her reasons
for leaving so suddenly, including the part about Angelo being denied
treatment by the priests, Doran's deep blue eyes had suddenly flared in
anger.  She had then dashed off a letter that she asked Carolyn to
deliver to her father, who apparently was a man of some influence in the
city.

        The week long journey to New Aveon was without incident.  Master
Twill hired a private carriage for her, along with a small squad of
armsmen, which was enough to deter any bandits along the way.  When they
arrived, there was brief delay while they passed through city gates,
then suddenly they were in the bustling streets of the biggest port on
the Midterran.  It was at least twice as large as Astmoor, and from
Carolyn's first impression it seemed much louder and considerably
busier.  Her view from the carriage window showed merchants and nobles
in sedan chairs, passing by beggars waving tin cups and sporting all
manner of deformities.

        "Are you all right?" Master Twill asked, sitting across from her
on the padded bench. "Yes, I'm fine," she said after a moment.  She
turned away from the window.  "The city seems quite overwhelming," she
admitted.

        "Well, we're near the gates.  It's always busy around them," he
reassured her.  "My mistress's home is in a much quieter part of town."
Master Twill's initial slip of using his employer's first name had not
be repeated since their initial meeting, Carolyn noted.  Her traveling
companion had been quite circumspect the entire trip, avoiding
discussion of his personal life, or his relationship with Mistress de
Parses.  Whenever conversation strayed that way, he was always careful
to steer back to safer waters.  Whether he had deeper feelings for
Mistress de Parses was still an open question.

        "New Aveon has a bit of everything," he continued.  "There are
neighborhoods where you wouldn't think twice about letting your children
wander the streets, and there are parts that city guard won't enter
without a full squad.  We have parks and slums, low taverns and fine
inns, pious priests and base harlots, wise sages and gibbering
lunatics."

        "You sound proud of it," Carolyn said.  Twill let one of his
rare smiles shine on his face.

        "It's my home," he said.  "I've lived here all my life.  I
wouldn't trade it for anything, not even if they gave me a barony."

        Twill's prediction about the city's character proved accurate.
Soon they left the bustling city gate behind, and entered a quiet
neighborhood, filled with manor houses that sat behind high stone walls
with broken glass imbedded in the mortar along the top.  The carriage
stopped before a wrought iron gate that guarded a white painted home
with red Iberian tiles on the roof.  Twill hopped out the door and
quickly gave the armsmen's sergeant the remainder of their pay, then
helped the driver unload their luggage and sent him on their way.

        "Angelo is usually in the garden this time of day," Twill told
her.  Carolyn pushed herself along behind him as he led her around the
house.  They came to small, carefully maintained garden, that was
centered around a copper fountain with water spouting cherubs.   A plump
woman with curly black hair sat next low couch, where a young boy lay,
covered with a quilt.  A lavishly illustrated book was in the woman's
lap, and she was reading it with forced cheerfulness to the boy.

        "'Oh, what will I do?' cried Papa Gato.  'Now I have no one to
take care of my kittens.'" she read.  As they came closer, the woman
looked up.  Carolyn saw that her face was lined deeply, and dark black
circles haunted her eyes.  

        "Simon, you found her!" the woman cried out.  She stood up, the
book falling from her lap to the ground, and rushed over to where they
stood.  She stopped before Carolyn, suddenly becoming aware of her
strange chair.

        "Mistress, I present to you Healer Carolyn Chandler," Twill said
by way of introduction.  "Healer Chandler, Mistress Gailen de Parses, of
the de Parses Trading House.  Mistress, Healer Carolyn has agreed to
help Angelo, if she can."

        "Oh, blessed be the Lady!" de Parses cried.  She kneeled down in
the grass before Carolyn, taking her hand and grasping it tightly.  "I
prayed that you'd come.  You will help dear Angelo, won't you?  He's all
I have.  You must help him!"  Her eyes began to fill with tears, and
Twill quickly drew out a handkerchief to wipe them away.

        "I'll do what I can," Carolyn told her, hating what she had to
say next.  The poor woman had obviously hanged all hope of her son's
recovery on Carolyn's arrival.  It was terrible to try and dissuade her.
"I have to warn you though, I can't guarantee success.  I may not be
able to do anything for him at all."

        To her relief, de Parses nodded, wiping the tears from her eyes
and regaining her self-control.  "I know, I know," she said.  "But I've
been at my wit's end for over a month now.  Anything that might give
Angelo a chance is precious to me."

	"I understand," Carolyn said.  "My I see him?"

        "Of course," de Parses agreed.  She led her over to where Angelo
still lay, a young child with dark brown hair that fell in bangs over
his face.  His eyes were closed, and his quilt was drawn up to his chin.
He seemed to be breathing normally to Carolyn, but that proved nothing.

        "Is he asleep?" she asked.  "Master Twill said his eyes were
able to track movement."

        "They stopped moving eight days ago," de Parses said, her voice
threatening to break again.  Out of the corner of her eye, Carolyn saw
Twill lift his hand, as if to lay it on the mother's shoulder to comfort
her.  But he stopped himself before completing the motion.  Carolyn
decided to just move on, hoping to distract her from her grief with
mundane detail.

        "When did you first find him after he became comatose?" Carolyn
lifted away the quilt as she spoke, to begin a preliminary examination.
Angelo was dressed only in a nightshirt, with a linen breechcloth
wrapped around his loins to catch any wastes.

        "He went to bed early, the second day of his fever," de Parses
told her.  "The next morning I was tending to my accounts, when my maid
Anna came and said she couldn't wake him to feed him breakfast.  I
couldn't either, so that's when I sent her out to fetch the Firebrand.
I should have stayed with him through the night.  I could have done
something to help him."

        "I don't think there's anything that you could have done,"
Carolyn said.  She lifted Angelo's body up briefly, checking for
bedsores.  There were none, which meant someone had the sense to turn
him regularly.  He smelled clean as well, which meant he was also being
bathed.  She suspected most of this care was being done by Mistress de
Parses herself.  "From the sound of it, it seems that he suffered a
stroke brought on by his fever.  I'll admit it's an odd thing to happen
to someone so young, but it is possible."

        "Yes, that's what the Firebrand said.  She said there's nothing
she could to help, it would need priestly healing," de Parses said.
"But no priest will come to see him, except Father Amaltheus, and he
wasn't able to do anything for him."

        "Is it because you worship another god?" Carolyn asked her
gently, turning briefly away from Angelo.

        "That shouldn't matter," his mother hissed.  "He's a child.  Is
the PaterOmni so cruel as to deny healing to a child?  The Lady
wouldn't."

        "I know nothing of the Lady, Mistress de Parses, but I know the
Church can be quite cruel when it sets its mind to it."  Carolyn pulled
back one of Angelo's eyelids.  He made no reaction when she passed her
finger across his field of vision, but at least his eyes dilated
properly in the sunlight.  "Your Lady, does she have priests?  Did you
try to contact them?"  Mistress de Parses just shook her head.

        "Yes, but they haven't been able to help either," she answered.
"Jesane, our Circle's high priestess, nearly collapsed trying to feed
Angelo healing energy.  It didn't do any good at all."

        "I hope she didn't hurt herself," Carolyn said.  She rubbed her
forehead.  Her heart told to enter a rapport with Angelo immediately, to
try and Heal the damage from the stroke, and perhaps MindHeal the trauma
he must have experienced from being trapped in this shell of a body for
over two months.  But logic overrode.  She should speak to this
Firebrand first, and perhaps Father Amaltheous as well, to see what they
had already done.  Better to go in when she had as much information as
she could.  The boy's condition wasn't likely to change radically in the
next few hours.  The only thing she would do now is try and look him
over with her Sight, to try and trace the gross damage.

        "Mistress, with your permission I'd like to examine your son
more closely using my magic," she said.  "Then I'll go see the Firebrand
and learn what else has been done to try and heal him."

	"What sort of magic?" de Parses asked.

        "Spells that were taught to me by my mentor," Carolyn lied.
"They aren't commonly known in these lands.   I promise you that they
will not cause any harm to Angelo."

	"All right then," his mother said dubiously.

        Carolyn leaned over Angelo, placing her hands on either side of
his head.  Lord grant me wisdom, she prayed, centering her focus.  She
opened up her Sight, and let it drift through the layers of skin, muscle
and bone that protected the delicate mechanism of the young boy's brain.
With care, she searched for the broken blood vessels and dangerous clots
that were the signs of a major stroke.

        To her intense surprise, she found nothing.   The was no
indication of damage, nor of any abnormalities at all, not even mild
bruising that might come from a sharp blow to the head.  Her
consternation must have shown on her face, for de Parses asked, "What do
you see?"

        "I'm not certain," she said, half lying.  To say she saw nothing
was not what Mistress de Parses wanted to hear.  Her son was certainly
ill, and Carolyn wasn't ready to admit that there was no solution.  She
dispelled her Sight and turned to face Angelo's mother.  "Mistress, I'd
like to consult with the Firebrand before I do anything further.  Could
you tell me where I could find her?"

        "Her shop, the Res Arcanum, is on Carpenter's Row," de Parses
said, her disappointment plainly showing on her face.  "You're certain
you can't do anything for him?"

        "Not right now," Carolyn said.  She steeled herself against
Mistress de Parses pain and anguish.  She had faced those emotions many
times before as a healer, but they never became any easier to absorb.

        "Would you like me to escort you there?" Master Twill asked.
Carolyn shook her head.  "No, just tell me the way.  I'm certain
Mistress de Parses will want to bring you up to date on what's been
happening while you were away."  Twill gave her a grateful look, and
stepped a little closer to his employer.

	"I'll show you where to go," he told her.



        Rumbletom waited patiently, curled up invisibly on the grass,
while the golden-eyed healer finished examining the other human's
kitten.  Then he followed as the mother's lover escorted Carolyn out of
the manor house and onto the street, unnoticed by either of them.

        He had kept close to her ever since she had left their home
city, unwilling to take the risk that a Child of this city might find
her, and try to bond with her.  With Claw and Mind he had beaten off all
of his rivals back home, but he still had not chosen to bond with her
himself.  Her soul seemed pure enough, but part of his mind, the part
that had kept Rumbletom alive all these years, had told him to wait.
Now was not the proper moment to bond with her.  When it would be, he
had no idea.  But he could wait.

	At least for a little while longer.



        Carolyn pushed herself along through New Aveon's streets, trying
to hold back feelings of claustrophobia.  She thought Astmoor had been
overwhelming when she first entered it, but it scarcely compared to
this.  It was like someone had gathered together the crowds for
Graduation, doubled them, and stuck them all on whatever street she was
traveling on at the moment.

        Sometimes it doesn't pay to be so low to the ground, she thought
to herself, forcing a smile onto her lips.  Well, at least the crowds
were polite, making way for her and her odd-looking chair.   And the
streets were thankfully well maintained, allowing her to roll along with
a minimum of difficulty.

        She had been moving for close to an hour when she finally made
it to Carpenter's Row.  Despite its name, she didn't see a wood worker's
shop anywhere along it.  Most of the stores seemed to be selling
valuable trinkets, or offering professional services.  One, if she could
believe what she saw in their front window, was devoted entirely to
making chocolate confections.

        She found the Firebrand's shop near the end of the street.  The
signboard above the door displayed a simple question mark, and the front
window was filled with hanging plants, obscuring the interior.  The
front door was dominated by a hideous looking griffin-headed knocker,
and small brass plate beside it announced,

The Res Arcanum Magical Components and Mundane Herbs Anala Hisoka,
proprietor Established 15--

        Finally, she looked down at the bottom of the door, letting out
a small curse as she saw the two marble steps leading up to it.  They
were perhaps a foot high all together, but that was more than enough to
block her from entering.  Unless she wanted to crawl out of her chair
and drag it up the steps with her.

        "Ye need any 'elp, Mistress?" she heard a young voice ask beside
her.  She turned to a see boy, maybe thirteen years old and with a mouth
full of crooked teeth standing beside her.  A couple of other youths
were behind him, staying far enough back that she didn't feel
threatened.

        "I need to visit this shop, but I can't get up these stairs
without help," she told the boy.  "If you give me a boost up, I'll give
you each two coppers."

        The boy grinned.  "No need t' up yer coppers, Mistress.  The
Firebrand and us, we got 'n agreement.  Just tell 'er Tommy an' his gang
gave y' a hand up."  Without waiting for an answer, he motioned the
other two boys forwards, and together all three picked up her chair and
pushed it through the door.

        The door slammed behind her with a bang, and she found herself
in the interior of the Res Arcanum.  Looking around, she saw more
plants, some shelves along the walls containing sealed clay bottles
marked with herbalist's symbols, and a long counter towards the back.
Laying atop the counter was a large, feral looking tomcat, which looked
up to observe her with sleepy yellow eyes.

        The tom began to stretch, but then something behind Carolyn
caught his eye.  He suddenly hissed angrily, then in two quick jumps
leaped from the counter, then up onto the sill of the front window.
Letting out a low growl he hunkered down, tail twitching, keeping an eye
on an enemy Carolyn couldn't see.

        "What's the matter, Pyrarr?" a voice called out from the back.
A small woman with curling red hair and lavender eyes walked through a
beaded doorway, looking for the cat.  At first Carolyn thought her to be
a human, until she saw the delicately pointed tips of her ears.  So the
Firebrand was an elf, though unlike Dema, her skin was a pale as a
human's.  She stopped when she spotted Carolyn, doing a good job at
hiding her surprise at her appearance.

        "Hello, welcome to the Res Arcanum," the Firebrand greeted.
"How may I help you?"  She glanced up at Pyrarr, and the cat left his
post by the window with reluctance, walking over to sit beside his
mistress.

        "Hello, I'm Carolyn Chandler," she said in return.  "I was told
you are the healer attending to Angelo de Parses."

        "That I am," the Firebrand replied.  "What interest do you have
in his case?"

        "I'm a healer from Astmoor.  Angelo's mother contacted me to try
my hand at bringing her son out of his coma.  I came to see you to find
out what you've done that hasn't worked."

	"I beg your pardon?" the Firebrand asked coldly.

        Damn.  Off on the wrong foot, so to speak.  Angering Hisoka had
not been her intention.  Nor did it seem wise.  *Anybody who earned the
name Firebrand and uses magic is not someone I want to put in a bad
mood.*

        "I'm sorry, that came out wrong," Carolyn apologized.  "I'm just
trying to find out what treatments you've already tried, and what you've
found when you examined him.  There's no sense in repeating what's
already done."

        "I see," Hisoka replied, her tone thawing slightly.  She pulled
a stool out from behind  the counter and sat down, bringing her closer
to Carolyn's level.  "I've been caring for Angelo since he first was
struck with fever, over two months ago.  When he fell into the coma, I
tried to bring him out of it with some herbal remedies that stimulated
his system.  Then I considered the possibility that he had been poisoned
somehow, but none of the cures I fed him did any good.  Finally, I tried
using magically based healing potions, on the chance that he had
suffered an injury to the brain that I couldn't detect.  None of these
methods any effect at all."

        "Was that when you asked Father Amaltheus to try and heal him?"
Carolyn asked.

        Hisoka nodded.   "Yes.  But the good Father couldn't do anything
for him either.   He even tried some prayers that would free someone
from demonic possession, or cure diseases, but nothing has worked.
Eventually the only thing I could do was teach Mistress de Parses how to
give Angelo massages and turn him properly so he doesn't develop limb
rot or bed sores.  I fear I'm at a loss as to what to do next, and it's
only a matter of time before I'll be caring for Angelo's mother as
well."  Something in her tone had softened as she related her narrative.
Now she was less annoyed than saddened.

        "Her son's illness is tearing her apart," Carolyn observed.  "I
saw that when I arrived this morning.  She isn't allowing herself proper
rest."

        "I'm not sure she can rest," Hisoka told her.  "She's been
suffering nightmares since Angelo has taken ill.  She barely sleeps more
than a couple of hours a day, if that, and every waking moment she
spends with her son."

        "I see," Carolyn said.  As she had suspected, every conventional
method of healing, and a few that she had never heard of had failed.
And her own Gifts weren't going to be much good unless she could find
the original problem.  "Thank you, Mistress Hisoka.   I'm not certain
what I'm going to do next, but you've certainly given me a lot to think
about."

        "You're welcome," Anala replied.  The elfess cocked her head,
looking at Carolyn carefully.  "Gailen went to some trouble to bring you
all the way down here from Astmoor.  If you don't mind, could you tell
me why?  If there's some new healing methods you have, I'd be fascinated
to learn them."

        *Oh, they're new all right,* Carolyn thought to herself.  *But
they can't really be taught.  And if you came from my world, you
wouldn't want to have them in the first place.*

        "I'm sorry," she answered, the careful lies she had developed
over the past few months rising to her lips.   "It involves some magic
that I'm sworn not to teach.  I wish that I could, though."

        "I see," Hisoka answered, the cool tone returning.  "Thank you,
anyway."   Carolyn wondered if she had seen through her falsehood, or
was simply peeved at having been denied precious knowledge.

        "Well, I suppose I should get on with my errands," she told the
elfess healer, breaking the awkward silence that suddenly developed.
"I've a letter to deliver before I go back to Mistress de Parses.  Do
you think you could tell me where the Rose & Pearls is located?"

        "There are two Rose & Pearls," Hisoka answered.  "Portside and
Highside.  Which one you want to go to depends on whom the letter is
for."

        "Mmm, Highside most likely.  It's for the father of a friend of
mine, Doran Moonshadow."

        That got a reaction from Hisoka.  The elfess raised an eyebrow,
surprise plain on her face.  "You know Doran?" she asked.

        "Yes, we met almost a year ago," Carolyn said.  "When I told her
where I was going, and what Mistress de Parses was going through with
the Church, she gave me a letter to deliver to her father, Abelard.
Doran seems to think he might be able to light a fire under the right
people to help her."

        "Abelard Blackthorne's influence with the Church can be fickle
at times.  He isn't often directly involved with them, if he can
possibly help it.  Still, he might be persuaded to lend a hand," Anala
said.  "Though if you want to find him, he'll most likely be in the
Portside inn."

        "If you're certain," Carolyn said.  Hisoka nodded, and quickly
rattled off directions to find the inn.  Then the red haired elfess
showed to the door, even helping her negotiate the stairs with a minimum
of bouncing.  

        She rolled down the street, anxious to finish her errands and
get back to Angelo.  From what Hisoka had told her, it seemed more and
more likely that she was going to have to do a full dream-healing to try
and find out what had harmed the boy.  And given the depth of his
condition, that was going to be more than a little dangerous.



        From the window of her shop, Anala watched the crippled woman
roll down the street in her strange metal chair.  She ran her fingers
through her hair, and fought the urge to start chewing on a curl.
*You'd think after two hundred years you would have broken yourself of
that habit.*

        "So what do you think, Pyrarr?  Is she a true healer, or just a
charlatan?"  That had been one of her fears for Mistress de Parses.  The
longer the poor woman had to endure her son's strange illness, the more
and more likely she would be come the target of someone willing to prey
on her grief.

        "Healerrr, don't knooow," the tom answered from his perch on the
windowsill.  "Not mage, cerrrtain."

        "I didn't think so either," Anala agreed.  "I didn't smell any
magic about her.  So she was lying about at least one thing.  I think I
should let Taman and Asher know this.  I don't want her to hurt Gailen."

        "Won't huuurt," Pyrarr said confidently.  Anala looked down on
her familiar, wishing not for the first time that she had the skill to
raise his intelligence was just a bit higher.

        "How can you be sure?  You growled at her when she first came
in."

	"Not grooowl at herrr.  At herrr Child."

        "Child?  There was no one with her."  She paused.  "What do you
mean child?  Whenever you talk about children, you 'kitten'."

        "Not kitten.  Child."  Pyrarr didn't elaborate any further,
giving her a half-lidded stare that she had learned interpret as, *It's
a cat thing.  You wouldn't get it.*

        Anala sighed.  From hard experience she had learned that there
were some subjects where Pyrarr could be deliberately obtuse.  Most of
which had to do with aspects of any and every feline race.  But if this
'child' was truly dangerous, she could trust her familiar to warn her,
at least if it was dangerous to her.  The rest of the humanoid races
could go be damned.

        And speaking of humanoids, this Carolyn woman was ringing alarm
bells in her mind.  Nothing about her spoke of evil, but there was a
multitude of things that were just simply wrong.  Her strange wheeled
chair was only the first example.  It was a brilliant adaptation for
someone with crippled legs, but as far as Anala knew no one had ever
thought of it before.

        Carolyn's appearance was the next thing.  Her golden eyes were
easily explainable by a touch of elven blood in her ancestry, but other
things were less understandable.  Why was it that she kept her hair as
short as a prostitute's?  How had she become so crippled?  Why,
AllFather be praised, was she so horribly thin?  Anyone who could afford
to have such a wonderful chair built could certainly afford to eat
properly.  As it was, Carolyn was as thin as a reed.  Anala was willing
to bet she scarcely weighed seven stone.

        All of this might have been forgivable, if the young human had
at least managed to maintain eye contact during their conversation.  As
it was, Carolyn spent most of her time staring at the floor, as if
ashamed to look at someone directly in the face.  Was she shamed by the
lies she had told during their conversation?

        Well, it hardly mattered.  If she delivered that letter to
Asher, Carolyn could count on being investigated within an inch of her
life.  If she had any dark secrets, they would certainly come to light.
Asher was far too paranoid about the safety of his daughter to let
falsehoods lay untouched.



        As the afternoon shadows grew long, Carolyn wondered if she had
upset Mistress Hisoka badly enough to be given false directions.  The
further she went into this new section of the city, the more nervous she
became.  The busy and safe merchant quarter had given way to a more
sinister and dangerous neighborhood.  Street walkers were at every
corner, with painted faces and clothes so revealing they made Carolyn
blush furiously.  Their customers were on the street as well, rough
looking men with even rougher tongues, calling out drunkenly to their
comrades as a fetching whore posed for them.

        It reminded her far too much of her youth.  When she wasn't
working, Mistress <*> didn't want a goldeneyed in her tavern.  So
Carolyn had spent far too much time walking the cold streets, looking
down at the cobblestones, trying to keep people from seeing her horrible
golden eyes.  The rough men had called out to her then, asking why such
a pretty one like her hid her face.  Until she finally looked up at
them, and they pushed her away with a curse.

        She pushed herself along, feeling the strength in her arms
waning, even as her tendons became more knotted from tension.  New Aveon
was far bigger than she had thought, and the gap between Carpenter's Row
and Portside had been a longer journey than she anticipated.  Just as
she began to feel a cramp start to develop in her left hand, she saw the
signboard for the Rose & Pearls.  A black rose with a string of pearls
haloing it invited her inside, and she wasted no time getting off the
street.

        The inn's common room was cramped, smelling of alcohol and
burning lamp oil, but it was more inviting than the street.  A small,
empty stage was in one corner, and large roaring fireplace occupied most
of the opposite wall.  At the bar was a portly looking man with a wide
moonface, wiping out a mug with little enthusiasm.  Carolyn paused,
taking it all in, until she felt a heavy hand land on her shoulder.

        "May I help you?" a heavily accented voice asked.  Carolyn
looked up... then looked up some more at the giantess that stood over
her.  Large and blond was the best description of her, for she towered
over the heads of most of the inn's patrons, and her upper arms were
nearly as thick as Carolyn's waist.  She wore a fighter's leathers, and
a cudgel at her side that seemed utterly superfluous.  

        "I..." Carolyn cleared her throat and spoke again.  "I'm looking
for Abelard Blackthorne."

	"Vhy do you vant to see him?" the giantess rumbled.

        "I was asked to deliver a letter a letter to him... from his
daughter."

        "Vrom Doran?"  The giantess' attitude changed immediately from
one of curiosity to respect, and she removed her hand from Carolyn's
shoulder.  "He is in da back corner," she told Carolyn, pointing toward
a dimly lit section of the common room.  "You may haf to vake him up,
though."

        "Thank you," Carolyn replied.  She rolled off, leaving the
giantess to take up her station at the door once more.

        The table in the corner rested in semi-darkness, the lamp
resting above it unlit.  As Carolyn caught a glimpse of the man sleeping
there, her first thought was, *This can't possibly be Doran's father.*

        Abelard lay draped across one of the booth's padded leather
benches, his booted feet propped up on the table.  He sported a three
day growth of beard, which did little to hide the ugly scar that ran
from his right ear down to his mouth, twisting his lip up into a
perpetual smirk.  His arms were folded across his chest, and he wore a
stained linen shirt that hung loosely across his frame.  The shirt
revealed a well formed chest, that was marred by another massive scar
that ran from his right shoulder, down across his chest and stomach.
*The blow that struck him must have nearly torn him in two.*

        A dirty plate lay on the table, and a two thirds empty wine
bottle lay open and ignored.  As Carolyn watched, Abelard's chest rose
and fell in regular beat, and he began to snore quietly.

        *This is Doran's father?* she thought again.  It hardly seemed
possible that the soft spoken, delicate young woman she met in Astmoor
was related to the base creature she found here.

        Then again....  Once, enraged by an attack on a fellow bardic
student, Carolyn had seen Doran drop a student of the fighter's school
to the floor in three precisely placed and completely dirty blows.
Perhaps she had gained her delicate looks and good nature from her
mother.  Certainly she bore little resemblance to the unkempt, if
wolfishly handsome, man that lay here.

        "Ah... excuse me," she said quietly.  Abelard continued to
snore.

        "Pardon me," she said more loudly.  "Are you Abelard
Blackthorne?"

        Abelard stirred from his sleep, and one bleary eye opened up to
look at her.

        "I might be," he said.  He yawned widely and stretched, catlike,
in his seat. "Who are you, and what business do you have disturbing my
sleep?"

        "My name is Carolyn Chandler, a healer from Astmoor," she told
him.  "I'm an acquaintance of your daughter, Doran.  Since I had
business here in New Aveon, she asked me to deliver a letter to you."

        "You know Doran?"  Once again, the young girl's name acted as a
talisman.  Abelard suddenly swung his legs off the table and stood up
straight in his seat, brushing stray crumbs off his shirt.  The scarred
man's bleary look was replaced by one of sharp intensity as Carolyn
found herself at the center of his attention.

        "Yes, we met about a year ago," she said, blushing brightly.
She managed to break his gaze by making a show of rustling through her
belt pouch.  She drew out Doran's letter and handed it to Abelard, who
took it eagerly.

        "Carolyn..." he said absently, examining the letter's seal.
"Ah, the golden-eyed healer.  I've heard of you."

	"Good things, I hope," she said. 

	"Have you done anything to make Doran think otherwise?"

        Carolyn laughed a little nervously.  "I think if I had, you'd be
throwing daggers right now."

        Abelard appeared taken aback for a moment, but then he recovered
quickly and a grin came to his face.  "You're a wise woman, Mistress
Chandler."  A throwing knife seemed to materialize in his hand, which he
used to break open the seal of Doran's letter.

        "Now then, what's on my little songbird's mind?" Abelard
muttered.  He unfolded the letter and began to read.  Carolyn sat
patiently.

         "Well," Abelard finally said, folding up the letter once more.
"Well, well.  It would appear that you have my daughter's
recommendation.  She says here that you are trustworthy, and asks that I
help Mistress de Parses as much as I can with her difficulties with the
Church."

	"Will you?  Help Mistress de Parses I mean."

        "Normally I prefer to keep the Church at arm's length.  On the
other hand, it isn't like Doran to beg for favors," Abelard said,
frowning slightly.  "She does it so seldom, I can hardly deny her this
request."

        "Oh, good.  Thank you, sir," Carolyn told him.  "Mistress de
Parses needs all the help that she can right now.  I fear that she's at
her wit's end."

	"So I've heard," Abelard said.

	"Have you?"  Doran's scarred father nodded.

        "Nothing of consequence happens in this city without me knowing
about it," Abelard told her.  "My sources have told me of Mistress de
Parses' troubles.  They've also let me know that her business interests
are suffering, while she tends her son's illness."

        "You can hardly expect her to ignore poor Angelo!" Carolyn
exclaimed.

        "Of course not," Abelard said, raising a calming hand.  "But I
can't pretend it isn't happening either.   Other Houses are sharpening
their knives, waiting to see if hers will fall.  It would be quite a
coup if someone else could get the rights to their trading routes."

        "That is..." Carolyn swallowed back her anger with an effort.
"...disgusting.  To take advantage of a woman's grief by stealing her
livelihood."

        "That's life," Abelard observed.  Before Carolyn could reply to
this callous statement, he continued.  "The wolves always go for the
weakest member of the herd.  That's just the way of things.  De Parses
knows that.  But she has her allies, and with Master Twill back in town,
things have a chance of improving for her.  Of course, if her son could
be healed, that would relieve much of her burden."

        "If I can't do anything, that may depend on him getting healing
from the highest corners of the Church," Carolyn said, feeling a bit
mollified.  "Can she count on you to use your influence with it?"

        "I can't guarantee anything," Abelard said, shrugging.  "But I
can try."

        "Thank you," she said.  She glanced towards the front of the
bar.  The sun was almost completely down, bathing the streets in
twilight.  "I should get back.  Mistress de Parses will be wondering
where I am."

        "The streets in this part of town aren't really safe for an
unescorted woman," Abelard said.  "I'll send Brigit along with you to
guard your back."

        "Thank you."  Carolyn turned her chair towards the door, but
then paused and turned back.   "I don't mean to pry, but could I ask you
a personal question?"

        "You can ask," Abelard said guardedly.  "Don't count on an
answer though."

        "Your daughter, Doran.  What was her mother like?"  Abelard
frowned deeply, and for a moment, Carolyn wondered if her curiosity had
finally taken one step too far.

        "I wouldn't know," he finally said.  Still looking disturbed, he
finished off the dregs of wine at the bottom of his glass.  "Brigit is
up front, the blond woman by the door.  Tell her I said she should go
with you."  He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes once more.
Carolyn took the dismissal for what it was and rolled away.

        *Your father is a very strange man, Doran Moonshadow,* she
thought.  *Even to him, you're a mystery.*



        Abelard Blackthorne, or Asher to a select few, stared at the
bottle of wine, contemplating whether it would be wiser to finish it off
before it spoiled, or cap it off again for a later time.  After a
moment, he shoved its cork home, and stepped away from his table.  He
slipped through the door in the back wall, passing serving wenches
balancing trays loaded down with food for the inn's patrons.  Three
paces and a turn down another corridor brought him to his office, and he
slipped inside.

        *One simple question, and the damned woman sets yer mind
a'whirling,* he thought to himself, dropping into his padded leather
chair.  Had that been Carolyn's intent?  He doubted it.  His first
impression of her had been of someone who had little talent for
intrigue.  Her question had been born from curiosity, nothing more.
Maybe.

        It wasn't as if it was a such a strange thing to ask.  Doran's
upbringing, thank the AllFather, had damned little relation to his own.
But the question still rankled, probably because he had never been able
to find a whit of information concerning either of her birth parents.

        *Let it go,* he told himself.  He opened the letter once again,
the writing within done in Doran's neat, careful script.

Dearest Papa,

        The woman delivering this letter is Carolyn Chandler, the
golden-eyed healer I written to you about earlier.  I realize that she
will seem odd to you, but I beg that you listen to her request for aid.
If Mistress de Parses' child is as ill as she claims, Mistress Chandler
may be the best person to try and heal her.  I know she will try her
utmost to help. I will admit that her healing ability is very strange.
It is not priestly healing, and she makes no claim of being blessed by
the PaterOmni.  She says that it is magic, though in truth I doubt that.
From conversation it is obvious that she has only a rudimentary idea of
how magic functions, and seems surprised when I use the simplest
cantrips. Despite her reluctance to explain her abilities, I ask that
you trust her (as much as you can bring yourself to).  I have known her
for a little over a year, and in that time I have seen nothing that
would indicate her powers come from darker paths.  Her desire to heal
ills seems genuine, and I have never seen her take action that would
bring harm to another. Whether or not you are willing to trust Carolyn,
I ask that you try to make every effort to aid Mistress de Parses.  As
I'm sure you know, she is the head of House de Parses Mercantile.  Her
son Angelo is gravely ill, but her requests for aid from the Church have
fallen on deaf ears, because of some difficulty she had with Church
elders in the past.  It is an absolutely outrageous situation, as I'm
sure you can see.  I hope you can use your influence to help rectify the
situation. As for myself, I have little news to relate.  I am in good
health, and am doing well in my classes.  I've performed two solos with
the Students Choir, with good reviews.  As for Dare, he continues to
play the part of the mad composer.  I think he's starting to rival
Master Edmund for number of eccentricities.  Recently, he allowed me to
read the musical notes for a new symphony (yes, another one) he has been
composing.  I suspect when it premieres, it will double the length of
the line at the confessionals.  It's a very dark piece, quite unlike
him.  I wonder what memories he drew on for inspiration. I will finish
this letter now, as Mistress Chandler is sitting beside me, quite
curious to know my reasons for composing it.

Your loving daughter, Doran

        He folded the precious letter up again, matching up the two
broken halves of Doran's seal.  The red wax had formed an image of a
harp surrounded by a wreath of roses, combining his daughter's musical
talent with the primary symbol of Roseford Barony.  Then he opened a
drawer to his desk, wizard-locked to keep a certain drow assassin's eyes
from examining its contents.  It joined all the other letters Doran had
written to him over the past two years, along with a few other notes and
papers he held almost as dear.

        "You here, Peregine?" he called out to the empty room.  At first
nothing happened.  Then from a single point on the wall, a great black
and gray mass began to pour forth, falling to floor only to rise up
again in the image of the drow assassin.

        "At your service, Asher," Peregine greeted, bowing politely.  "I
was just trying to discover whether it was really worthwhile to be a fly
on the wall after all."

	"Bad idea," the old thief replied.  "Flies tend to get smacked."

        "True.  If you manage to hit them," Peregine agreed.  He sat
down across from Asher, a slight smile upon his lips.  "How may I be of
service to you today?"

        "Tell me what you know about this Carolyn woman.  The healer
with golden eyes who rides around in a chair with wheels.  I know she's
a friend of Doran, but I want to know more."

        "Ah, she's a strange one," Peregine said.  "When I met about a
year ago, she had just come to Astmoor.  Doran had called her to my
attention after she supposedly had healed Dare of a broken hand."


        "Yes, I knew about that," Asher said.  "Did you ever manage to
determine whether it was just a sprain, or truly broken?"

        "I don't know," Peregine admitted.  "I didn't see the event
myself.  Doran and Dare were too distracted by events to provide a
reliable account, though Doran claimed to be certain of what she saw.
Other evidence seems to indicate she has some form of healing ability,
though.  There's a rumor in Astmoor that she managed to separate a pair
of twins born connected at the waist, without leaving a scar on either
child.  That's something even a priest isn't capable of."

        "But you've never seen her heal someone with your own eyes?"
Asher asked.

        "No," Peregine admitted.  "However, she does seem to have a
reputation as an honorable physician.  On several occasions she has even
healed without expectation of payment.  Which is more than I can say of
a few priests that I know of."

        "Huh," Asher grunted.  "So where did she come from, this
golden-eyed healer?"

        "Unknown," Peregine said.  "All that I have ever heard her say
is that she came from the direction of Deustchlund.  Her accent is
vaguely Germanic, though not exactly.  If I were to venture a guess, I'd
say she was from even further away, maybe from across the Imperial
Fence."

        "That's too easy an answer, Peregine," Asher disagreed.  "If
anyone sees something the least bit out of order, they always say it's
from 'the other side of the Fence.'  The true explanation has to be
simpler than that."

        "Then explain why her Frencian has such an odd accent," Peregine
said.  "She's no native, either of Frencia or Duestchlund.  If anything,
she sounds like one of my people."

        Asher laughed.  "There's a thought!  Imagine how perfect a spy
she would be, seeking out information for Lleaith!  As such an
extraordinary healer, she'd have dukes and princes coming to her door to
beg for help, maybe even letting a few secrets slip.  And who'd suspect
a crippled human to be a drow in disguise?"

        Peregine frowned.  "Do you think that's a possibility?" he
asked.

        "Hardly likely," Asher said.  "But if nothing more sensible
comes up, it might be something to pursue."

        "Hmm...  There is another possibility.  Perhaps she is a native
of Duestchlund, but learned her Frencian from a drow.  Do you know of
any there?"

        "One," Asher said, his face becoming serious again.  "But he's
hardly the sort to be giving language lessons."

        Peregine had the good sense not to inquire further on that
point.  Instead, he asked, "Do you wish me to follow Mistress Chandler?
If there's a possibility her abilities are fraudulent, I might be able
to catch her in the act."

        "Mmm.  No, not for now," Asher said.  "Preying on gullible
people isn't a crime, at least in New Aveon, and she appears to know
enough about actual healing to do some good.  Leave her be, but keep
your pointed ears sharp.  If it does look like she's doing the boy harm,
I'll talk to Dugal from the thieves guild and have him drop something
heavy and legalistic on her."

        "You'd resort to using a lawyer?" Peregine asked with a feigned
shudder.  "Such cruelty...  Asher, I truly thought better of you."



        The mother watched in silence from her perch on the stone wall
as the crippled human rolled up the street in her strange chair.
Another female, large and blond, with the muscles of a fighter was
escorting her.  Her tail twitched in anger as the crippled woman entered
the murderer's house and her escort left.   The murderer kneeled before
the cripple in the open door, hugging her as if she was an old friend.

        *What are you, woman?*  the mother wondered.  *One of the
murderer's cohorts, planning to kill more Children?  If so, you won't
get far.  I'll promise you that.*

        She sent out a light probe, intent on entering the crippled
woman's mind and mining it for useful information.  But her probe was
bounced back at her as she struck a shield, protecting the crippled
woman's thoughts.

        A  shield!  Impossible!  How could an accursed human know how to
shield their mind from mental probes?  They had no Gifts!  None of them
did!  Only Magenta's Cats.

        *Only Magenta's Cats, until now,* another voice called to her.
The mother hissed, the hair rising on her motley calico back.  A large
orange tom stared at her lazily from the manse's roof, licking his paws
in contempt. *Leave Carolyn be,* he warned.  *She is mine.* *She isn't
my prey,* the mother shot back.  The mother jumped down from the roof
and walked off, unseen by the mindblind humans that walked the street.
But if she tries to interfere, she might be.



        Carolyn woke up the next morning feeling decidedly stuffed.
Helga, Mistress de Parses' cook, had taken one look at her and filled
her plate with a hearty mix of vegetables and curried lambchop.  Then
she had instructed the serving girl not to take her plate away until it
was cleaned.  It was a far heavier meal than she was used to, but she
decided it was better to eat, rather than start an argument with her
employer's servants.

        She pulled herself out of bed and into her chair, making use of
the washbasin to clean herself.  Then she changed from her nightshirt to
fresh clothes, and rolled out onto the upper balcony of the de Parses
home.  It was a style of building she wasn't familiar with, consisting
of an open area, which Mistress de Parses had called an atrium,
surrounded by the walls and rooms of the house itself.  A fountain
burbled in the middle of the atrium, and the floor below was paved with
colorful tiles set in abstract circular patterns.

        "Ah, there you are!" Helga's voice called up from below.  "You
stay there!  I will bring breakfast to you!"

        "That's all right," Carolyn called back.  "I'm still stuffed
from yesterday."

        "Stuffed?  Ha!  Like a sparrow, maybe!" came Helga's reply,
before she bustled off to the kitchen.  Carolyn just shook her head.
Surely she couldn't possibly mean to jam another meal like the last one
into her.

        "You mustn't let Helga upset you," Mistress de Parses said,
emerging from her son's room.  "She has no children of her own, so she
chooses to mother everyone else."  From her appearance, it looked like
she had slept badly again.

        "I do not mean to offend Mistress, but you appear to be in need
of mothering yourself," Carolyn said.

        "I'd be fine if it wasn't for that damnable dream," Mistress de
Parses said wearily.  She rubbed her eyes and yawned widely.

	"What manner of dream?" Carolyn asked.

        "It's about dear Angelo," Mistress de Parses told her.  "I see
him playing in the warehouse, which is impossible of course.  It's far
too dangerous there for a child to go wandering about.  A couple of
workmen are shoving a crate full of brass goblets onto a cart.  But the
wheels of the cart haven't been properly blocked, and it slips forward,
just as he runs underneath it.  It falls..."  She stopped short, choking
back a sob.

        "It's all right," Carolyn tried to reassure her, taking hold of
her hand.  "It's only a dream.  It never happened."

        "But it feels as if it did," Mistress de Parses cried.  "I can
see everything.  The crate just falls flat, crushing him com... com...
completely.  All there is a yowl of pain and blood seeping from under
the crate."

	"Yowl?"  Mistress de Parses looked at her, confused.

        "Yes, a yowl," she explained.  "Like a kitten makes when you
step on its tail.  Exactly like that, as a matter of fact."

        "That's rather odd, if the rest of the dream is so detailed,"
Carolyn noted.

        "Oh, what does it matter!" de Parses cried in frustration.
"I've been having it for nearly as long as Angelo has been ill.  I don't
think it'll stop until he's healed."

        "You're more than likely right," Carolyn said.  But how right is
still a mystery.  Could there be other Gifted, other goldeneyed on this
world?  Could there?



        Rumbletom watched from his perch on the red-tiled roof as the
other Children approached.  There were nine of them, a proper quorum,
led by the calico he had warned off last night.  Their thoughts were
well shielded, and as they hopped from wastebin to gutter to roof, he
pulled his own defenses together to keep them from his mind.

        *My ground.*  He growled and hissed the ancient challenge as
they approached, rolling onto his side to give all four sets of claws
freedom.  *My people,* he added.

        *Leave,* the calico female said.  Her tail twitched, and she
kept low to the ground, her ears back.  *The city is yours, but this
nest is not for you.*

        *The human woman is mine,* Rumbletom growled.  *You can't have
her!*

        *I  don't want the Gifted one.  She will try to stop the
murderer's suffering!  I won't allow that!*    

	*What murder?*

        *My kittens died because of her!  Her and her idiot human
concerns!  Let her suffer as much as I do!*

        *What?*  Rumbletom rolled to his feet and backed off.  But while
he moved, he sent a probe into the kitten that the human mother
protected so dearly.  What he found shocked him to the core.

        *You tampered with him!  he accused.  Why attack the young tom
when it is the mother you wish to hurt?*

        *To make her hurt more!*  the calico growled.  *What is a human
kitten to me, when my own are dead by her?*

        *Fool!  Idiot!  Rabid _bitch_!  There is a Gifted human below
us!  The first with a Gift that  this world has ever seen!  If she finds
your tampering, she will be able to trace it!  Do you want her first
glimpse of Magenta's Cats to be of monsters that play with human lives?*

        *Why should I care if that is what she sees?* the calico
answered.  *She will die before she could tell anyone else.*

        *Not while  I live!  Rumbletom shouted.  He turned and leaped
into the air, his jaw reaching for the calico's throat, as his mind
formed a fiery spear to pierce her shields...



        *'m going to explode,* Carolyn decided.  Breakfast had been as
bad as dinner the night before.  She wondered if she should have begged
off, Helga's insistence or not.  Fasting had been a subject of much
debate among the goldeneyed.  On the one hand, it could bring about
heightened states of consciousness much more easily, allowing for more
nimble use of one's Gifts.  On the other hand, a full belly could aid in
properly performing the Ground and Center, ensuring that one didn't lose
one's sense of self while wandering in another's mind.

        *No matter.  What's done is done,* she told herself.  Breakfast
had been good, only interrupted by a hissing cat fight that had
skittered across the roof, until it moved on to other parts of the
neighborhood.

        "Please give Helga my compliments," Carolyn said to Mistress de
Parses.  The dark haired woman smiled.

        "I will, though a clean plate is the highest testament you can
give her," she said.  She rose up from where she had sat beside Carolyn,
sharing a small table that overlooked the atrium.  "Do you think you
could see Angelo now?"

        "Of course," Carolyn said.  She pushed herself behind Mistress
de Parses, following as she was led into the boy's room.  The
whitewashed walls were brightly decorated with fantastic animals, and
from the window hung a gently ringing wind chime.  A shelf held various
wooden toys, along with three hand illustrated children's books.  Beside
the bed where the boy lay was a padded rocking chair, where his mother
had slept for most of the past two months.  Carolyn briefly examined
him, finding no change from the day before.  If it wasn't for the fact
that his skin was warm and he still breathed, poor Angelo could have
very well been a corpse.

        "Could you secure that chime please?" she asked Mistress de
Parses.  "It's a little distracting."  The older woman did as she was
bid without comment, taking the chime off it's hook and placing it on
the shelf.

        "Is there anything else I can do?" she asked.  Carolyn shook her
head.

        "Not at the moment," she told Angelo's mother.  "All that I ask
is that you remain quiet, and don't try to pull me away, no matter what
you see.  That could be disastrous for both him and myself."

        "All right," Mistress de Parses said.  Satisfied that she had
been understood, Carolyn placed her hands gently on Angelo's temple, and
prepared to enter his mind.

        *Lord, grant me wisdom and strength,* she prayed.  Then she sent
her consciousness flowing down arms, into her fingertips, and from there
into the deep recesses of Angelo's mind.

        Unlike before, which had been a simple examination with her
Sight, she was now burrowing down into the very fabric of his being,
trying to find some fatal mental flaw that would have made him retreat
from the world.
	


        She found herself floating in blackness.  Not merely dark, but
black, as deep a black as Dema's skin, blocking off all semblance of
light.  No sound penetrated her ears, and no ground came beneath her to
form a foothold.  All was a formless void, as the world must have been
before God brought his blessings upon it.

	"Hello?" Carolyn called out.  "Angelo, can you hear me?"

        "Mama!  Is that you!" a young voice called back, high pitched
and fearful.  "Mama, I'm sorry!  Please don't leave me in the dark!
Please don't leave me here!  I'm sorry!  I'm sorry!  Please don't leave
me!"

        "I'm not leaving you!" Carolyn called back.  "But I can't find
you.  Where are you, Angelo?  Your mother misses you very much."

        "I don't know where I am," Angelo cried out, beginning to sob.
"I want to go home!"

        "That's why I'm here, Angelo.  Your mother sent me to find you,"
she told him, putting as much reassurance into her voice as she could.
"My name is Carolyn, but my friends call me Caro."

	"I can't see you!  How can I find you!"

        "That's easy, Angelo," she said.  "All we have to do is watch
the sun come up."

	"There's no sun!" the boy cried out.  "It's been dark forever!"

        "Nonsense," Carolyn said.  "Just watch."  She focused her will,
and began to alter the dreamscape they were in.  Such things were
usually under the control of the subject's mind, but right now Angelo
was quite open to suggestions.  As she concentrated, the blackness began
to fade to gray, then finally to a dull white light.  Looking about, she
could see no features, just a plain blank white that went on to
infinity.

        No, not quite true as she turned around.  There was one feature.
A five sided column seemingly made out of pure crystal, six feet high
and half that in diameter.  And in the center of it floated Angelo, cut
off from her even in this dream world.

        *No trauma, no buried memories did that,* Carolyn realized with
growing horror.  Mental landscapes such as this were never so plain,
self-made prisons never so neat, especially in the mind of a nine-year
old child.  This had to imposed from the outside.  *Someone else does
have mindgifts, and they used them to trap Angelo, cutting him off from
his senses, his windows to world.*

        Angelo spotted her, and he kicked at the walls of his crystal
prison, his blows slowed as if he was trying to push through molasses.

	"Help me!" he cried.  "Let me out!  Please!"

        "Don't you worry, I'll get you out," Carolyn told him.  She
mentally pushed herself forward, coming close enough to visually examine
the prison without actually touching it.  The crystal was pure and
flawless, without a single crack to indicate a hurried creation.  Of
course not.  Whoever did this had almost three months to work on it.

        *In the name of God, why would anyone do this?*  The Goldeneyed,
subject to generations of blind persecution, were no strangers to having
Gifted go mad and trying to strike back at the world.  But mercifully
few would be so _calculated_ about it.

        *To hurt his mother,* she thought.  The nightmare Mistress de
Parses had been suffering now sounded more and more like it had been
deliberately implanted.  But why?

        *Enough.  Speculate about motives later.  For now I need to free
Angelo and build enough shielding around his mind to make certain no one
ever does this to him again.*  She went back to her study of the
crystal.  A direct assault might crack it, but the power needed would
drain her completely, and risk hurting Angelo both mentally and
physically from the shock.  Another method was needed.

        *Break it from the inside,* a voice called to her, smelling of
fire and smoke.  The voice sounded weak, but defiant.  The mad bitch did
not make it a prison to hold another Gifted.

        "What!  Who said that?" she called out.  Receiving no reply,
Carolyn sent a probe in the direction of the voice's origin, but nothing
was readily visible to her expanded senses.  Dear God, there were other
Gifted in this world.  But where?  And were they friend or foe?

        As reluctant she might be to take such mysterious advice, she
couldn't deny it's logic.  Breaking the crystal from the inside would be
the safest thing.  But how was she supposed to get inside in the first
place?

	What could penetrate glass or crystal without cracking it?

        "Light," she said aloud.   Carolyn looked up into Angelo's eyes.
The  boy had stopped trying to kick at the crystal walls of his prison,
and now only wept silently, certain that he would be trapped forever.

        "Angelo, listen to me," she said in her most compelling tone.
"Listen to me and believe what I say.  I'm going to free you from your
prison, but first I'm going to have to go inside it.  Do you know how
I'm going to do that?"

	"No," the boy answered listlessly.

        "I'm going to turn into a beam of light.  I bet didn't know I
could do that, did you?"  And I can't do it unless you believe I can.
Oh, she wished she had been able to hypnotize him before she entered his
dreamworld.  It would make convincing him so much easier.

        "You can do that?" he asked, a little suspicious.  But not, she
prayed, suspicious enough.

        "Of course I can," she answered confidently.  "Just watch."
Carolyn locked her gaze with the boy and centered her will.   *I am a
being of  light,* she told herself.  *Glass and crystal are no barrier
to me.*  With her mind she pushed herself forward, reaching out for the
crystal.  Her hands drifted inside, and she eagerly pulled herself
though the glassy wall.

        And suddenly found a hysterical nine-year old boy wrapped around
her, weeping into her shoulder.  She held onto Angelo closely, letting
him cry himself out and she patted his head to comfort him.

        "Shh... shh...," she whispered.  "It's all right.  You're almost
home.  Almost home, Angelo."  Still holding one arm around him, she
touched the now solid prison wall, her hand moving slowly through the
crystal's interior.

        *Who are you?* another voice, different from the first, called
out.   This one sounded vaguely female, and carried a dangerous edge.
*What are you doing here?*

        *Leave,* Carolyn sent back.  *I don't know who you are or why
you did this terrible thing, but leave!*  Breaking this madwoman's
prison would take most of her resources, and she had none to spare on
shielding at the moment.  Carolyn prayed she could finish rescuing
Angelo before the other Gifted woman could stop her.

        *You can't stop me, not with your mind or your watcher's fire.
I'll see the murderer driven mad with her own guilt, else I'll have my
claws at her throat!*

        *You'll harm no one!  Not anymore!*  Carolyn decided to spare a
little energy for a shield, not wanting the madwoman's voice to distract
her as she concentrated.

        "Stay close to me, Angelo," she whispered, as if the boy needed
any more encouragement.  His grip around her neck tightened, and she
patted him on the back for reassurance.

        With her mind, she created a second crystal within the first,
this one shaped like an egg.  It surrounded her and Angelo, coccooning
them protectively.  It was Carolyn's intent to create something that
would both shatter their crystal prison, and protect them both from any
backlash.  The structurally sound  shape of an egg seemed perfect for
the task.

        When the egg was completely formed, she gradually started to
expand it.  She went very slowly, building the power that both increased
its size and strengthened its walls.  It wasn't long before the sides of
the egg bumped right up against the five sides of the crystal.

        *No!!!!*  the madwoman's voice scream, cutting through Carolyn's
concentration.  *No!  You can't escape.  I won't let you!*  Carolyn
fought to keep her concentration as a wave of pure hatred washed over
her mind, causing Angelo shudder and bury his face deeper into her
shoulder.

        Then the madwoman's screeching threats suddenly faded, to be
replaced by an unnatural silence.

        *Finish...  your... work...* the first voice that had visited
her said.  It was horribly weary, sounding as if it was at the edge of
it's endurance.  *She will... not... bother you...  I won't... allow
it...*

        *Focus,* she told herself.  Whoever the first voice was, they
were shielding her from the madwoman's interference.  From the sound of
things she didn't have much time to use the gift.

	Expand.   She pushed the shell outward.
	
        Strengthen.   She put more of herself into the shell's walls,
linking her own essence to it's creation.

	Expand.  The crystal walls groaned in protest.

        Strengthen.  The egg's structure bent ever so slightly inward,
trying to conform to the crystal pentagonal structure.

	Expand.  She pushed more.

	Strengthen.  The egg's walls sprung back into place.

	Expand!  The crystal's groans turned into a shriek.

        Expand!  Carolyn clapped her hands over her ears as the shriek
turned into a scream.
	
        EXPAND!   The crystal prison's walls shattered, and the world
was suddenly awash in light in sound.   A cat's protesting howl cried in
her ears, joining Angelo's frightened cries.  The dreamscape spun about,
and then a terrible blackness overwhelmed her...



        Anala sniffed the black-green leaves of the gravewort plant
suspiciously.  The gravewort's characteristic musty smell was only
barely perceptible, a sure sign that it wasn't going to reach its full
maturity.

        "Bah!" she muttered, straightening up.  Her rooftop garden
surrounded her, set above the Res Arcanum's shop and her own apartment.
Gravewort was notoriously difficult to cultivate, going through a decade
long perennial cycle before flowering.  Only because of it's utility in
certain benign necromantic spells did she bother to grow it at all.
This batch was a loss.  If one plant was bad, every other plant in that
bed was bad, guaranteed.  A six-year effort, gone to waste.

           "That is the last time I'll use your bones in the pot, Mr.
Creepy," she told the offending dirt.  It was another peculiarity of
Gravewort that it had be grown in soil with the powdered bones of a
murderer mixed in.  She wasn't precisely sure where Taman had secured
her supply, and she wasn't inclined to ask.  Unfortunately, it appeared
to be from a murderer of low quality.

        Well, she'd just start again in the morning. The demand for
gravewort wasn't high, and it wasn't as if she lacked time.  A human
would have been tearing their hair out at the loss, but elves could look
at such a failure more philosophically.

        Anala turned as she heard a skittering noise come from the open
roof hatch.  Pyrarr leaped from the top rung of the ladder, jumping up
into her arms.  She caught him handily and let him climb up onto her
shoulder.

        "What has you so excited?" she asked, scratching him behind the
ears.

	"Twillll comes," Pyrarr announced.  "Looks worrrried."

        "Oh, damn," Anala muttered.  She ran to the ladder and quickly
climbed down, banging the hatch shut behind her.  Had that so called
healer tried something that had injured the boy?  She had best not have,
or she'd answer for it.

        Anala muttered a brief cantrip to herself as she stepped into
the Res Arcanum's sales area, shaking free the dirt that had gathered on
her dress and hands.   A moment later, Master Twill came through the
door, looking winded.

        "Mistress Hisoka!  I'm glad you're here," he said, catching his
breath.

	"Is Angelo all right?" she asked.

	"Oh, Angelo is fine.  Better than fine, he's awake!"

	"Awake?" Anala exclaimed.

        "Oh, yes," Twill said.  The brief expression of happiness
dropped from his face.  "Carolyn healed him.  But now that he's awake,
she's fallen into a coma herself.  We can't rouse her at all."

        Anala nodded, reaching underneath a countertop to retrieve a
black valise filled with useful herbs, bandages, and tools for minor
surgery.  Healed.  Part of her doubted it, but if Angelo was awake and
well she'd be happy to be proven wrong.

	"I want to examine them both.  How weak is Angelo?" she asked.

        "He can move his arms and legs, but is too weak to stand," Twill
said, following her out the door.  "When I left Helga was making up a
meal for him.  The poor boy hasn't had anything solid to eat for over
two months."

        "That's to be expected," she reassured him.   "It's common after
a long convalescence.  But he may have to careful at first so he doesn't
hurt himself."  Twill helped her into the hansom cab he had hired, and
she was soon ushered in to see Mistress de Parses in her sitting room.

         She was cradling Angelo in her arms, kissing his forehead,
brushing her fingers through his black hair, seeming to not believe that
her son was awake and alive in her arms.  The boy took the unwanted
attention stoically, nine year old pride temporarily conquered by the
need to be babied.

        "Anala!  Oh good, you're here!  Look Angelo, Mistress Hisoka is
here!"

	"Hullo," the boy said weakly.

        "Hullo yourself," Anala greeted.  She pulled up a chair next to
Angelo and Mistress de Parses.  "Did your mother tell you why I'm here?"

	"To see if I'm all right, and to look at the other lady."

        "That's right.  Now then, this won't take but a minute."  She
pulled out a small wooden mallet and tested his reflexes briefly, all
the while keeping up a steady stream of conversation.  Angelo's knees
and arms kicked out properly, his fingers and toes were champion
wigglers, and he could keep up his end of the conversation without any
visible difficulty.  Anala let herself be satisfied that his mind and
body didn't appear to be damaged from his long convalescence, at least
until she had a chance to examine him more thoroughly.  For now, she had
another patient to worry over.

        "Angelo appears to be fine, Mistress," she told his mother.  "At
the moment however, he's too weak to stand on his own, so I'd advise
caution until he gets his strength back.  I'll also give you a regime of
exercises to put him through until he can walk.  After that, I expect he
give himself all the exercise he needs."

        "I'll follow your instructions to the letter, assuming Carolyn
approves," Mistress de Parses said.  She paused, and the happiness on
her face faded.  "Assuming, of course, that you can persuade her to wake
up."

        "Where is she?" Anala asked.  She decided not be irked at
Mistress de Parses deferring to the crippled woman's judgment.

        "Upstairs, in Angelo's room.  I decided that it would be best if
she wasn't moved far.  That's why I took Angelo into my sitting room."
Mistress de Parses called in Helga to take Angelo, then led  Anala
upstairs into her son's room, where the elven healer had examined her
ailing son many times over the past few months.  Carolyn lay on the bed,
her eyes closed and her breathing steady and deep.  Someone had pulled a
quilt over her to ward off any inadvertent chills, which Anala pulled
away to examine her closely.

        "Tell me exactly what happened when she healed Angelo," Anala
requested.

        "There isn't much to tell really," Mistress de Parses said.
"Carolyn asked me not to try and separate her and Angelo after she had
begun, no matter what.  Then she lay her hands on his temples, and
closed her eyes, like a priest does when they're healing.  But she
didn't say any kind of prayers, she just sat there, completely
motionless, for over a half-hour.  Towards the end she started to
breathe hard, like she was pushing against something.  Then both she and
Angelo let out a scream.  Angelo opened his eyes, and Carolyn fell back
in her chair, unconscious."

        "Did Angelo perceive anything while she was healing him.  Any
sensations at all?"

        "Not a one," Mistress de Parses said regretfully.  "After he
woke up, I called Helga to get some smelling salts, but they didn't seem
to do anything for her."

        "I see," Anala said carefully.  "All right then.  You should go
back to Angelo.  He needs all of your attention right now.  I'll look
over Carolyn and see what I can do to rouse her."

        "Thank you, Healer Hisoka," Mistress de Parses said gratefully.
She bowed her head in respect and left the room, leaving Anala alone
with the strange crippled healer.

        *What did you do to yourself?* Anala wondered.  If it had been a
prayer, why hadn't Carolyn spoken any words?   Had she merely laid hands
like a paladin?

        *Now there's an amusing thought.*  It was hardly likely that
this shy, crippled woman was a warrior of the AllFather, but she had
seen stranger things in her lifetime.

        Peeling back both eyelids shows nothing out of the ordinary,
beyond their golden coloration.  Shining a mirror into them, she
observed that the pupils dilated correctly, which indicated that the
woman wasn't suffering a concussion of any sort.

        As she reached into her bag to search for a pastille of potent
stimulants, Anala's hand accidentally brushed against Carolyn's side.
To her amazement, she clearly felt the unconscious woman's ribcage
through her shirt.

        *What?*  Curiosity getting the better of her, Anala pulled up
Carolyn's blouse and undershirt.  Her ribcage was clearly visible
underneath her skin.   Dear God, she's close to starved, Anala thought.
The street children that resided near her shop were better fed than this
poor woman.  Or drained.  The idea intruded on her brain, becoming more
and more likely as she thought about it.

        Once, during the Baron's War, she had the chance to see the body
of an Adept who had died when the flow of mana he had tapped into was
suddenly cut off.  The spell he had cast continued to draw power, taking
it from the Adept himself.  In a manner of seconds his body had been
reduced to a withered, dry husk, as the spell stole away all his
resources.  Blood sugar, body fat, oxygen, then mass from his muscles
were all taken away to power something greater than himself.

        *If she was a mage, rather than a priestly healer, then the
power to heal Angelo had to come from somewhere.   If she's not an
Adept, that power would come from herself.  But if she was telling the
truth, how could she cast a spell with no gestures, no words, no
components?  Merely placing her hands on him wouldn't  be enough.*

        Her hands drifted down, following the jutting path of Carolyn's
spinal column, until the vertebrae under her fingers suddenly turned
into a twisted mess.  Lumps underneath the skin of her torso hinted at
severe damage to her hips and legs where bones had knitted together
haphazardly.  Someone set them, but they were inexperienced or in a
hurry.  This isn't a birth defect or from disease.   It had to have been
a terrible accident that caused this, probably enhanced by Carolyn's
apparent thinness.  Perhaps she could persuade Gailen's cook to slip
some crushed oyster shells into Carolyn's food.  Anything that could be
done to strengthen her bones would be a great help.

        She should really have Pyrarr keep watch over Carolyn for a few
days.  The crippled healer was turning into a major puzzle that begged
for a satisfactory solution.  Perhaps her familiar could observe
something that she had missed.  Or she could ask Taman to make a few
discrete inquiries to Asher.  No doubt Doran's father was already
seeking answers about this strange woman who claimed acquaintance with
his daughter.

        *Patience,* she thought.  You might be able to find out your
answers in a few moments.   Anala pulled Carolyn's clothing back into
place and unwrapped the pastille from it's paper container.  Placing one
hand behind Carolyn's neck to bring to a proper angle, she opened the
unconscious woman's mouth and dropped the bitter medicine down her
throat.  Pushing her jaw shut, Anala stroked Carolyn's throat gently,
causing her neck's muscles to push the foreign object down into her
stomach.

        In less than five minutes, Carolyn's breathing shortened, and
her pulse began to race underneath Anala's probing fingers.  The cripple
woman's eyelids suddenly fluttered open, revealing her panicked yellow
orbs.

        "What?   Keep away!  I won't let you hurt him anymore!" Carolyn
yelled.  She pushed herself up with her arms, only to fall back in
exhaustion on the bed.  Anala placed her hands on her shoulders to keep
her from struggling further.

        "It's all right," the elven healer said soothingly.  "You're in
Gailen de Parse's house.  Do you remember?"

        The crippled woman's eyes came back into focus, and she caught
hold of her breath, saving Anala from fears about hyperventilation.

        "De Parses?  Yes, Mistress de Parses, Angelo's mother.  Is he
all right?" Carolyn asked breathlessly.

	*Her first concern is for her patient,* Anala thought.

        She decided she might have been too harsh in her judgment of
Carolyn.

        "He's very weak, but he's awake and his mind appears to be
undamaged." The crippled healer nodded wearily, a small smile rising to
her lips at the news.  Anala decided to see if she could discretely pry.
With Carolyn awake but off balance, she'd never get a better chance
"You gave Mistress de Parses quite a scare though.  What happened when
you were healing Angelo?"

        "There were others in there with us, Angelo and I.  The one that
set up the mind-prison, and another..."  Carolyn's eyes suddenly went
wide again, and she clamped her mouth shut abruptly.

        *Give her an out, otherwise she'll panic completely.*  "Are you
certain you're all right?" Anala asked.

        "I'm sorry, I'm still very weary," Carolyn said haltingly.  "I'm
babbling.  Pay no attention to me."

        "That's all right," she said comfortingly.  "Whatever you did
took a lot out of you.  I'll let you rest for now.  When you've gotten
yourself together, I strongly suggest you ring up Helga for a meal.
Intense casting tends to give you quite an appetite."

        "That's true," Carolyn said, calming down again.  The momentary
rush of fear had drained her small reserves.  Her eyes had begun to
flutter even as Anala had spoken her suggestion.  "I'll do that."



        "Mind prison?  Those were her exact words?" Taman asked.  Anala
felt him push his thumbs along the edge of her shoulder blades, kneading
the sore muscles.  Her skin was slick with rose-scented oils, her back
warmed by the steaming towels Taman had laid across it earlier.  His
bedchamber was lit dimly by thick candles at the four corners, and a
magery fueled fire that burned in the fireplace.  Her head was supported
by a soft, down pillow, and underneath her were soft flannel sheets.

        As a whole, the drow race might be despicable, but they had
raised the skill of massage to an art form...

        "Mmm-hmm.  Those were... ahh....  her exact words.  And she
spoke of being somewhere with Angelo, as if on another plane."  Anala
turned her face away from the pillow and looked at Taman.  Her drow
lover wore only a dark, rose colored robe trimmed with purple, which
revealed a generous amount of his black well-formed chest.  His red eyes
looked back at her warmly as he continued his ministrations, his total
form nearly invisible in the darkness of the room.

        "Turn your head back, else you'll get a crick in your neck," he
advised.  "From her description, it sounds as if the boy's illness was
deliberately inflicted."

        She buried her face in the pillow again, her voice becoming
muffled.   "By whom?  What for?  The sort of enemies Gailen makes would
want to destroy her financially, not inflict emotional pain.  There's no
profit in attacking a small child, especially when they might find the
Circle breathing down their necks."

        "To find that out, it would be helpful to question Carolyn
further."  Taman transferred his attentions to her legs, beginning to
knead her thighs and calves into jelly.

        "No good, she won't give a straight answer.  Ahhh...  Whatever
her ability is, it's not magic, and  I don't think it's priestly
healing.  Ohh...  Wherever she's from, she was persecuted I'd guess.
Probably for being able to do what she does, or maybe for those golden
eyes of hers, or both."

        Taman stopped massaging her legs, and she saw a quizzical look
cross his face.  "Why persecute someone for being able to heal?  Such an
ability would be too useful to want to suppress it."

        "Humans... or elves, or drow for that matter, don't need a
logical reason to hate someone, Taman," she told him.   "What would a
matron mother do if she found a drow with odd eyes and the ability to
heal?"

        "Kill them as a potential danger," Taman answered
unhesitatingly.  "Or enslave and make use of them for her own purposes."
He paused.  "I see your point."

        "Good," she said, and let out a sigh.  "I doubt if Carolyn's
life has been a happy one."

        "Yet despite her fears of persecution, she still feels compelled
to heal," he noted.

        "True.  Very true," Anala said.  "At least that much we have in
common."



        Rumbletom limped along the edge of the roof, favoring his left
hind leg.  One of the mad calico's quorum had managed to take a good
chunk out of it during the fight.  But he had paid the price when
Rumbletom's mindfire had consumed him from the inside out.

        *Like your leader was consumed,* he thought with satisfaction.
The calico still lived, but her mind was empty shell, more feeble than
that of a normal feline.  She had invested too much of her personal
power in the mental prison she had made for the boy.  When Carolyn had
shattered it, she had also inadvertently shattered the calico's mind.
Now the poor twitching thing was holed up in her nest, dependent her few
remaining quorum members to provide for her.  At least until they grew
bored at the task, and went off to find someone else to follow.

        He stopped and laid down on the red-tiled roof of Carolyn's
current nest.  Yes, a little rest in the sun would be good right now.
It would take the ache from his leg, and mute the sharp pain from his
torn right ear.  The fight had been hard, taking much of his reserves.
He had been forced to kill five of the quorum, until the calico's mind
had shattered and the rest had fled in confusion.  Rumbletom had managed
to find a hidey-hole underneath some bushes in someone's gardens,
remaining there for two days until he felt rested enough to return to
the gifted human's home.

        She was sleeping now, he knew.  The fight had taken most of her
reserves as well.  Perhaps when she awakened, it would finally be the
proper time...



        From her chair, Carolyn watched as Angelo took halting steps
across the grass, his mother hovering near lest he fall.  One, two,
three, four... then he had reached the edge of the fountain, grabbing
hold to steady himself as he sat down.  Mistress de Parses gave him
another hug as a reward.

        "Very good, Angelo!" Carolyn called out.  "Now rest few moments
before walking some more."  To her relief, the boy's coordination had
not suffered badly during his comatose state.  He was weak and unsteady,
but the basic skills were still imprinted on his muscles.  All that he
required was the opportunity to practice them.  And given the child's
natural exuberance, it wouldn't be that difficult to persuade him to
make the effort.

        "He's doing well, don't you think?" Gailen asked, walking over
to where she observed.  Her employer glanced down at the half-finished
lunch tray that lay in her lap.  "Aren't you going to finish that?"

        "Oh, I'm stuffed," Carolyn said.  In truth, she was getting a
little tired of Helga's hovering attentions.   Gailen's cook seemed
determined to try and split open her stomach, apparently under the
orders of the Firebrand.

        "Helga will be disappointed, and Lady knows you should eat
more," Gailen said, waggling a finger in admonishment.  "Didn't you
listen to what the Firebrand had to say?"

        "Mistress, with respect, I think I know how much I need to eat.
I don't ignore my own health."  Oh, she had listened carefully to the
Firebrand's words.  Most especially after nearly babbling herself into a
noose when she had first awakened.  The elven woman was suspicious of
her, no doubt, but she didn't have enough information to make any
accusations.  Or at least that was what Carolyn hoped.  For now the
Firebrand seemed to content to try and stuff her like a pig.

        Gailen returned to Angelo, leaving Carolyn to examine them both
with her gifts.  The light shields she had placed over their minds were
not substantial, but they were enough to serve as trip wires should
their attacker come again.  She didn't have the strength just yet to
create anything more.  Fortunately there appeared to be no need.
Gailen's sleep had returned to normal, and Angelo was growing stronger
by the hour.  Perhaps Angelo's jailer had suffered backlash from having
her prison destroyed.  All the better, Caro decided.  A migraine, or
worse, was the least that they deserved.

        Master Twill emerged from the Frencian doors at that opened into
the garden.  While Gailen tended her son, he had been taking care of
day-to-day operations of her trading house.  From the covert glances
they had passed to each other, Carolyn could guess they were vastly
happy to be back together after his journey to fetch her.

        "Mistress, the Merchant's Guild representative is here to see
you," he said to Gailen.  The happy smile she always wore while near
Angelo disappeared, replaced by a more businesslike mask.

        "Excellent.  Thank you, Simon," she said, standing up.  She
picked up Angelo in her arms and turned to Carolyn.  "Excuse me, I've
some private business to take care of Carolyn.   And I think it's well
past time for Angelo's nap."

	"Not yet!" Angelo protested, even as he tried to stifle a yawn.

	"Yes yet," Gailen corrected.

        "I'll be in the atrium," she told Gailen.  She had been reading
through Gailen's copy of the Bible.   Frencian of this world was quite
similar to the language of her homeland, and it was a novelty to read a
copy of the holy book that was in her native tongue.  Back home reading
a copy of the Bible that wasn't in Latin or Hebrew was close to
heretical.

        She was partway through the book of Job when there was the sound
of a muffled thump, as if something had fallen from the roof to the
upper balcony.  Carolyn looked up from her reading to see a large orange
striped tomcat limping down the stairs.  Fur and skin were torn away
from it's left hind leg, and one ear was badly mangled.  Along his flank
were deep parallel scratches, further evidence that he had been in a
painful brawl.

        "Well what happened to you?" she called out to him.  The tom
looked over to her and let out a suprisingly high-pitched _mraow_!

        "Come here," she called again, patting her lap invitingly.  The
tom made an awkward one-legged jump into her lap, digging his front
claws into her thigh in his attempt to gain his balance.  "Mind your
claws!" she told him.  Just because everything was numb below her waist
didn't mean she wanted unpleasant scratches!  The tom settled down in
her lap, purring in an almost apologetic tone.

        "Let's have a look at you," she muttered.  She scratched between
the tom's shoulder blades, keeping him distracted as she examined his
wounds more closely.   A good hunk of skin and muscle were missing from
his back leg, and his torn ear and scratches on his flank looked
infected to her.   Still petting him, she reached around behind her to
feel through her carryall, pulling out a small vial of pure alcohol and
a clean piece of cloth.  The tom's muscles bunched up defensively as she
rubbed the cleansing alcohol into his wounds, but to her surprise he
made no attempt to jump down.

        Next she took the torn halves of his ear and matched them up
carefully.  She concentrated her will, using her Gift of Bodyhealing to
mend it together.   The end result gave him an ear with a nasty scar,
but at least it was whole once again.

        His leg was more problematic.  Restoring the missing muscle
tissue would take several days, unless she wanted to risk pushing
herself and do it all at once.  That wasn't an attractive option,
considering she had already pushed her reserves dangerously low when she
Healed Angelo.  She didn't want to wake up to have the Firebrand
interrogating her again.

        "I can heal that leg for you," she spoke aloud to the tom.  "But
it will take me a while.  Now how am I going to persuade you to stick
around for me to do it?"

        *I'll stay,* the voice of fire and smoke said in her mind.
*I'll stay with you forever.*  The tom stared up into her eyes, his gaze
sharp with more than merely catlike intelligence.

        "What?  Did you say that?" she stumbled.   The tom sat up in her
lap, laying his paws on her chest.

        *My name Rumbletom.  Your heart is pure, and you are the first
Gifted human this world has ever seen.  You are mine!*

        An explosion burst in her head.  With terrible clarity she saw
every detail of Rumbletom's fight with the mad calico, his stalking of
her from Astmoor all the way to New Aveon, his battles to keep others
away from her while he took measure of her heart.   Her senses seemed to
expand tenfold, and she could feel the weary happiness of Gailen, now
that her child was back in her arms and the love she and Simon Twill
shared.   Twill's own mind kept Gailen's love in his heart, even as he
feared marrying someone above his station in life, wanting to avoid
unseemliness that might hurt her.

        Angelo's emotions were just as complex as the adults.
Irritation at being forced to take a nap, anticipation of further play,
love for his mother, curiosity about herself.

        She felt Rumbletom dig his claws into her legs, from his point
of view, not hers.  He let out a yowl as her own memories flowed over
him.

        Dema, standing over her in the snow, his jaws red with his
enemies' blood.  Trevor Galen, cursing her foolishness after she fell
into the rocks, smashing her hips and legs.  Dix, who kept taking her
money in return for the drugs that washed away the pain, even knowing it
was killing her.   The innkeeper's wife, denying her food for not
working hard enough.  Her father, abandoning her in the streets of the
city, denying his witch-eyed child.  So many others, all whispering
"Golden-eyed!  Devil worshipper!  Witch!"

        Rumbletom's yowl of pain changed to a growl of anger.  His fur
rose up as he hissed a warning to the world.  *Hurt you, hurt you.  All
of them hurt you!  I'll have my claws at their throats, my mindfire
burning in their bellies!  No one will ever hurt you again!!*   His
anger rose to the fore as his own memories washed over her.

        Suckling his mother's teat.  Rolling in the grass with his
litter-mates.  Listening to the wise ones explain the Mindgifts that all
of Magenta's Cats shared.  Keeping their Gifts secret, must be kept
secret.   The Children live by the hundreds in every city of the world,
living, watching, not interfering unless they're sure they won't be
caught.  To be strange is to be feared in this world.  One false step
and they and their mindblind, stupid cousins would be slaughtered by the
millions.  So their God had warned, warned them all...

        *What are you?  Where did you come from?* she asked as the flow
of memories slowed.

        *Magenta's Cats, the Prankster's Children,* came the reply.  *A
human wizardess made us, seeking a familiar with powers this world had
never seen.  But her mind did not have the Gifts that our own do, and
her creations ran away.  Then the Prankster found us, taught us what our
powers were, warned us to keep ourselves hidden, until one that was
worthy came to this world.  Carolyn caught an image of an enormous black
and white cat, like any house cat, save it was twice as large as
Rumbletom himself.*

        *Why did the calico hate Gailen so much?  Why did she entrap
Angelo?*

        *The calico was mad.  Her litter wandered from their nest while
she hunted for them, and were crushed under a crate even as she ran to
pull them away.  The workers responsible for this she killed that very
night, but that was too quick for her.  In her twisted mind Gailen was
the one responsible, so she made Gailen suffer by taking away the one
thing she held dearest in the world from her, and then sent dreams to
torture her through the night.*

	*You killed her?*

        *No,* came the reply.  *She invested too much of herself in the
prison she made.  When you broke it, the backlash destroyed her mind.
The calico will never hurt anyone again.*

        Another image came to Carolyn's mind, that of the mad calico
holed up in a nest of garbage, twitching randomly, rotting in her own
feces, letting out yowls of pain for losing something that she could no
longer even remember.

	*Poor creature...*

	*You pity her?*

        *How could I not?  I'm a healer.  The calico's malice was bred
in madness and grief.  If she could be repaired, perhaps she could bear
another litter that would give her joy.*

        Rumbletom's purr deepened in intensity, reflecting the happiness
in his mind.

        *Humans are strange.  I'm going to enjoy trying to understand
you.*

        She laughed out loud, gathering Rumbletom up in her arms and
hugging him gently.  His eyes widened comically in surprise, but he
accepted the gesture willingly.

        *Is this what it's like to have a confidant?* she thought, more
to herself than to Rumbletom.  Not since before her eyes turned golden
had she felt so instantly close to anyone else.  Not even in the
Golden-eyes' redoubt did she ever feel this free of fear.  Let the
Firebrand question her all she wanted.  With Rumbletom in her lap
nothing would ever be able to harm her.

        "Well, it looks as if you've found a friend," Gailen said,
startling her out of her reverie.  She had been so wrapped up in her
bonding with Rumbletom that she hadn't heard her employer approach.

	"Yes I have," Carolyn told her.  "I have indeed."



        Standing in the entryway of de Parse's home, Asher looked
himself over in the mirror, examining his appearance carefully.  This
night he wore his usual evening clothes, white shirt, pants and jacket
made of fine black silks and satins, with a discreet amount of lace at
the sleeves.  He flicked a knife absentmindedly into his hand, and just
as quickly sent it back into it's sheath.  Lace might look effeminate to
some, he decided, but it was damned useful if you had to hide something
up your sleeve.

        "You look quite the lady-killer this evening, Baron Abelard,"
Anala said behind him.  Asher grinned and turned.  The elven healer was
on Taman's arm, dressed in a dark lavender satin dress that set off her
head of red hair quite nicely.

        "Probably literally," Taman commented dryly.  The dark elf was
in his usual purple robes and medallions, looking quite content to
having the beautiful Firebrand standing beside him.  Not that, Asher
knew, he'd ever admit to being content about anything.

        "You look fine yourself, Milady," he replied cheerfully, bowing
to them both.  "Don't tell me you've finally loosened up and started
looking at the maidens, Taman."

        "No," the mage replied flatly.  "Propriety demanded that
Mistress Hisoka be escorted by someone this evening, and she was kind
enough to ask me along."

        *Translation: She found a way to walk around with you in public
while still not admitting you're both cheerfully screwing each other
blind.*  Taman and Anala had been conducting a very private affair for
close to ten years now, Asher knew.  From the moment he had found out
about it, the human thief had sworn to himself he wasn't going to say a
word to either of them that he was aware of the situation.  Anything
that granted the perpetually uptight drow mage a little relief was too
good to risk spoiling. 

        "I see that you're going it alone this evening," Anala
commented.   "Couldn't you find anyone?"

	"Oh, I decided to go stag," Asher told her.

        "For all of about fifteen seconds," Taman said dryly.  The
receiving line moved forward.  Asher kissed Mistress de Parse's had
briefly, exchanged some non-committal words with her, and moved on into
the atrium.

        The party was obstensively to celebrate the return to good
health of de Parse's son, who was probably dead asleep already in his
bedroom.  The actual purpose, Asher believed, was to make a not so
subtle dig at New Aveon's archbishop, and to show off de Parse's new
find, Carolyn Chandler.

        Who was at this moment trying to make herself unseen, her chair
parked by one of the tables in the corner, Master Twill sitting beside
her so she couldn't make her escape.  De Parses had dressed her in an
outrageously expensive eastern kimono made of sky blue silk and
embroidered with flying cranes.   To Asher's eyes she looked vaguely
strained, as if she was fighting off a headache.   One of the local
burghers was yammering in her ear, not realizing he was being completely
ignored by her.  He was a vastly overweight man, making gestures with
his fork at the pale healer even as he balanced his overloaded plate
with the other.

        "Why is Kruger here?" Taman asked after he and Anala passed
through the line.  His elven lover had moved off to speak with a member
of a trade association, no doubt making connections for her shop's
supplies.  The object of his attention was seated at another table
across the room, sipping lightly on a wine glass while he scanned the
crowd.  He was a man with hard eyes that rarely missed anything.

        "He asked to come," Asher told him.  "Said he wanted a closer
look at Mistress Chandler."  Kruger was one of Asher's best Ebon School
agents, having a talent for information analysis that bordered on
divination.  Part of that stemmed from his status as a Traveler, someone
who came from somewhere outside the normal world.  Despite this, he
looked human enough, though his mind could sometimes be colder than that
of drow.

	"Curious."

        "So is she," Asher shrugged.  "I've been getting reports from my
agents in Astmoor.  Seems everyone that knows her thinks she's an
excellent and unpretentious mage-healer.  They also have no idea where
she came from or how she learned her magic.  She just appeared in town
over a year ago and set up shop."

        "Ah, a puzzle," Taman observed.  "Let me know if you find out
anything further concerning her.  Mistress Hisoka was asking."

        "I will.  Just as soon as you and she finally get laid."  Asher
grinned wickedly, and Taman moved on, feigning disgust.   The old thief
walked across the dance floor, angling towards Kruger.

        "Find out anything?" he asked.  Kruger put down his wineglass
and looked up at him.

        "She's not from my world, she was taught Frencian by a drow, she
was badly injured about ten years ago, she doesn't take care of herself
like she should, she was probably emotionally abused and perhaps
physically, and she'd run away from this party if she had half a
chance," the man stated flatly.

        "The second and last I knew already," Asher said.  "What about
the rest?"

        "First off, no one from my world has yellow eyes, unless their
liver is completely shot or they're wearing contact lenses."

	"Contact lenses?"  Kruger shrugged.

        "Lenses that can be placed over your eyes to correct vision
defects.  They can also be used to change eye color."

	"Damned useful for disguises," Asher noted.

        "Yeah.  So that rules out my planet.  Her date of injury is an
approximation.  If she's had that chair since she was first crippled,
then that would be consistent with the muscle development on her arms,
which is disproportionate to the rest of her body.  Her face is far too
thin, she's probably half-starved underneath that kimono."

	"What about the abuse?"  Kruger shrugged.

        "She has a habit of not making eye-contact with anyone she
sees," he said.  "She also tends to hunch over, though not consciously.
Adults she doesn't know are automatically a threat, unless they prove
themselves otherwise.'

        "Hmm," Asher muttered.  No wonder she and Doran seemed to have
struck up a friendship.  Doran's quiet and unassuming exterior would
have been a balm to Carolyn.  And his foster daughter would have been
quick to pick up on the possible reasons for the crippled woman's
shyness.  Doran seemed to have a need to protect those weaker than
herself, like he had protected her early on during her awakening.

        He left Kruger to his observations and walked over to Carolyn.
Twill had finally taken pity on her and led the burgher away, leaving
her alone.  Despite this, she didn't appear to be very relieved.  Her
face had a decidedly pinched expression, and when looked up to see him,
she gave Asher a rather wan smile.

        "Hello Baron Abelard," she greeted.  Carolyn rubbed the bridge
of her nose and glanced away.

        "Hello there yourself, Milady," Asher returned.  "Forgive me,
but you aren't looking well this evening.

        "I'm feeling a bit... strained," she admitted to him.  "I've
never been to any kind of party this big, except for the harvest
festival where I grew up.  I don't think that counts, do you?"

        "Oh, this isn't that big.  Try coming to the Councilor's Hall
during the Savior's Mass Ball.  Now that's  a party."  He smiled and sat
down beside her.

        "I think I'll give it a miss."  Carolyn looked around the room
with a slightly furtive expression.  "Have you seen the Archbishop this
evening?"

        *She doesn't want to see him.  Doesn't want to be seen by him,
rather,* Asher thought.  That's interesting.

        "No," he told her.  "He was invited of course, but I doubt if
he'll attend.  The Archbishop doesn't get along well with declared
pagans like Mistress de Parses, especially after the Inquisition was
kicked out of New Aveon on their arse."

        "Kicked out?" Carolyn asked with surprise.  "Why?  I mean how?
They're part of the Church.'

        "New Aveon's a free city, Milady Carolyn.  As long as it doesn't
directly hurt anyone else, you can do anything you want here.  You want
to smoke opium 'til you shrivel up and die, go right ahead.   You want
to declare your god is the only God, feel free.  But if you beat a man
to get money for your drugs, or threaten to torture somebody until they
see things your way, New Aveon will come down hard on you.  The
Inquisition forgot that."  Asher let his smile grow a little sharper.
"We reminded them."

        Something like relief seem to rise on Carolyn's face.  For a
moment, Asher was reminded of Doran, how damned alone she had seemed
after he had found her in the alley behind the Rose and Pearls.  And how
at first she had taken every kindness as gift, while fearing it might
all be yanked away without warning, like her former life had been.

        "You're judged by what you do here," he continued.  "Not by what
you look like, or what kind of reputation your race has got."  He jerked
his thumb back towards the center of the atrium.  Taman and Anala were
having an intense discussion with Mistress de Parses, no doubt about
Carolyn.  "Hell, look at Taman there.  He's a bloody drow, and he can
walk about the streets without a care."

        "Taman...?" Carolyn asked.  She glanced over to where he had
pointed, and her eyes widened in surprise... and recognition.

	What the devil...?

        There was a commotion by the buffet table, distracting Asher.
The burgher had dropped his plate with a clatter, and had his hands
around his own throat making choking noises.  Carolyn pushed herself
away from Asher, heading toward the choking man.  But Kruger rose up
from his table and beat her to him.  Asher watched as Kruger stepped
behind the burgher and wrapped his arms around the man's corpulent
torso.  Then he brought his fists under the burgher's ribcage and
suddenly yanked hard, jerking the man off his feet.  Kruger repeated the
motion, and a half-chewed piece of meat popped out of the burgher's
mouth and fell to the floor.

        Kruger released his grip and the burgher leaned over, gasping in
a breath.  His face was pasty white, and he was pulling in air in short
gasping breaths.  Too short, and too gasping, Asher suddenly realized.
Wheezing painfully, the burgher sat hard on the tiled floor.   Then his
eyes rolled back into his head and he collapsed completely.

        "Out of the way!" he heard Carolyn shout.   The crippled healer
ran over the toes of a guest who didn't back off fast enough before
shoving herself out of her chair, pulling herself up to the burgher on
her hands.

        "What is she doing?" one guest asked incredulously, as Carolyn
pulled open the burger's surcoat.

        "Leave her be!" Mistress de Parses warned.  "Give her room to
work."  She made shooing motions towards the circle of gawkers as
Carolyn continued her work.

        As Asher watched, the crippled healer put her hand under the
back of the burgher's neck, and elevated until his mouth hung naturally
open.  Then she put her lips to his and blew in a breath, and next
placed her hands over his heart and shoved hard against his chest three
times.

        "Anala, what is she doing?" Asher whispered.  She had also come
close to watch the commotion, Taman in tow.

	"I'm not certain," she said cautiously.

        "She's massaging his heart," Taman observed.  "And blowing fresh
air into his lungs.  Could it be possible for this to revive him?"

        "Maybe," Anala allowed.  "But how hard should the heart be
pushed?  How much air can be put into the lungs?  There's no way to
know.  And how long before she collapses from exhaustion?"  Indeed,
after only five minutes Carolyn was shuddering  from her effort and
sweating profusely.  Then to Asher's further surprise, Kruger pushed her
out of the way and began massaging the burgher's heart himself.  As he
shoved the burgher's chest for the second time, the corpulent man
suddenly gasped in a breath on his own and Kruger pulled back.  When the
burgher took in a second, then a third breath, Kruger stood up and
gathered Carolyn in his arms, placing her carefully back in her chair.
The healer was nearly as pale as her patient, especially when she looked
up to see the entire room staring at her.

        "Healer Carolyn, what should be done now?" Mistress de Parses
asked.  Carolyn swallowed once, then turned away from the crowd and back
to her patient.

        "Get him to bed.  He's not out of danger yet," she advised.
"He's going to have to rest for at least a fortnight, and watch his diet
carefully."

	"She's one to talk," Anala muttered to herself.

         "Shush," Asher said quietly.  He watched as several men picked
up the burgher to take him to a more private part of the manse, Carolyn
following in her chair.  "Taman, tell me something.  Have you and
Mistress Carolyn there ever met before, even just passing in the
street?"

        "Certainly not," the drow mage replied.  "Her appearance is so
distinctive that I would have remembered, even if we just passed
briefly."

        "Well that's interesting, because she knows you.  I pointed you
out to her earlier, and it looked like she recognized you."

        Taman raised an eyebrow.  "That isn't so surprising.  I lead the
Upper and Lower Circles, and she at least makes claim to being a mage.
No doubt she has heard of me."

        "I don't think so," Asher disagreed.  "She didn't look over and
study you for a moment.  She just looked over and instinctively knew who
you were."

	"That is... interesting..." Taman said carefully.

        Asher rubbed his jaw, his mind quickly running through possible
ideas.  "Taman, she has a drowish accent to her speech, and she claims
to have come from Duestchlund.  Do you think it's possible...?"

        "No, I do not," Taman said stiffly cutting him off.  "There is
no point in even speculating."

        "Taman, what's the matter?" Anala asked, looking alarmed as the
drow mage's expression suddenly froze.

        "I'm sorry, Healer Anala, but there are important matters that I
need to attend to.  Forgive me for abandoning you, but I must go."
Without another word Taman turned away from his lover and quickly headed
towards the door.

        "Taman!" Anala called out, stepping forward to go after him.
She stopped when Asher took hold of arm, turning toward him.

        "Let him go," Asher advised.  "I don't think he's in much of a
mood to talk."

        "But..." Mindful of the supposed secrecy of their relationship,
Anala cut herself off.

        "Mistress, he's got some personal business to work out in his
head," Asher said gently.  "If he wants to talk... to anybody... about
it, he'll do it in his own time, not before."


        Did you see that? She breathed life into him. Blessed... What is
she? Those golden eyes...

        *Shut up, shut up, shut up!* Carolyn chanted, pressing her palms
to her forehead.  She sat beside the burgher in de Parse's small office,
who rested on a feather mattress hastily brought from upstairs.  Stress
had torn her shields to hell, letting in random thoughts from the party
outside the door.  She had never been very good in crowds, and with her
Gifts expanded by Rumbletom it was even more difficult.  Even having
avoided Healing the burgher it felt as if someone had rammed a shiv into
her brain.

        From the open window, Rumbletom leaped in, still limping on his
half-Healed leg.  He let a perfunctory chirrup and hopped up into her
lap.  The instant she laid her hand on his head to pet him, her shields
suddenly doubled in strength, blocking out the pain and all the damnable
voices.

        "Oh, thank God.  Where were you?  I could barely think out
there!"  It didn't even occur to her to worry about whether the burgher
could hear.  Let them think she was crazy.  It couldn't be any worse
than everything else she had endured in her life.

        *Too many people,* came his reply.  *I watched from above.*  She
caught glimpse of the party from his perspective, watching from the
upper balcony.  God, trying to hide in the corner had made her as
conspicuous as if she had been in the center of the room.  Or was that
just a result of Rumbletom's focused attention on her? 

        She ran her hand down his furry back spasmodically, resisting
the urge to break down and weep with relief.  Why had Mistress de Parses
seen fit to throw her into the middle of that damned party?  The last
thing she had ever wanted was to be put on display like a prize pig at a
fair.  She should have left New Aveon the moment Angelo had awoken from
his coma, instead of lingering to make certain he was all right.  The
burgher's collapse hadn't done anything to divert attention from her
either.  If anything, the entire party was focused on her now.  And she
couldn't just leave.  Despite her assurances, the burgher's heart had
been badly damaged from the attack, and would require Healing if he was
to survive the week.  She couldn't go back to Astmoor and still have a
clear conscience until she was certain he was out of danger.

        Nor could she have a clear conscience until she had a chance to
speak with Dema's brother, Taman.  Seeing him had been a shock.   Dema's
knowledge of Taman's whereabouts was at least ten years out of date.
She had thought that the chances of blindly running into him were
astronomically small.

        An image of Doran's father came to mind, unbidden, as she had
seen Baron Abelard sitting half-drunk in his booth at the Rose and
Pearls.  Take away the flecks of gray in his hair, make his scar an
angrier red, and she knew very well who he was...

        *Stupid, stupid, stupid,* she thought.  "Baron Abelard" was an
older, more mature Asher.  Much more mature, if she was any judge.  The
angry, paranoid Asher, bent only on his own survival had given way to
suave and sophisticated Power-That-Be, if his appearance at the party
could be trusted.

        *It can,* Rumbletom interjected.  *I've spoken to other Children
in the city.  Abelard is the leader of a group called the Ebon School.*

	*That sound ominous,* she said.  *What do they do?*

	*Anything that is necessary,* came Rumbletom's reply.

	*Do you think he is a danger?*

        *To you, no.  Not unless you threaten his child.  Others have,
trying to control him by threatening to hurt her.  They paid for their
decisions.*

        Strange.  She wondered what changes had come over Asher to let a
woman like his daughter into his life.  From the warm way Doran spoke of
her father, it was obvious she had an absolute trust in him, and was
trusted in return.  That was a far cry from the paranoid wolfshead that
had barely tolerated working with two expatriate drow for mutual
survival.

        But the fact remained that neither Asher nor Taman had seen Dema
in over a decade, and probably knew nothing of him regaining his sanity.
She really should say something to them... but what?  *Hello, I'm from
another world and I can crawl into people's minds and fix whatever made
them crazy.  Dema is feeling just fine now, and has become quite the
philosopher.  Please don't burn me at the stake...*  The last was an
exaggeration.  If she could trust what she heard when speaking with
Asher, he put a high value on letting people be what they would.  But
Rumbletom's succinct description of the Ebon School worried her.  If he
knew what she was, would Asher be willing to put aside his principles to
hold onto someone so obviously useful?  She could easily imagine waking
up to find herself laying in a cell, being brought out occasionally to
heal someone Asher found too useful to let die.

        *Not while I live and breathe,* Rumbletom assured her.  *I don't
think you have reason to worry.  Those who work for Asher the Black do
so because they wish, not because they must.  He has his grandfather's
nature.*

        "That doesn't mean someone else can't think like that," she said
aloud.  "I need to get out of here, Rumbletom.  Find some small village
that maybe sees a caravan twice a year, and needs a healer who's willing
to work for food and a warm bed."

        *Why?  You have de Parses as your patron.  She'll keep you from
harm.*

        "Mistress de Parses isn't my patron, 'Tom.  She's just my
employer.  I'll be going back to Astmoor soon."

        *I wouldn't be so certain...* Rumbletom said.  Before she could
ask for a clarification, he suddenly sat up in her lap, looking towards
the open window.  Sitting on the sill was Pyrarr, the feral looking tom
that had been warming the countertop in the Res Arcanum.  Rumbletom
hissed a waning to the intruder, leaping off Carolyn's lap and batting
at Pyrarr's face.  Snarling, the two cats rolled across the floor.

        "Get off Rumbletom, you hairy beast!" Carolyn rolled forward and
grabbed a paperweight from de Parses' desk, intent one throwing it at
Pyrarr.  But before she could act, Pyrarr's form suddenly began to shift
and change growing impossibly larger.  Ten times his original size,
Pyrarr easily pinned Rumbletom underneath one massive paw.

	"Ssstay put," Pyrarr said distinctly.

        *Guess again,* she heard Rumbletom say in her mind.  At first
nothing happened.   Then Pyrarr began to frantically shake his head, as
smoke began to pour from the ends of his whiskers.  With an agonized
yowl, he leaped away from Rumbletom and out the window.  Carolyn heard a
distinct splash, and rolled up to the window in time to see Pyrarr,
normal sized once again and soaked to the skin, jumping out of a rain
barrel and running down the street.

	'Tom, what did you just do?!

        *You have the Gift of Healing.  I have the Gift of Fire.  I
showed Pyrarr that intruders are not welcome in my territory.*

	*Where is your territory?*

	*Wherever you are.*

        There was a quick knock at the door, and Mistress de Parses
burst in.  "Carolyn, are you all right?  It sounded like there was an
enormous beast in the room!"

        "No, no..." Carolyn said, regaining her composure.  Sheepishly,
she put the paperweight back on de Parse's desk.  "Just another cat.
I'm afraid Rumbletom was living up to his name."  Looking thoroughly
smug, 'Tom hopped back into her lap, purring loudly.

        "Oh," de Parses said uncertainly.  She looked down on the
burgher, who had remained asleep through the entire incident.  "All of
my guests have gone home now.  I've had some rooms put together for the
burgher and his wife for them to occupy.  If you think it's safe, we'll
move him there until he recovers."

        "Yes, that sounds fine.  Keep someone in his room to watch over
him at all times.  I'll check in on him every two hours until he's out
of danger."  That would be enough time to rest between Healings, she
thought, if she was careful to pace herself.  Getting the burgher out of
here as quickly and safely as possible was her primary goal.  Then she
could go back to Astmoor, or back to Dema, or back to some quiet little
village no one had ever heard of.  Anywhere was better than staying
here.



        Pyrarr whined mournfully in Anala's lap, as she rubbed him down
thoroughly with a soft towel.  Beside her, Taman floated in lotus,
observing quietly.  Her familiar had been close to incoherent with
embarrassment and anger when he slinked back to her chambers with
blackened whiskers, dripping water all the way.  Taman had followed him
shortly thereafter.  Not exactly slinking, but carrying an unusually
apologetic air about him.

        "It's all right, Pyrarr," she murmured softly.  "Momma will keep
you dry."  Once she was sure she had soaked up enough water to prevent
his fur from steaming, she cast a simple heat cantrip to keep Pyrarr
warm and dry him out.  Her familiar then jumped off her lap and began
the long process of trying to lick his fur back into place.

	"What exactly happened to him?" Taman asked.

        "Well, once Asher escorted me home, I sent Pyrarr off to keep a
discreet eye on Healer Carolyn."  Taman at least had the courtesy to
wince when she mentioned Asher, which she decided was a point in his
favor.  "Two hours after I sent him out, he came back with his coat
utterly soaked and his whiskers singed.  It seems that, while Carolyn
may not be a mage, she does have a familiar.  Pyrarr no sooner had
hopped onto the windowsill when her cat attacked him."

        "And was beaten?" Taman asked.  "Does she have a change-cat
herself?"

        Pyrarr looked up at him with an expression that Anala could only
interpret as frayed patience.  "Nooo.  Not chaange-cat.  _Child_."

        "Whose child, Pyrarr?" Taman asked patiently.  "Carolyn's
perhaps?"  Pyrarr shook his head.

        "Oh, God.  What a disgusting thought, Taman."  It was certainly
possible for Carolyn to have given birth to some demonic changeling.  It
would even have been a wonderful explanation for how she had been
crippled.  Wonderful, and not bloody likely, Anala hoped.

        "It is a possibility, and not a remote one," Taman said.  "A
demonic pact would certainly explain a great deal of Carolyn's
reticence."

        "But not her desire to heal," Anala said.  "If she's in league
with the Dark Lord, why hasn't she done any harm?  Angelo is fully
healed, his mother is no longer haunted by nightmares, the burgher is
alive.  She has done nothing to hurt anyone.  She's even driven herself
into a comatose state doing... whatever it is that she does.  Those
aren't the actions of a selfish person.  Besides, Pyrarr seemed to think
she was all right the first time he met her."

        "Change-cats can be fooled...." Taman began, but Pyrarr let out
a hiss, his tail whipping back and forth.

        "Nooo," he growled.  "Carooolyyn goood.  But scarrred.  Herrr
Child protects."

	"Scared?  Of us?" Anala asked.  Pyrarr nodded.

        "So we go back to our original hypothesis," Taman concluded.
"She has abilities that are unique, and has likely suffered prior
persecution for them.   As we have demonstrated an interest in her, she
sees us as a threat to whatever secrets she may have."

        "Gah!  Sending Pyrarr out to snoop was a mistake, then."  Her
familiar looked up at Anala with a withering expression, which she
ignored.  "Now she'll be doubly suspicious."  Taman nodded in agreement.

        "A difficulty," he noted.  "I would consider doing some discreet
spying on her, but there are further complications.  Mistress de Parses
has the usual wards placed around her house; they wouldn't stop me, but
they would serve as a tripwire for the mage who cast them.  In addition,
her familiar appears to have some unusual abilities.  It would be unwise
to approach too closely until we have examined it in detail."

	"Baaaad ideaaa," Pyrarr piped up.

	"Why?" Anala asked.

	"Baaaad ideaaa," Pyrarr repeated, but would say no more.

        "Irritating creature," Taman noted.  Anala frowned, and gave him
a sharp look.

        "I could well say the same for you.  Why did you run out on me
so quickly at the party?  I was fortunate in that all the attention was
focused on the burgher.  Otherwise I would have ended up answering some
awkward questions."

	"I apologize.  I should not have left you unescorted."

        "That's not answering my question, Taman.  Why?"  He was
avoiding looking at her directly, instead flickering his red eyes all
over the room.

        "I was surprised by Asher's speculations concerning Carolyn's
origins.  That is all."

        "That is most certainly not all.  I'm not a logician, but I can
put two and two together.  You knew someone in Duestchlund, when you and
Asher were there.  Another Drow.  One who must have caused you a great
deal of pain to make you react like that."

        Taman gave her a half-nod.  "He... the drow in question... never
caused me pain.  But he had been given much pain by our... race.  He was
forced to live, is still forced to live as far as I know, an
unimaginably abominable existence.  They drove him mad you see, trying
to change him into a tool for their use.  He is still mad, living like
an animal in the wastes of Duestchlund."

	"He was a friend?"  Taman smiled sadly.

        "Drow do not have friends.  But to see him like he is, gives me
pain near as great as his."

        "You say he is mad.  Yet Carolyn is a healer of ailments of the
mind..."

	"His madness was driven by the physical changes done to him."

	"But she is also a healer of the body..."

        "To heal what was done to him would require someone with the
stamina of Heracles.  The idea of that wisp of a woman doing what I
could not..." Taman shut up, his face flushed with frustration.

        "Shh.  It doesn't matter."  She set Pyrarr on the floor, and he
quickly scooted out the door.  Anala stood, and drew up Taman into her
arms.  He stood on the floor and hugged her back gently, content to
breathe in her scent   "Speculate later," she advised.  She brought up
her hand and drew it slowly through his long white hair.  Taman closed
his eyes.

	"You are wise, my Firebrand," he said.



        The rocks pressed against her chest, crushing the breath from
her lungs.  The aftershocks from the quake shook the soft ground in a
regular purr.

	Purr...?

        Carolyn awoke with a start, to find Rumbletom laying across her
chest with his nose tucked neatly under the tip of his tail.  The loud
buzz of his purr set up a pleasant vibration, threatening to send her
back to sleep.

        "Gah, get off 'Tom.  I can't breathe."  Rumbletom opened his
eyes lazily and rolled off her chest onto the bed.  He came to lay
between her torso and arm, resting his chin on her shoulder.  She
scratched his head briefly, and his purr increased in volume.

        *I should get up.  I've been sleeping since...*  When had she
gone to bed?  The last thing that she remembered was Healing the burgher
once again, then closing her eyes briefly to rest in her chair.  Now she
was in the room Mistress de Parses had given her to stay in.  Someone
had stripped off her clothes and put in a sleeping chemise, and covered
her with a warm quilt.  Her chair was sitting in a corner, out of her
reach.

        *You've been sleeping since yesterday afternoon,* Rumbletom said
in her mind.  *It's mid-morning now.*

        "Yesterday afternoon?  Oh, no.  I've got to check on the
burgher."  She started to push herself up, but Rumbletom sat up and lay
his forepaws on her chest, shoving her back down.  He was heavy for a
cat, twenty pounds at least.

        *The burgher is fine, but you need to rest still.  I had to
start clawing at his door to get one of the servants to check in on the
two of you.  I told you that you were pushing yourself too hard.*

	"I was not.  I merely rested overlong."

        *The burgher has been out of danger for two days.  Priestly
healing could care for him now, or even natural rest.*

        "I had to make sure he's Healed completely, before I can go back
to Astmoor."

        *The only place you'll be going is to your grave if you keep
this up.  What must I do to make you rest, call for one of my sisters to
travel here and Bind you to your bed?*

        "Very funny."  Rumbletom's voice had been getting more
colloquial, she had noticed.  The stilted, slightly formal mode of
speech he had used when he first bonded with her had given way to easier
turns of phrase.  Had his intelligence increased from their bonding?  It
seemed so.  She wondered if that meant she was going to become
feebleminded.

        *Who's joking?  I didn't meld my soul to yours only to have you
kill yourself trying to get free of imagined obligations.  If you were
one of the fae folk I'd wrap you in iron to keep you from overusing your
Gifts.*

        "Healing the burgher is a responsibility I took on.  It's not an
obligation or a duty.  It's simply something I had to do."

        *You take on too many responsibilities.  Ask Mistress de Parses
to give you a week's rest.  Then use it to rest.  She won't begrudge you
the time.*

        "I was paid to come here and Heal her son.  He's well once
again, and I've long since overstayed my welcome.  Besides, what if
Anala sends her cat round again to look in on us... me?  She's
suspicious...

        *She's curious.  There's a difference.  As for de Parses,
haven't you realized yet that she's your patron?  Ask for a permanent
place here and she'll grant it in a moment.*

        "Don't be ridiculous.  No one will allow Golden-eyed to stay
overlong in their house..."  Rumbletom's angry snarl cut her off.

        *Fagh!  Don't you understand?  In this world, having golden eyes
doesn't matter!  What's a human with strange eyes compared to an ogre,
or a hobgoblin?  Or a cat that can speak in your mind for that matter?
De Parses wants to keep you near because you enhance the reputation of
her House.  What other person of wealth in this city can boast of having
a healer dependent on neither a lay-person's needle and bandages, nor
prayers to the PaterOmni?  By the Prankster's Name, you've never even
received payment for services rendered!*

        Chastened, Carolyn could only say, "I hadn't thought to ask
yet."  Rumbletom responded by shaking his head in an all too human
gesture of frustration.

        *Then ask!  The woman thinks the world of you.  With her, you
have an ally willing to protect you from harm.  Why do you think she
went to the trouble of staging that party?  She wanted to show you off
to everyone, to say, "Look at this wonderful person I've found.  She is
mine, and no one can take her from me."  She owes you her son's life.
Do you think she isn't willing to grant you anything you wish?*
	


        Rumbletom made himself useful, pulling Carolyn's clothes into
her reach without her needing to crawl across the floor to the armoire.
She dressed quickly and combed her hair into place, pinning it back
demurely.  She wore her best blue blouse and black breeches, and her
kimono slippers instead of the clunky but functional boots Dema had
given her.   The effect was spoiled somewhat when Rumbletom hopped up
into her lap briefly, leaving gray and white hairs across her skirt.
Fortunately she managed to brush most of the them away.

	"Do I look all right, 'Tom?" she asked.

        *You always look fine.*  Which wasn't very helpful, but she
appreciated the sentiment.

        After a servant helped her downstairs, she rolled up to the door
to Mistress de Parses office, glad that the effort to push herself
forward occupied her hands.   Otherwise she'd have been twisting them
nervously behind her back.

        Mistress de Parses was with Twill, the both of them hunched over
a large accounts book, with parchments and scrolls piled willy-nilly
over their desk.  Twill was pointing out something to de Parses, while
the fingers of his free hand unconsciously lay themselves on her arm.

        "It only looks like highway robbery, Gailen," he said.  "If you
want to start trading with the Afrikan cities, you're going to have to
deal with the Midterran pirates.  Those damned halflings are much easier
to pay off than to try and fight."  He glanced up and saw Carolyn by the
door.  "Hello Healer Chandler, may we help you?"

        "I'd..." she cleared her throat and started again.  "I'd like to
speak with Mistress de Parses.  Alone, if that's all right."  De Parses
looked surprised, but she nodded readily.

        "Of course, Carolyn," she said.  "Simon, I'll talk to you in a
moment."  Master Twill nodded and left, seeming to swallow the questions
he wished to ask.  Carolyn rolled inside, pulling the door shut behind
her.

        "Is everything all right?" De Parses asked.  "Are you feeling
well?

        "I'm fine.  I've sufficiently since my last Healing, I think,"
Carolyn told her.  She swallowed, and deliberately set her hands in her
lap, rather than grip the arms of her chair.  It was fortunate that her
legs were truly crippled, else she knew she'd be bouncing her knee,
trying to relieve her nervousness.  "I've come...  I've come to you to
discuss my situation.  My employment situation, I mean."

	De Parses smiled.  "What is it you wish to know?"

        "I need to know...  What is my situation?  I came to you to Heal
your son, which I accomplished.   Then I stayed to Heal the burgher.
For the investment of close to two months of my time and energy, I have
not received any recompense."

        "You have not asked for it," De Parses said.  "I had assumed you
had sufficient coin for your needs, and would ask for a letter of credit
when you wished to leave."

        "Ah...." Carolyn said, temporizing.  In truth, she wasn't really
certain how to phrase her next question.  Mistress de Parses, however,
beat her to it.

	"Do you?"

	"Do I what?"

        "Do you wish to leave?"  Mistress de Parses waited patiently,
her dark eyes staring.

        "I... I'm not certain," Carolyn finally said.  "I have a
practice in Astmoor, a reputation."

	"As you do here, now," De Parses said.  "Family ties?"

	"None."

	"Friends?"

        She thought of Doran and Dare, and of the widow Tallis who
minded her rowhouse.  The two young bards would be gone from the
Conlegium and Astmoor as soon as their studies were complete, and the
old widow was of a solitary nature.  "A few, but they would not hold me
to one place."

        "Well then, you seem to have a wealth of options," Mistress de
Parses concluded.   "You can go, or stay, wherever you choose."

        "But would I be allowed to stay here?  The Firebrand does not
care overmuch for me, I think."  Gailen chuckled.

        "The Firebrand finds you intensely curious, I think," she said.
"Which makes me quite delighted.  Surprising her is a difficult thing to
do."  Gailen took a key from her belt and unlocked the top drawer of her
desk.  From it, she took out a small bag, and a badge bearing the House
de Parses' emblem upon it.  She pushed the both of them across the desk
to Carolyn.

        "I find you curious as well, Carolyn.  Upon occasion, I like to
indulge that curiosity.  I want to know more about you; I think the best
way to do that is make certain you have incentive to stay.  If you find
it agreeable, I would like to become your patron.  In return for your
services as my House's healer, I will provide you with room and board, a
stipend of one hundred marks per month, and support in whatever other
endeavors you wish to pursue that might benefit House de Parses."

        Carolyn's breath caught in her throat.  It was a joke, it was
trick...

	It was exactly what she had prayed for...

        "Mistress... Mistress, I welcome your offer, but I must warn
you.  Where I came from, those with the golden eyes were not loved, even
though, or perhaps especially for, the Gifts that our strange eyes gave
us.  If the Church is anything like it is in my world, they will not
appreciate my Healings.  Your relationship with their leaders will
become even more strained."

        "Oh, my dear, dear girl," de Parses said softly.  "You think I
don't know what it is like to fight those who blindly follow the
PaterOmni?  I've spent my whole life hearing people whisper the words
'pagan', 'witch', 'nefandite' behind back, and sometimes shouted in my
face.  My husband died during the Baron's War because he would not
renounce his worship of the Lady, burnt in their holy fire right in
front of my eyes.  I watch my back around the Church and it's members,
but I absolutely refuse to fear them."

        Carolyn swallowed again, and picked up the badge and the bag
(which seemed much heavier than its size would indicate.)  Hesitantly,
she clipped the badge to her breast.  Her eyes closed.  She thought she
would have felt bound, suborning herself to someone else's dream.  But
she didn't.  She felt free instead, like a bird come to nest safely with
its flock.

	*I belong,* she thought.


        It was a good feeling.


        When she came back into her room, Rumbletom looked up from the
nest he had created in the armoire's drawer.  She was humming a tune,
feeling light as air.   It was a wonder that she didn't float out of her
chair right here.

	*It went well?*  Rumbletom asked her.

        "It went beautifully," Carolyn told him, fingering her badge.
"I am now House de Parse's healer.  For as long as I might wish.

        *I thought you would be,* he said.  He hopped up into her lap
and licked her fingers with his sandpapery tongue.  She scratched the
base of his tail and Rumbletom willingly rolled over to expose his belly
to further tickling.  *What will you do now?*

        "Oh, a thousand things.  I'm going to have to go back to Astmoor
for at least a few weeks to sell my house, pack away my things, say a
proper goodbye to Doran and Dare.  Then I'll come back here."  She
looked around at her room.  It was functional enough, but it was too
small for performing surgery, and being on the second floor was a
constant irritation.  "Do you think de Parses would give me a room
downstairs?  There's guest suite on the lower floor that doesn't seem to
be used all that often.  The bedroom would be enough for me, and I could
use the living area for seeing patients."

        Amusement floated from Rumbletom's mind to hers.  *I think at
the moment de Parses will grant you anything you wish.*

	"Does that amuse you?"

	*Not that.  You.  Belonging to something seems to suit you.*

        "Mmm.  I suppose that would seem strange to you.  Aren't cats
solitary creatures?"

        *Not really.  Every Child in this city has their own piece of
ground, but that doesn't mean they shun the rest of the world.  Why else
do you think we spend so much time begging to be petted?  Humans aren't
all that much different.*

        "True," Carolyn said.  She had thought that the safest thing
would be for her to keep the world at a distance, with no ties that
would lead her to betrayal.  Now she found herself bound with a myriad
of cords to a myriad of people.  To Doran, for she valued the girl's
common sense and quiet nature.  To Dare, for he could make her laugh,
even as she banished his fears.  To Asher, for her curiosity concerning
his daughter, who was so much his opposite.  To Taman, for the knowledge
she had concerning his brother Dema.  To Dema, for she knew that the
dark, powerful drow believed he owed her his very sanity.  To Gailen,
for she healed her son.  And to 'Tom and all the Children, for the
secret she had been allowed to view.  *I care for them, as they do for
me.*  Perhaps to differing degrees, but what they all shared was a
knowledge that if something affected one of them, it mattered to the
other.

        Carolyn let out a happy sigh, feeling more relaxed than she had
in weeks.  She pulled out an old piece of parchment from her pack.
Quill pen in hand, she started making a list of what had to be done to
complete her move here.

	It was time to plan for the future.


Coda


        Rumbletom leaped from rooftop to rooftop, making his way across
the night darkened wharfside warehouses until he reached his
destination.  This particular warehouse had suffered a fire some months
past, leaving the roof half-collapsed, and too dangerous even for the
street-beggars to dwell in.  With his leg now fully healed, it was no
effort to crawl down inside, to the meeting whose summons he dared not
ignore.

        Dropping ligthly to the floor, he looked about to gain his
bearings, his tail flaring in suprise.  Around him sat more Children,
nearly a thousand if he could believe his eyes.  Astmoor had only held a
scarce two hundred, and it was nearly half New Aveon's size.  The
Children nearest to him parted to form a corridor, which he reluctantly
walked down to find himself at the warehouse's center.  All about him
the Children sat, or lay; on the floor, nesting in the debris, or even
laying on the few solid rafters that held up the remains of the roof.

        The circle of Children parted again, and New Aveon's Quorum of
Nine came in to surround him.  They were all far older than he, the
youngest of them in his thirties.  Old for a Child, and a Lazarus for
any ordinary cat.

        The eldest among them, a brown coated female tabby who looked
like she could be a hundred years old, spoke first.

	*Do you know why you are here?*

        *Because of the calico,* he answered, staring her in the eye.
*Because I have found the First One, and have Bonded with her.*

        *You claim to have found the First One,* another of the Nine
said.

	*Be silent,* the tabby demanded.

        *He would reveal all we know to a _human_, because of his
delusions...!*

        BE SILENT!  The tabby's Mindvoice rattled through the warehouse,
leaving everyone with their ears flicked back in suprise.  The
argumentive Child hunkered down, silent now, but his tail twitched
angrily.

        *We will not argue with what has been done.  Had she no Gifts,
Bonding would have been impossible.  What is at issue is the calico and
her Quorum.  Rumbletom killed five Children, and aided in the
destruction of the calico's mind.*

        *She was destroyed because she invested too much of herself in
her dark creation,* Rumbletom said.  *Mad already, the backlash ripped
apart what little coherence she had left.*

        *Perhaps,* the tabby allowed.  *But her minions you burned
alive.*

        *I had no choice!  The calico threatened Carolyn.  She would
have killed the First One for interfering with her revenge.*

        *That remains to be determined.  When we find her quorum's
suvivors, rest assured they will be questioned.  In the meantime you
leave us in a difficult position.  You have killed Children, which
cannot be condoned.  Yet you have bonded with the First One.  Shall we
cut you off from your Gift, and leave the First One crippled in mind as
well, perhaps even mad?  No Child has Bonded before.  No one knows what
will happen.  How are we to resolve this?*

        *You will leave Rumbletom and Carolyn alone,* a new voice said.
*The crimes he committed he did to preserve the Children's secrets.*

        Rumbletom and the others turned towards the edge of the crowd.
A black and white tomcat, _twice_ as big as any Child in the room, sat
alone.  Rumbletom hadn't seen him enter, and from the flicking tails of
the other Children none of them had either.

        *You are no Child,* the old tabby accused.   *Leave this place!*
Four large toms approached the intruder, intent on forcing him out.  But
when they came close, the black and white cat batted at them sharply
with his paws.  All four went flying across the chamber, thrown by blows
too fast for anyone to follow.  On the fringes of his senses, Rumbletom
felt the tabby Center herself, readying an attack...

        ...Only to let out a yowl of dismay as the intruder imposed a
shield over her mind, cutting her off from her own Gifts.  The tom
bounded forward, making an impossibly long leap to the center of the
room, landing directly next to Rumbletom.

	*Are you so quick as to attack your own god?* the tom asked.

        Rumbletom blinked as the tabby and the rest of the Quorum
bristled their tails in surprise and no little fear.

        *You are... the Prankster?* The tabby asked softly.   The black
and white tom bowed his head politely.

        *At your service,* he greeted.  He licked the tabby's head, as a
mother cat would her kitten.  *You have no need to fear me, wise one.
My entrance was unexpected.*

        *What brings you here?*  Rumbletom dared to ask, hunkering down
to the floor.  The Prankster began to groom him, running his tongue over
Rumbletom's head.  A feeling of peace swept over him, and Rumbletom felt
himself relax.  There was no need to fear, the Prankster was not here to
judge them.  Not today.

        *It is the human that you have Bonded with that brings me here
today.  Carolyn Chandler is the First One.  Nor will she be the Last.
Her Bonding with Rumbletom will enhance both of their Gifts, to point
where they will be able to accomplish things no Child has ever concieved
of.  The calico would have killed her, if Rumbletom had not stopped her
and her quorum.  For that he should be commended, not tried.*

        *But what of our secrets?*  the argumentive Quorum member asked,
his voice meek, confused.  *You taught us that we must remain hidden.
Now a human knows us for what we are.*

        *She will keep My Children's secrets, rest assured,* the
Prankster told him.  *As will the humans who will come after her.
Rumbletom will not be the only one of the Children who will Bond.*

        *But, Prankster.  My Bonded is a Traveler, Rumbletom said.
There are no others like her in the world.*

        *On this world,* their god corrected.  *Others will come, soon.
Until that day, you must do your best to encouarge Carolyn to produce
many, many kittens.*

        *But she is crippled.  Even if she could still bear a seed,
birthing a kitten would kill her!*

        *She is crippled.  That does not mean she cannot be healed.
Patience, Rumbletom, have patience.*   The Prankster licked him one more
time, on his right paw.  Before his eyes, Rumbletom felt his paw grow
warm, and suddenly the orange fur there faded white, leaving him with a
single mitten.  *Patience, and my blessing... *  The Prankster bowed his
head once again, then slowly began to fade, dissapearing into the
darkness.

                                The End