“Ye look like shit," the Granny Woman said.

"Uh."

"Utter shit." The woman walked through the doorway, pushing Mistress Harper aside with the force of her passing. She was as Blake remembered, a steel haired woman with forearms the size of tree trunks. The rest of her was built to scale, a walking boulder of weathered iron, leather, and gristle. Eyes, heavy from the same weight of years in her voice, surveyed from a face shockingly smooth for the woman’s apparent age. Deep lines met at the corners of her eyes and mouth, but the rest was untouched.

“Thank you,” Blake said. Those eyes bored into his, the Granny Woman unafraid of what she might see. She had the force of will Blake had seen in few people before. Individuals like the Grandmaster of the Iron Order or the leader of a continent-spanning Dark cult were rare.

“Can no say I ever had someone thank me fer insulting ‘em.” The Granny Woman stepped to the side of the bed and gazed down at him, inspecting from head to foot. “Ye must no be full healed. Head feel alright?”

Blake opened his mouth to reply but the Granny Woman shook her broad head. The motion reminded him of the great trees in the northern forests, giants swaying in the storm winds. “What I said I meant, no talkin’. Simple nod or shake. Save yer energy fer when I say ye can.”

The piercing brown eyes told him to nod in agreement or regret disobedience. Given his weakened state, Blake was willing to comply. For now. He nodded.

“My name is Granny Esmer. I am Granny Woman fer this stretch o’ mountains, an’ ye best listen to me, ‘cuz I’m the best help ye’re gonna get fer a hunnerd miles.”

Blake nodded in silence again. From the pain alone he knew he needed outside help if he wanted to recover in any reasonable timeframe.

“Now,” the Granny Woman said, “let’s see how ye’re healin’.”

The fingers she pressed to his wrist were rough as fine sandpaper, the result of decades in her profession. Blake had much the same. For all their rough exterior, her fingers were gentle in their examination. “Steady pulse. Good. Were all over the place when I first got ye.”

Blake opened his mouth to ask another question, but closed it again with a look from Granny Esmer. She reached out again and thumbed his lower eyelids open. “Look up.” He complied. “Down. Left. Right. Good.”

Gentle fingers probed around his head, feeling at the ridges and valleys in his skull. “Hurt?”

He shook his head. Carefully, to prevent dizziness. Granny Esmer tested his body in a myriad of ways, grip strength, response to light, reflexes, and even his sense of smell. All this before removing the blanket to look at his true ailment, the wound left by the revenant. Blake did not object to her actions. In the realm of the human body, she was the greater scholar. He would have been forced to appeal to the spirit and energy flows of the body to determine its state, and certain things could be missed with those methods.

“Ye’re a heavy one, more than ye look. Something to do with that Blood of Yeshas the fool priests are always spouting?"

Unsure if he was supposed to speak, Blake nodded. His blood granted him many blessings. And woes. He decided to ignore her ‘fool priests’ comment for the time being.

“I’m guessin’ it gives ye some sorta speedy healin’.” The Granny nodded in time with Blake. “Thought so. When I brought ye here, ye were so concussed ye woulda believed the Earth were flat. Now ye can no tell yer brains was mush not a day ago. Open wounds scabbed over an’ healed up. Bruises like they’re weeks old.”

A soft tap at each of the affected sites came as she listed them. Granny Esmer wrapped a broad hand around the edge of the blanket. “Impressive though that may be, there ain’t no putting it off. Let’s look at ye.”

The blanket flew back to pile at the foot of the bed, revealing the wad of bandages around his middle. There was not any visible blood spotted through, which Blake counted as a good sign. He also could not detect any smell indicating rot, but any rot might be masked under the bandages.

Instead of removing the bandages immediately, Granny Esmer rested a hand over his wound and the other on his forehead, eyes closed tight. She chanted something too low for Blake to perceive, but he recognized the cadence of a ritual casting. He closed his own eyes and concentrated. Yes. He could feel the faint brush of a foreign energy against his. Nothing to harm him, little could harm one of Blake’s caliber through energy alone, but it was impressive the Granny Woman had enough control over her inner self to manifest such an effect.

He followed the path of the foreign energy where it brushed against him, watching what she was examining. The foreign touch traveled from his feet to the crown of his head, scanning every inch of his spiritual body. She was doing a thorough job, with a precision Blake was not sure he could have matched. Nothing stood out to Blake, everything seeming normal.

“Ye seen somethin’ ye were no ready fer, boy.”

“What?” Blake opened his eyes to see the Granny Woman watching him, hard lines around her eyes softened. A corner of her mouth lifted in a sad smile.

“Shh. No speaking.” She turned back to the wound. Pain pulsed around the edges of the wound as she pulled the bandages away, but the center remained strangely numb. “Huh.”

Blake craned his neck, trying to get a full view of his injury. It was not concern in the woman’s voice, but bewilderment.

“If I had no wrapped this myself yesterday, I woulda said this were three weeks old.” Out of a hidden pocket, the Granny pulled a pair of glasses with blue powdered lenses set in straight gold frames. The tiny glyph work was not visible from this distance, but Blake knew it was there. He had a pair of diviner’s lenses himself, if more advanced than the Granny Woman’s. The lenses flashed as she examined his side through them, fingers nimble and careful as she poked and prodded. “Aye, the Dark residue is near gone from this. Her revenant got ye, I can tell. Guessing ye did no do for him?”

Blake nodded. Not a memory he would soon forget.

“A pity. He’s evaded all my efforts before. Federation officer, much like yerself.”

Blake shook his head in protest. Best to keep the full extent of his involvement in the War under wraps. Best not vocalize his protest either.

“Big bad Knight like yerself? Federation drafted ye for truth. Kindale weren’t friendly to yer sort, neither. Don’t bullshit me, lad.” The thumb she pressed into his side made her point for her. Blake suppressed a yelp with difficulty. “This whole fast healing business, applies extra to Dark afflictions?”

Blake shrugged. When it did not make the afflictions worse. He wished she would stop kneading his side and stomach. Uncomfortable only began to describe the sensation.

“Looks like it helped. No Dark in ye. No from this, least.” She pulled the blanket back up to his chest. “With the speed ye’re healin’, I’d say two days o’ bedrest afore ye can go ‘bout yer business. Get ye on home.”

A moment passed as Blake gazed at the Granny Woman. She clicked her tongue. “I suppose you can speak now.”

“Thank you,” Blake said, bowing his head. There were forms to be followed, ancient ceremonies observed for those in his and the Granny’s callings. “For saving my life, and giving aid. For the boon of your name, I give you mine. I am Blake Campbell, Iron Knight. For the boon of aid, I give one favor, in good faith.” It would not do for her to ask the favor of murder, or Dark rituals. He trusted she would not, but Blake had learned never to trust more than necessary.

“Ah, pfft,” Granny Esmer waved her hand. “Did it to piss off ol’ Akis. Lucky ye turned out to be a Knight.”

She pulled the stool closer and sat. “Though ye do no seem the smartest Knight. Near got knocked off by a vampire ye knew were a vampire.”

“Succubus,” Blake said. “And I underestimated her. Guess I am out of practice for the Hunt.”

“Why'd ye go marchin’ in there, way ye look?” She waved her hands at Blake’s neck and the coat hanging behind her. “She knew what ye was the moment she seen ye."

"Not exactly easy to hide what I am. Tattoos being permanent and all. Best I could do is swap out the coat and I did not have a spare."

"That big ol’ bag an’ ye do no have a spare coat?"

"What is with everybody and the bag?"

"What? Speak up," she barked.

"Needed the room for more important things. Coat will last me a good while."

The Granny Woman snorted with the sound of ripping canvas. “Questionable life choices aside, yer mental faculties seem most o’ the way there. Always a worry with a vampire. She did no bewitch ye.”

“I am immune to her brand of Charm, yes. And Kathryn is a succubus, not a vampire,” Blake corrected the Granny Woman.

“She ain’t no succubus, she’s flesh an’ blood human turned a dark monster. Ain’t no one summon her.”

“She was awake and alert during the day. Vampires do not do that.”

"She's a vampire, trust ye me. Put her down myself."

Blake blinked. “You what? She is dead?”

“She were. Thirty years past, near ’about. Ain’t dead no more.”

“You are going to have to explain what you mean.”

Granny Esmer frowned at him. “I killed her dead, now she ain’t. Not much to explain.”

“Uhh,” Blake faltered. What Granny Esmer was saying had never happened before, to Blake’s knowledge. “I hesitate to say it is impossible, because too much has happened in the past year for me to say that, but a quarter century dead vampire does not return from across the veil. Are you sure you killed her proper?”

Sparks flew in the Granny Woman’s eyes. “I killed her proper. Country bumpkin I may be, I know how to kill a vampire. Ye city folk ain’t the only educated ones.

“I am from the North Woods, I am not city folk.” He would not argue the educated. Blake was probably the foremost expert on the supernatural in the surrounding Fires.

“North Woods where? Plenty o’ those everywhere. Got some backwards o’ south here even.” The lines at the corner of her mouth deepened as she smirked.

“North Woods Mniseota.” When Blake reflexively puffed out his chest at the mention of his home Fire, his ribs creaked and pain flared in his side. He managed to keep the pain from showing his face.

“Can no say I know much ‘bout ‘em. Suppose if they’re anything like these forests ‘round ‘ere, ye ain’t no city boy.” Her eyes narrowed. “I seen ye wince when puffin’ yer chest like a turkey defendin’ ‘is territory. Ye can talk, but ye shouldn’t do much more.”

“I was not—” He was interrupted by the woman’s bland stare. Somehow it was worse than the sparks.

“What’s the deal with yer Blood of Yeshas? How’s it work? Makes ye heavier, ey?” Blake blinked at the sudden subject change. He answered hesitantly.

"... yes. My body is denser and stronger than my frame would indicate."

“Hmm. That change anything else about ye? Heal quicker, I seen. Jump higher, run faster kind o’ thing?”

“I heal faster than most, and my senses are higher than the average human, but nothing truly supernatural.” The other side effects did not need mentioning now.

“Tsk.” She shook her head. “Being a descendant o’ a god sounds lamer than I’da thought.”

The sheer irreverence in her tone left Blake without a ready reply. The Blood of Yeshas were not simply descendants of a god, but the God. “It… I… Are you not a Yeshite? I saw the church on my way through town.”

Granny Esmer shrugged, her great shoulders rising and falling like the sea under storm. “Reverend Allent were never very persuasive, an’ I were already set in my ways by the time Reverend Parker came ‘round.”

“Parker was the one who fell from his horse?” Blake knew better than to try debating faith with a woman like Granny Esmer.

“If ye call being pulled from his horse by a rope strung across the path fallin’ off, aye.”

“So he was murdered. I had feared as much. I thought you had been killed as well. They said you had been missing for a while.”

“Been in hiding since Akis came back. She did fer Parker an’ I headed fer the hills when I figured what was happenin’.”

“What is happening here? How did it get so bad?” Blake asked. “There is a demon Enthralling most of the population, and far too few people for the size of the town. The Mayor’s manor house is a veritable Temple to the Dark, and the mountains are haunted by a shadow beast that leaves no trace. The town Wards are fading, and there is a Revenant of substantial power running loose.”

“Sounds right fucked when ye put it that way,” Granny Esmer nodded. “Dunno about a shadow beasty. When ye’re healed, ye’re free to go.”

The catch in her voice told Blake otherwise. “I am sensing a but.”

“But,” said Granny Esmer as she leaned forward, apprehension clear in her eyes. She blew out a deep breath of air, lifting the forelocks of gray hair. “We, I, need yer help. Can no put Akis down again, no with what's she become. I would ask yer favor, Sir Blake."

“Do not. It is no favor. My Sworn duty of a Knight compels me to extinguish all harmful demons from the Earth.” Blake gave a rueful smile. He would not be getting home as soon as he needed. “The attempted murder did not help her case either.”

“Thank ye.” Granny Esmer leaned back, weight visibly lifting from her shoulders. “I fixed yer Knight coat, where the Revenant got ye.”

“You did?” Blake asked. Iron Knight coats were difficult to repair if damaged. Hard to damage, harder to repair. Blake had not taken much interest in artificing, but his grandfather had and tried to pass along what he knew. All Blake had learned was how much he did not know.

The Granny Woman nodded. “Aye, it were right difficult. Feisty bugger. Like it were fightin’ me changin’ it.”

“That is much the experience of all who try to alter a Gray Coat. It is impressive you managed to repair mine.”

“Pfft. Were no trouble. Once I figured the trick o’ it.”

Blake shook his head. “It is a wonder one such as you has been hidden away all these years.”

“Wassat?” the Granny Woman asked, cupping her ear.

Blake studied her, noting again the scars across her hands, the width of her forearms. The age pressed deep into her eyes. There was something here, something more. A Granny Woman such as the one before him, experienced and powerful, should have little trouble with a succubus or vampire, whichever Kathryn was.

“You knew her before, even before she was a vampire.” It was a guess, but it was the most likely explanation.

"Aye.” Pain flickered across Granny Esmer’s face, an old pain Blake knew well. “She's my sister. Or was, afore she become… what she is."

Blake nodded. There was not much to be said in response.

"I need to know everything if I am to help you."