--- (Farstay 9th Day of Dark Month)

They broke their embrace, Kyra’s words resonating with her sisters and motivating them to act.

“Nysa and I will visit him as soon as I am ready,” said Kyra.

Nysa and Otonia rushed to her assistance, while Helice completed her daily ritual with Charis, loin cloth, water and broth. With Kyra ready, Nysa approached Helice who forlornly turned her head toward her Warrior Sister in response. Nysa’s hands held Helice’s head and tenderly kissed her crinkled forehead.

“We will find out his progress and determine if we have hope. I promise.”

Helice’s moist green eyes glinted in the morning sunlight. “The Mistress, her body weakens regardless of my efforts and I fear for her life as her body now eats itself.”

A loud knock on the cottage door broke their solemn moment. Otonia checking, preparing to open the door while Kyra braced, in her warrior stance to repel anyone or anything hostile.

A big lump of man shakes himself, snowflakes scatter from him firmly chastised. Instinctively he ventures over to the stove and only upon arrival discovers to his disgust, with a sworn curse, the stove is as cold as everything else in the cottage. His shoulders rise and then fall in frustration searching for anything warm, instead disappointed.

“Village Priest, what do you have to report?” said Nysa, not bothering with greetings or salutations.

“Don’t you at least offer a guest tea?” he growled.

“We await your answer as you hold a possible hope for us, and we demand a verdict!” added Otonia, face taunt.

“Useless.” His eyes close, while his arms fall loose by his sides.

His single word travels swiftly around the small cottage, no chance of misunderstanding or false hope. Helice leans over Charis, her tears flowing freely, her hands caressing pallid cheeks. Otonia runs to join her, while Kyra drops to her haunches shaking her head.

Nysa’s mouth drops open, while her body, as if struck, staggers back until the Warrior Sister can lean against a wall of the cottage for support.

“I am sorry.” None can face him, although Kyra manages a resigned nod.

“The books are impossible to read I am afraid.” His hands entwine, a Village Priest the limit of his aspiration; the High Priest at the Temple graded his talent correctly.

“What do you mean by impossible?” Nysa asked, as she kicked herself off the cottage wall, inquisitive.

“I searched through the entire series, the pages blank, my original thought to read ahead to find the specific teachings, which would remove the curse upon your Mistress, futile before I began. I returned to the first pages of the first book, which I could read. An introduction into Judge’s teachings and while there is new knowledge there, the study not particularly arduous.”

The large Priest rugged up in warm black woollen robe and long pants, the bottoms tucked into the tops of his large black leather boots; cringed and shrunk as Nysa, Kyra and Otonia advanced upon him, their eyes boring into him, demanding further explanation.

“The next page I turned, blank.” His eyes darted from one sister to another. “All the remaining pages blank. You must believe me. I didn’t wish to disappoint so I thought I must have misunderstood the introduction and I studied those pages again. This time when I turn the next page, I found writing and hence further teachings.”

The three females in front of him relaxed ever so slightly to his relief, although he knew this change to be a temporary reprieve.

“As I progressed, I needed to erm, review the teachings very frequently, until mid-way through the second book, no matter how much I read, reviewed and studied Judge’s teachings the next pages remained blank. I spent two days rediscovering what I learnt and no difference.”

He closed his eyes, awaiting their wrath until the silence became overwhelming. He cracked his eyelids open revealing two of three fretted upon their chairs, devastated, near the deathly cold stove, while the third comforted another in the other room in the cottage.

The Priest motioned to seat himself beside them and hesitated. Nothing else for him to do here, his failure absolute and utter, to remain a Village Priest unable to comprehend the words of his God Judge when offered before him. He trudged to the cottage door taking one last look back and none of the women moved or bid him farewell. Cracking open the cottage door, the chill assaulted him and yet in this moment, immune, he recalled their eyes, hopeful and then vacant, his body and soul numb as a result. He pushed through the doorway, dragging the door closed behind him. His heavy steps sinking in the snow, relentless and purely functional, returning him to his Church, his sanctuary, now wondering what they or he would do with twenty-one volumes of Judge’s teachings. Teachings beyond his comprehension.

Nysa lowered the cross beam across the door and slid to the cottage floor. From the door she spied Otonia consoling Helice certain they all felt the same heartache, Mistress Charis would in time fade from this world.

--- (The Cavern 10th Day of Dark Month)

“You are really difficult to find when you want to be,” remarked Zosime, while watching the white skinned slip of a girl ravenously devour the toasted bread and cheese Clymene readied for her.

“I needed time …” Jocasta briefly looked up and then returned to her eating, avoiding further explanation.

Clymene placed a hot cup of tea on their table, glancing at Zosime. “We are here for you and while we don’t fully understand what you endured, we are prepared to listen and answer any questions we can.”

Jocasta paused, staring at the piece of cheese in her hand and then continued. Clymene pulled a chair out and joined Jocasta and Zosime at their table. Clymene stroking Jocasta’s longish black hair, Jocasta shutting her eyes in response forcing the tears to remain in her eyes. A slight shake of Zosime’s head and Clymene withdrew her hand.

“Do you remember what happened?” Zosime asked, trying to tease out some information.

Jocasta curtly nodded.

“Good, but you don’t need to discuss anything now, alright? When you are …”

“Zosime I never knew!” Jocasta spat out the words, accompanied by bits of cheese as she raised her voice.

Clymene reached for Jocasta’s hand. “Knew what child?”

Jocasta lent towards Clymene. “The love you shared, the sensations, your body afire with pleasure as equals. I can’t wait until I am of age.” Her eyes wide and bright with anticipation.

Zosime blinked, Clymene drew in a breath. “We thought you knew already, I mean you and the elder observed often enough and tried to, well ... admonish us.”

“Seeing is not experiencing … I couldn’t imagine, well your faces, your arched backs and other sexy stuff sort of prepared me, but not really.” Jocasta munched on a piece of torn off toasted bread her eyes in a dream state.

“What of terrible thoughts …” Zosime trailed off, trying to invite Jocasta to recall rather than demand.

Jocasta dropped her toast and cheese, both hands reaching to cover her face. “I remember. The evil bitch replayed my short life, relishing in my delightful experiences and encounters. She didn’t send any fears to me, replaying my most horrible moments satisfied her.”

“Do you wish to talk about them or anything?” asked Zosime, gently removing Jocasta’s hands from her face. Jocasta smiled. Zosime remembered that particular smile, the same smile Jocasta gave her when found in the elder’s bed.

“I survived them once for real, the replay of my memories, nothing I haven’t done myself from time to time.” Jocasta looked to Zosime and Clymene, their faces ashen. “I promise to chat to you, I promise! Geez, you are going to be tough mothers!”

“We are concerned for you,” said Clymene, quietly in awe of this hardened street waif, and untrained Single Seer.

Jocasta felt the irritation again and try as she might she couldn’t gather her mind specks together quickly, Zosime placing a hand upon hers.

“Practice. When your Seer Twin died the Seer Link you naturally shared shattered, which suggests your sister died at a very young age, when a baby possibly,” advised Zosime.

“Your sister died, when you were full Seers?” Jocasta asked shyly. Mentioning death in a sentence came easy for Jocasta, she witnessed many around her die, still she wanted to take care around her Seer Sisters in case talking about death upset them.

“Yes.” Zosime blinked away a tear. “Our Seer Link said to be strong, one of the strongest.”

“Is your Seer Skill greater now?” A thread of enthusiasm laced Jocasta’s words.

“Much stronger, so much stronger. Its strength allows me to accept my twin sister’s loss as I have been blessed with many more and I know my twin sister sits beside Saph awaiting my arrival.”

Clymene always knew Alcmene and so shivered at the thought of her death, they existed as one, especially since meeting Charis and discovering an easier path to enhance Seer Skill. She felt for Zosime and reached out to her, Seer to Seer and enveloped her in loving emotion, which Zosime returned. Their brief interlude ignored by their young ward who returned to scoffing down her toast, now dripping tea.

--- (Seer Circle 11th Day of Dark Month)

“We are without hope.”

The Seers joined to the Circle waited for Helice to compose herself and continue. Her desperate and hopeless state echoing through every sent word.

“We have fed our Mistress and the food seems to travel through her without delivering any sustenance. She mumbles incoherent words occasionally and nothing else.”

“Perhaps she can join Raisa, wherever that maybe. The Elven Lord certain she would heal there and given her condition he offered hope,” sent Rhea.

“Your sister is yet to return and you haven’t been able to contact her in the interim. Is that hope?” sent Hagne, without feeling, trying to question the wisdom of the proposal, not the sister.

Rhea’s presence in the Seer Circle shrank, disheartened and sorrowful, Hagne immediately regretting her comment and unsure how to fix Rhea. Waves of sympathy reached out to mollify Rhea from sisters communing within the Seer Circle.

“Raisa’s situation is like many when healing is concerned, you must trust the healer and the Elven Lord hasn’t played us false as yet, so I don’t believe he will treat us differently now. When Raisa is healed, she will return after her convalescence, we have been given no reason not to hold to such a result,” sent Alcmene.

“I apologise to Rhea and the doubt I cast …”

“Hagne, we need to be certain of our actions, therefore questions and doubt are required to test our plans, unfortunately the only Seer possessing an unerring ability to do otherwise is our Mistress. Our Seer Circle is sacred and powerful and between us Seers we should be able to formulate sound and robust plans in such a safe place,” sent Alcmene.

“You must bring Charis to us, Helice. We will deliver her to the mound,” sent Elpis.

“Yes Helice, Charis can join with Raisa, perhaps find and accompany my sister if she is lost or searching for a friend,” sent Rhea, her heart a mix of sorrow and joy, overflowing, rippling through the Seer Circle.

As a rule, emotions were discouraged as the Seer Circle amplified and shared them, useful for one purpose not useful when emotion clouded rational decision making.

“Mistress Astera defers to our wisdom, there is no other place, person or God who could offer their help and to stay in the village or return to the Caverns would at best keep Charis alive as she is now or at worst begin a sorrowful gradual decline,” sent Zosime.

“Surely, we should wait a few more days, in two days Charis has spoken whereas before helpless and silent,” sent Niobe, pleading. She like other Seers trying to come to terms with their Mistress being sent away, and not to be cured, well probably not, just to be preserved. Until when?

“I wouldn’t wish for a few more days, I believe Charis isn’t going to improve and I am not sure a wagon trip to either Lonely Keep or the Caverns will improve her condition. Therefore, I am going to test Nysa’s theory, Charis’ Items should conceal the evil essence within her, and she will then, if conscious be able to use the Shrine,” sent Helice.

The chatter within the Seer Circle increased with concerns, possibilities and fears. Clymene and Alcmene combined to call a halt.

“What if the village’s Circle of Protection rejects her?” sent Clymene.

“I am confident, given the reaction of the white wolf, it won’t. Over the past two days I have positioned Charis to sunbathe her Items as much as safely possible,” sent Helice.

“Astera agrees with our collective wisdom and if we wish to cling to some hope, then we need to send Charis to Lonely Keep,” sent Clymene. She tried to maintain a neutrality in her voice, this seemed to be the best decision weighing up the few alternatives. Perhaps Charis’ elven heritage would thrive, wherever the Elven Lord sent Raisa? She could only hope.

No farewells, Seers dropped from the Seer Circle one at a time until Helice, Clymene, Elpis and Rhea remained to plan Charis’ arrival into Lonely Keep, if her Items disguised her evil essence and if, their Mistress could be persuaded to remain conscious enough to utilise the Shrine at Farstay.

--- (Farstay/Lonely Keep 11th Day of Dark Month)

Helice’s chest ached with grief as she layered the body carry with furs, preparing the construct for Charis’ ailing body. Her vision blurred as her eyes misted with tears, this task must be completed she recited to herself.

“We will wrap her just as Zoe did, as snuck as a bug as they say,” offered Otonia, who would have been a blubbering mess herself except she suspected the distant, martial obsession of her Warrior Three partners, especially Nysa, infused her with a measured detachment, similar to treating a casualty on a battle field or suffering the loss of another in the battle line and resolutely forging on.

The trick of Charis’ Items concealing her evil made Nysa’s tolerance of their Mistress easier and also complicated, another vibration or echo of shared truth within their Warrior Three binding Otonia recognized. Nysa at ease while in Charis’ vicinity, although startled at times by her own complacency knowing full well evil lurked within Charis and as a faithful follower of Judge, she should eliminate the afflicted if within her power or report the presence to her Temple. Nysa’s current pacing confirming this conflict, throwing an occasional look.

Otonia placed her hand on Helice’s shoulder, they needed to continue and endless rearranging of the furs upon the body carry wouldn’t benefit Charis or them. Helice’s red rimed eyes resigned as she stood and following Otonia’s lead shifted Charis’ light body from bed to body carry, neither sister’s strength being challenged. Helice attended to the furs and blankets to cover, conceal and wrap Charis’ body upon the body carry.

Once over the wall and accepted by the village, both Helice and Otonia discovered the Circle of Protection miracle, the inclement weather persisting although tamed somewhat, the darkness and gloom of the dead of the night providing concealment. Not checked by villager or weather, they quickly arrived at the Shrine of Saph, standing Charis between them, positioned perfectly around the Shrine.

Otonia patient. Helice rested her forehead upon Charis’ to force a Seer Link upon her Mistress. After each failed attempt Helice checked Otonia with a pained stare, her neck cording, her teeth grinding. Desperate failure. Tears freely flowing, falling as ice droplets upon the plush rug of dirty white snow beneath and disappearing.

“Chant sister and if Charis’ eyes flicker finish, otherwise we will have to try again and possibly again,” whispered Otonia, in earnest.

Helice squeezed Otonia on her shoulder, unable to speak, accepting Otonia’s torture of Charis necessary for her salvation.

Otonia approached Charis from behind, supporting Charis’ head with one gloved hand and placing her other gloved hand over Charis’ mouth and nose. Reaching around the carefully placed fur lined hood upon Charis’ head, Otonia spying the warmth wafting out after contact with the surrounding colder air. This tactic relied upon their Mistress’ will to live, her frantic fight for every breath.

Charis’ eye flew wide open and her head shifted trying to throw off the impediment to her next breath. Otonia sprang back releasing her holds and as Charis began her unsupported collapse Helice finished the chant.

Helice reached for Charis, catching her, protecting her head as they both fell away from the Shrine. On her back Helice knew they were no longer in Farstay. The common area gone, now filled with grey shaded buildings, mostly cottages and looking left, a tall stone wall. Helice laughing cried.

“Calm sister, we are still in much danger,” sent Elpis, as her gloved hand found Helice’s cheek in the night dark.

“Yes, sorry … I need to be stronger.” Helice dug for the fine chain around her neck, tugging and pulling until the imprisoned gem revealed itself.

“Sister, remove your glove and I will press a gem into your hand, feed some magic into it and don’t ask why, the explanation will be revealed.”

Under Helice’s gaze, Elpis’ head, composed of subtle shades of grey, nodded, her mouth partially open until fully opening with the shock of seeing the shades of grey in the night.

“Wonderous sister! How?”

“The elder, a hedge magician spell apparently.”

“Now this time of night makes sense, even after your assurances. What of Rhea?”

“We will need to experiment, she will need to hold the gem and then usually provide the magic, perhaps feed magic through her at her wrist?”

“Will magic flow through a body?” sent Elpis, her uncertainty plain.

“Charis and the elder drew magic often, perhaps you can feed magic to Rhea or perhaps she could draw magic from you?”

Elpis placed the gem in Rhea’s hand the glove removed. Once grasped, she placed her hand amongst the warm furs covering her chest. Elpis’ hand followed grasping her wrist and trying to feed Rhea magic.

“The magic fills me without purpose sister, Charis’ moved within me with design and direction,” sent Rhea.

“Touch my hand and try to draw magic from me.”

Rhea giggled slightly. “I tucked the gem firmly between my breasts and now my hand is free, like magic.”

Rhea grabbed Elpis by her wrist and failed to draw any magic. “What is the source of your magic sister?”

“Argh, mm, well you see … my right breast.”

Rhea’s giggle on this occasion, sultry. “Well, may I?”

Elpis nodded and then realised Rhea wouldn’t see her agreement. “Yes.”

Eagerly Rhea’s hands dived amongst Elpis’ clothing and furs, worming her hand in and amongst the layers until soft flesh.

“The other right breast sister.”

Rhea giggled. “Apologies sister, so difficult to see in the dark, you know.”

After a moment’s thought and further groping by Rhea, Elpis realised something. “You aren’t seeing, you are feeling you cheeky Seer … mmm.”

Elpis’ nipple reacting to Rhea’s vigorous searching, hardening and despite the cold eliciting a shiver of pleasure.

A sharp squeak, distinct in the night air and swiftly carried away by the chilled breeze, indicated success.

“Rhea needed to draw magic from me, Charis’ previous healing, albeit meagre provided Rhea with the sensitivity required and me some pleasure as she needed to grasp my breast!” sent Elpis.

Helice quietly, inwardly smiled. The honesty in the humour striking her precisely in her gut of sorrow, momentarily lifting her spirits. She romanced the idea Elpis and Rhea must share a simple happy co-existence, correct or not she decided as far as she was concerned, the absolute truth.

With the assistance of Rhea and Elpis, Helice lifted Charis into the back of the Inn’s small cart.

“We scavenged a few furs and blankets, although not many,” sent Rhea as the three sisters quickly wrapped Charis as best they could. Rhea and Elpis pulled the cart, Helice content to push, a single-minded activity relying on others to determine direction and avoid danger.

“We go into the village and then wide around to the eastern side of the Keep, firstly we need to hide behind this abandoned cottage and ensure none on the Keep Wall spotted us,” sent Elpis.

Helice hung on the side of the wagon, draped like a wet rag, drained of all energy and glad to be in the company of fellow Seers. The feeling not one of snobbery, more the accustomed to and like-minded and holding to the same hope as her, Charis would recover and return.

“No hue and cry, no torches or lanterns, we go sister.”

After a bell of pushing, Helice refrained from shedding any furs or clothes, her laboured breath easily defined after contacting the cold breeze swirling about them and the village.

“So, you know where Raisa is?” sent Helice.

“Not exactly, to me, in daylight it looks like a burnt-out pyre site, but an elven friend of Charis assured me it was more than that. All I know is, when placed there Raisa disappeared, so it definitely is not what it seems,” sent Rhea in reply.

While Elpis and Rhea wanted to steer the cart close to the Keep Walls to squeeze every bit of protection they could from the wind, they decided the option unwise, the ground deliberately steeped and rough. Also, avoiding the small chance of a single curious guard, torch to hand, stretching his limbs, patrolling the wall and spying a lonely cart. Almost certain to raise the alarm due to the unusual sight close to the walls and then awkward questions. Therefore, they made for the far side of the trail, winding their way passed abandoned cottages, sheltering from the wind chill as best they could.

The outskirts of the village greeted them abruptly. The last cottage on the very edge abandoned, walls broken down and roofless. Their path now rough uneven ground, depressions and drops camouflaged by snow, the wind not idle, flowing strong and full force from the mountains the Keep Wall clear and behind them.

“Helice we are returning to the last cottage, we need rest before the final effort,” sent Elpis.

Helice didn’t reply. Physically and mentally exhausted, the days and nights caring for Charis catching up with her.

The three sisters struggled to circle the cart about, trudging step by step, although once in retreat the wind encouraged them, chastised them even. They dragged the cart back to the last cottage, craving rest and the meagre protection from the wind and cold. Exhausted, unspoken and unthought they understood the cart needed to reach the destination before dawn as none of them wish to explain their presence on the wild forest side of the Keep.

Half a bell passed, and they shared a desperate look and without a word stood. Helice checked Charis and their Mistress, of all of them seemed at peace. They pulled and pushed the cart into the full fury of the wind and snow, their limbs aching filling with tiredness after several snow sinking steps. Elpis and Rhea heads down, pulled the cart, while Helice pushed. Rhea telling her sisters the Keep Wall guided her.

The gentle incline of the ground accelerated, Elpis and Helice caught on quickly due to the effort required; they finally reached the pyre mound. The remaining distance dearly tested their last strength. Helice needed to rest a few heartbeats before she felt confident enough to carry Charis from the cart. Rhea from one side and Elpis from the other lifted Charis toward Helice. Without any delay Charis landed in Helice’s arms and at Rhea’s direction Helice struggled towards the unknown.

As Helice approached, the pyre mound transformed from a dead burnt out black stain to a shimmer of light. Stepping closer the light pinpoints joined and blazed all the more. The howling wind and cruel cold gone. As Helice bent down to place Charis on the mound, accepting her Mistress would then disappear, she hesitated; drinking in the promise of what awaited Charis.

“Helice, are you …”

Rhea’s Seer Link chopped off, immediate, sudden. Rhea and Elpis grabbed for each other, eyes wide, slowly swivelling their heads in the direction of the mound, clearly seeing through the previous location of Helice and Charis. Rhea expected the disappearance, the Elven Lord with Raisa in his arms vanished upon the pyre mound, shortly after he returned, Helice didn’t.

“I should have mentioned to Helice the Elven Lord returned and perhaps no others couldn't,” sent Rhea.

“They are a pair and hopefully Raisa will welcome them and rejoice,” sent Elpis, reaching her arm around Rhea.

Rhea absent, deep in thought, wondering in this moment if she regretted not following her sister.

--- (Farstay 12th Day of Dark Month)

For a night Nysa, Kyra and Otonia waited patiently for Helice’s return to Farstay. Together they were to advise the Priest that Helice and Charis were gone, Charis’ health worsening in the cold of the cottage. Then, with arrangements made and finalised Helice would return them to Hillperch via the Shrine of Saph, quick and easy. Finally rid of the cold and their pokey cottage.

“Go inform the Priest, I will burn a bed so we can be warm at least this night,” growled Otonia. She couldn’t decide between being upset or concerned about Helice.

Nysa and Kyra stole further blankets from the condemned bed adding to their already impressive number of layers of clothes and furs; in danger of not being able to move. They pushed out of the cottage and into the howl of the chilling wind, apparently someone, somewhere decided to afflict Farstay with more wind and snow. The wind excited, gusting snow on invisible wings as well as picking up loose snow from the ground plastering their faces despite their efforts. Struggling to climb cross the low wall, they fell over and rolled across the crest, falling off, landing inside the village. Their hoped-for reprieve, denied, the weather still foul within the Circle of Protection! Struggling, each step a worthy effort, the two non-descript shapes made a direct line towards the Village Church suffering the wind hurled snow and ice.

Making for the church eave both sisters crowded against the door for relief and once they caught their breath, knocked heavily. After several hammerings, the last few requiring Nysa to use the pommel of her sword, the door finally cracked opened.

“What is so urgent?” asked a boy, lightly wrapped in clothes.

“We need to talk to the Priest, now!” seethed Nysa, her patience exhausted by the wait for Helice and the torturous trek to the Church, including the wait at this very door.

“I will fetch him if you leave your swords by the door and walk clear of them.” His voice even, immune to Nysa’s intimidation, although cautious of her anger.

Both Warrior Sisters pushed past the door and begrudgingly propped their swords beside the door as required and followed the boy halfway into the church. The boy propped and looked over his shoulder, throwing a hand, palm open at them. He then raced off to the back of the Church and through a door, which slammed shut behind him. Even with the wind blasting, the church structure refused to move or even groan; standing defiant. Their cottage in comparison very poor lodgings indeed. Nysa and Kyra dropped off some of their layers, the church immune to the wind and therefore the cold bearable within the protective walls.

A thinned dishevelled mass of ill-fitting clothes shuffled towards them. His black woollen robe draped across his frame, the excess cloth billowing. His face gaunt and eyes sunken, his bushy black beard unkept, matching his wild hair. Where before they met a Priest of dedication, although lowly, now before them stood a fidgeting, mumbling charlatan. His eyes wandered as he spoke. His fingers entwined unless otherwise busy darting away momentarily to scratch his unrulily hair or random spots on his body. The cloth of his clothes sinking drastically under his enquiring fingers before finding flesh.

“I have been busy, yes, very busy. Only because of your gracious gift, yes, those wonderful tomes do I feel obliged to break my study of them to meet you. Every heartbeat I am away from them delays your request, so please state your business quickly.”

The boy, plainly dressed in a white one-piece chemise hovered around him, offering him dried fruits and meats, the occasional piece of cheese, picking up any drops and trying to offer them up again. Somewhere in this display of persistence small cups of water were presented and promptly drained, the Priest suddenly aware of his thirst.

The boy didn’t extend his hospitality any further.

“When we last met, you were stymied and disconcerted with your … progress?” said Nysa.

“Oh yes, days ago now. Silly me, so obvious afterwards of course. Then though, very sad.”

Nysa and Kyra waited, meal finished and now a towel bath began, although the Priest stared at a particular corner of the church ceiling. Then as suddenly remembered to scratch his black bushy beard.

“What was obvious Priest?” petitioned Nysa.

The Priest’s head snapped around, his eyes examining Nysa and then Kyra.

“Spies, you can’t be too careful, I remember you though, yes, you gave me the volumes of Judge’s words, so you can’t be spies! That only stands to reason.” His mouth opened into a wide toothy smile, which then snapped shut.

The Priest slowly swivelled his head one way and then the other. “The volumes reveal themselves to the reader following their strengths. My next volume wasn’t the rest of volume two! Ha! Judge knew, he is wise to know his Priest and chose the middle of volume four! Then volume six, no, perhaps eight, so long ago …”

Nysa examined the “show” before her, losing faith in the Village Priest with every spoken word and random movement, although admitting for someone resigned to failure to then actually find the answer to the puzzle and continue to the point of exhaustion and starvation revealed a dedicated fanaticism. Kyra not quite as admiring decided the time right to inform the Priest.

“Priest I know you are dedicated and are studying to assist our Mistress. We wish to advise our Mistress has, at perilous risk, been relocated. The cottage harmful to her health and her condition deteriorating. We hope to return with her when you have the skills to assist. We will take our leave.”

“Wait!” His voice commanding, expressing a clear sane harshness, which momentarily startled the boy.

Nysa and Kyra turned back to look at him, almost compelled to obey. He approached Nysa and as his skeletal hand reached for Nysa, she prepared, dagger to hand. The Priest gripped Nysa by her chin and turned her head, first left and then right.

“The Shield you carry on your back has Judge’s Symbol on it, most unusual. Are you an Aspirant or an Initiate?” he asked, his eyes wandering independent of each other.

Nysa confused, the Priest knew they wielded shields with Judge’s Symbol and much more. Did Judge enlighten him, and only now did he examine deeply and truly?

“An Aspirant. The High Priests of my Temple did not consider I would ever be worthy to be an Initiate, so my hope of being a Judge Knight would never be. So, I am now dedicated to my Mistress, who bestowed without any authority to do so, Judge Knight Adept upon me and I now serve Judge as his loyal servant, proud to display his symbol and hold to his teachings.”

Nysa repeated her truth, each telling easier and while the shame of being rejected by her Temple tore at her being, her fealty and service to Charis granted her a purpose while still being able to serve and worship her God.

Nysa's honest truth fortifying. The Priest’s words lucid and purposeful, now a changed man. “Do you know how a Judge Knight is ordained Adept?”

Nysa answered as taught by her Temple. “The closest to perfection of the Initiates would be ordained when the current Judge Knight died. The Initiate served as the Judge Knight’s second so they could be at his side to help as required or be the herald that announced the Judge Knight’s death.”

The boy offered a chair to the Priest. The Priest eyed the chair and slid onto the provided perch, patted down his hair, warming into the conversation.

“Well yes and no. Consider the situation where a Judge Knight dies alone. Your understanding only considers the situation when an Initiate is on hand to take up the Sword of the fallen Judge Knight.”

The Priest’s hair fell to the left and the right as scissors clicked and sheared, deftly wielded by the boy, his subject blissfully unconcerned.

“My teachers didn’t consider the situation you describe, although I do know at my Temple, at least, there were many Initiates, although many more Aspirants. The numbers seemed to be limited by the wealth of the Temple.”

With his black hair neat and tidy, Nysa recognised within the man before her the authority of a Priest of Judge once again. The logic didn’t exist for this decision, Nysa accepted the assessment on blind faith.

“Each Judge Knight is part of a line. The line is kept by passing the sword and armour of the Judge Knight to his successor. There can only be twenty-one lines. Before you ask why, it isn’t explained, although each Dukedom is assigned one line.”

The boy attacked the Priest’ beard next, a tricky proposition when your subject spoke.

“So where are the other twenty Dukedoms let alone Judge Knights?” asked Nysa calmly.

“That is a good question and one I can’t answer as I have lived most of my life in this village after being ordained a Priest. What I do know is the current Dukedom was smaller than it is now, it grew as each successive Duke occupied uncontested nearby land. There weren’t villages as far from the City as Farstay is now for instance.” The Priest let that information sink in a little and when Nysa face brighten a little he continued. The boy making a great deal of progress on his beard during the respite.

“I have learnt an important ceremony in my readings, one thought never lost and yet now I am certain of the truth I tell you, the version they practice in the City is false and therefore every Judge Knight ordained and blessed by the High Priest performing the rite false also.”

The Priest raised both his hands high in celebration. “You my dear, since I see clearer now then any time previous, are worthy to be ordained a Judge Knight, your inner glow strong and resolute. Are you willing to accept this sacred duty?”

Kyra reacted first crashing into Nysa, yelling, hugging, kissing, twirling her until Nysa regained her senses, hugging Kyra in return and then facing the Priest on one knee.

“Why wouldn’t I be willing? I would be honoured, this is my life’s one aim, I wish to excel in the worship of Judge and be his Judgement amongst men!”

The Priest waved to invite Nysa to stand, his eyes locked upon Nysa’s excited, glowing face.

“I don’t know if the ceremony will work and if it doesn’t, I’m not sure what will become of you. Even though I consider the present ceremony to ordain a Judge Knight as chanted by the High Priest false, you must understand worship is primarily belief and faith so the words spoken, the conduct of the ceremony may not be important. If true, you must seriously consider the risks. We could break the rule of Twenty-One or the rule of one Judge Knight in each Dukedom or the consequences of not performing the ceremony properly and probably anything else I haven’t considered! I’m … also uncertain if a woman can be ordained a Judge Knight.” He finished weakly, the palms of his hands open before him.

Nysa stepped towards the Priest and grabbed both his shoulders maintaining eye contact.

“As long as you promise to burn my body upon my death on a raised bed, middle of the day, so my soul will travel to Judge, it matters not how I serve him, be it in life or death.”

Kyra hugged her warrior-sister from behind, not really knowing why, perhaps to remind her that at least one other would miss her if she died. Nysa straighten and swivelled returning her embrace, eyes meeting, exchanging a silent understanding. The Priest figured out their relationship also.

“If you wish your line to persist you will need to recruit and train your own Aspirants and Initiates, so it is good that one accompanies you now,” commented the Priest, a bushy eyebrow raised.

Kyra, motioning her head in denial found her cheeks lovingly captured and stilled within Nysa’s callused hands. Nysa’s look confirming Kyra in her new role.

“I will need to organise the village to support me while I perform the ceremony and Judge’s High Holy Day would be the ideal day, 7th Day of Light Month in Birth Season, which allows me five months to study, practice and gather materials.”

Nysa and Kyra broke their mutual gazing to observe the somewhat self-pleased Priest, smiling brightly, hands clasped in front of him.

“When Death Season clears more will travel and more talk will be shared. Do you think the secret you have a set of Judge Priest’s books will remain a secret until Light Month? Can the ceremony be performed in another month, perhaps Dark Month?” asked Nysa. She tried to keep her voice steady and controlled, she didn’t want to reveal the depth of her disappointment if forced to wait or any eagerness to be ordained sooner.

“We have guarded our faith in Judge jealously, in this, the village is absolute as it has saved us many times, especially when the Duke’s men weren’t handy to protect us. You are right in one thing though, the only persons in the village at this time are those that share our faith in Judge and perhaps a small quiet ceremony amongst the faithful, even if in Death Season would be best to keep many secrets. The ceremony relies upon the Priest contacting Judge, this is obviously easier in a month and season more favourable to him, but this doesn’t mean the ceremony can’t be performed at another time,” theologised the Priest.

A radiant smile escaped Nysa and Kyra felt her joy as they were still lightly embraced. The Priest also noticed their affection and warmly smiled removing ten years from his face. He really did let himself go while studying the tomes or perhaps his sanity returned on a more permanent basis, his wild eyes settling.

“I will make myself more presentable and modestly prepare the church with only the vital elements of the ceremony. My boy will summon the village for a middle of the day ceremony on the twenty-first day of Dark Month, so please present yourself at least one bell before in your armour, with your sword sheathed.”

Nysa chewed her lip and tightened her arm around Kyra’s waist. “You realise I am female, so if for example I die how will another be able to wear my armour? The sword would be possible I guess, but my armour?” asked Nysa.

The Priest warmly chuckled and kindly slapped Nysa on her free shoulder. “Oh, your sword and armour are for the ceremony, the true sword and armour of a Judge Knight created long ago and blessed by Judge himself and given to each line to pass down upon their death. Don’t be dismayed, from what I have seen I am not sure that the current Judge Knight of the Dukedom has such sword and armour, just a man-made version. I do assure you though what I say is true if the tomes are to be believed, Judge ordained them in the original ceremony and upon them rising they were gifted sword and armour to be held in trust and passed down their line to defend their faith and the faithful without exception. How? The tomes don’t reveal. Therefore, I suggest we have faith.”

“Therefore, what has been lost must be found,” stated Kyra.