It turned into an extremely busy day.

Patients showed up for Narcissa in such a steady stream that she began to leave more and more of the actual treatment—cleaning and covering shallow sores and wounds, measuring out medicines—to Lysandra. Tyrel was glad they'd discussed the question of when to halt for the day. Human eyes would begin to strain to perceive necessary details after dusk, and what oil they had was better used for food. She had agreed, with mixed feelings, to stop seeing patients when the natural light dropped significantly. Otherwise, it wasn't impossible the line would continue right through the night.

Kaveri commandeered everything they had that was fire-safe and not already in use to serve, and used it to make sure individual ingredients were cooked before being added, since the drain on the soup pot never slowed.

More than once, would-be thieves tried to slip onto the lot, headed for the cart or the wagon, which led to Tyrel and Kieran and Madoc stationing themselves in a loose triangle, taking turns patrolling the grounds for anything they might miss from there.

Mirren had less and less time to watch for intruders of any size. Keeping those waiting to see Narcissa distracted considerably reduced the squabbling over who was next, and it was quickly apparent that the lack of pets had left a deep longing in many. It was, Tyrel thought, a good thing she was more resilient than a real cat of that size, since treatment ranged from reverential gentleness to rather heavy-handed enthusiasm. She tolerated it all and made certain no one felt ignored. At busier moments, Kieran stepped in to offer himself as well, and Tyrel saw him standing patiently still while a small child steadied itself on its feet by clutching a double handful of thick frosted fur.

Tyrel did find a moment to speak to each about the subject of Onyeka, though it took him until past noon to do so. Lysandra and Narcissa had a brief and unequivocal response: Aithre would not have suggested it without good reason, and they had no reason to believe she meant them ill beneath her smiles, so ignoring it would be foolish. No one objected to the idea, though Kieran wanted to do it after moonrise—which, Tyrel had to admit, had a certain logic to it. It would be easier to offer proof, and gave them more flexibility.

Before Tyrel could escape to follow Lysandra's directions to the shop and take Onyeka an invitation to join them, the indignant female messenger had reappeared, followed by a trio of men each pushing a hand-cart. Those men hadn't been starving lately either, not with muscles like that under their oversized, shabby clothing. The carts held food. A generous quantity of it, at that, in the form of grain and dried fruit and dried vegetables, and a limited amount of salted meat.

That, Tyrel thought drily, wasn't coincidence. In its current form, much of this could have kept for several years with minimal loss. This was food that had been put away knowing that sooner or later, catastrophe would strike.

Narcissa, emerging from her tent when notified, had sighed, her expression a mixture of relief and exasperation as she listened to the messenger repeat the request for her to visit.

“Tell your mistress that she has my sincere gratitude—the demand has been straining our supplies greatly. Unfortunately, I will not be able to pay her a visit today.” She held up a hand, silencing a protest, and turned it into a gesture that encompassed those townspeople nearby. “This is not the largest number I have found outside my tent today. The hurts they bring are, for the most part, not immediately life-threatening, but a few could be if not treated. Others are, or could potentially become, disabling. The rest are unpleasant, uncomfortable, inconvenient, and may be frightening. Many are children. Shall I tell them that I must leave them so I can sit in luxury discussing literature and the joys and trials of travel with your mistress? Would you care to do so?” The messenger, lips pressed tightly together, said nothing. “I expect to be exhausted by dusk, when it will become more difficult to see clearly and make an adequate diagnosis, yet I have already promised my time in another matter, and it would be disrespectful and rude to break such a promise. Tomorrow, when I stop working at dusk, I will do what I can to make myself presentable for polite society, and I will come to her house, as I promised, both because I keep my promises and because I appreciate her generosity. I have no wish to insult her, and I hope she will understand and this will be acceptable to her.”

“I will tell her, my lady.”

“Thank you.”

The messenger wasn't even off the lot before Narcissa looked at Kaveri. “Use it. If she's offended, well, what is she to do, try to reclaim it after it's been eaten? Feed these people.” Her forehead furrowed in thought. “If there is anything you can put together that Tyrel could take as a gift for Ejiro's Bride, I think that would both be kind and help encourage Onyeka to view us kindly.”

Kaveri nodded. “I'll see what I can do quickly, even if I have to get back into whatever flour we have left. 'Rel, can you wait a bit?”

“Whenever you want,” Tyrel said. “I doubt Onyeka has a tight social schedule that would make a late invitation hard to keep.”

“I need to get back to work,” Narcissa said, re-pinning a lock of midnight hair that had dared to escape, and turned back to her tent.

Lirit waxing towards full in a few days or not, Tyrel was sure she honestly would be exhausted by dusk—and equally sure that she would keep going as long as she could stay on her feet, if not stopped.

Before long, Kaveri laid out four rounds of pan-bread on a clean square of cloth from the cart, spread on two of them some thick mixture she'd been concocting while the bread cooked, and put the remaining rounds on top. She presented the whole bundle to Tyrel.

“Pass on my respects to both Ejiro and his Bride along with our lady's, please?”

That statement, quite audible, halted what had looked to Tyrel like incipient protests. Not all looked entirely happy, he heard at least one grumbling under his breath about wasting food on the source of the problem, but no one made any overt complaints.

Nonetheless, he checked—and made a show of checking—that he had both katars and his small visible dagger in place. Making sure his throwing knives and dagger were at his back, hidden, he did more surreptitiously. It wouldn't actually have surprised him much, had someone attacked him for the food he was carrying. As it was, he figured it would come down to a race between desperation whipping the locals into a mob that would storm the camp, and completing their job and escaping intact with the jennies, Ander, and the gear they were pulling. Possessions complicated things. Although, he had to admit, they'd be doing far less good in Ilek without those possessions.

And he couldn't deny that it was a pleasant luxury to be able to drowse away Talir's dark in the safety of the wagon, with adequate food in reach and no need to hurry back into activity.

The streets, as they always did, looked quite different in daylight. Finding the temple wasn't difficult, though, and from there, finding Onyeka's home took only a moment.

He knocked, and waited, wondering whether Onyeka had rigged something up that would allow her to see without being seen.

Finally, the door cracked open. “Yes?”

“My lady Narcissa sent me. She hopes you and your children can join her for a late meal, at moonrise, once she has finished seeing patients for the day. Nothing as fresh as duck and vegetables, unfortunately, but Kaveri is resourceful. And she sends a gift for Ejiro's Bride, which she suggested I give to you to be certain she gets it.”

She opened the door wider, though still blocking access with her own body. “Is there something she expects in return? No, it doesn't matter, food will buy anything in Ilek these days. It's thoughtful of her to remember Abena. The Bride.”

“She pays respect where it's due.”

“Huh.” She accepted the wrapped package, and regarded it without expression for a moment. “An unexpected donation of food a few months ago smelled wrong. She only had a little, but it made her very ill. It may have been a genuine accident, but I doubt it.”

“Lady Onyeka,” Tyrel said, pitching his voice very low so it wouldn't carry, “if my lady wanted someone dead, she wouldn't bother with poison. She'd send me, in the night, and that someone would never know I was there and would not wake. No disturbance, too quick for suffering, and no question of success or failure or the wrong target. But she values life too highly to do so casually, and she honours the earthborn and their favoured ones.” It was a calculated risk, but they did intend to tell her everything anyway.

“I don't find that much of a surprise.” He saw nothing suggesting that she found it alarming either. “I think it's unlikely your lady would wish Abena any harm, after being kind to her as she was, and knowing the poor girl is no threat to anyone.”

“Poison as a weapon does sound familiar, however. We might have a common enemy.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Might we, now? I expect this will be an interesting meal, then. Thank you, and I'll be there. And I'll take this to the temple.”

Tyrel inclined his head respectfully, and backed up a couple of steps before turning around.

Back at the campsite, he found Kieran pacing warily along one stretch of the lot frontage, his attention fixed on a couple of underfed adolescent boys.

Tyrel moved up behind them quietly, and said, “The healer will see anyone, you know.”

They both started and spun around, grabbing for what he figured were weapons under the oversized shirts. He just smiled at them, arms crossed, making no move towards his own more formidable and quite visible weapons. Drawing a blade on these children would be outright murder, even though one was near his height and one a little taller already.

“She won't tell anyone else, and she's very good. And people who come to see her get a cup of soup without having to start a fight they can't win. But I think maybe, even if you don't need the healer, we could spare a bit of soup. I'm not going to make promises about the taste, mind you.” He stepped between them and crossed the street, glancing back over his shoulder. “Coming?”

They came, cautious as wild things, and devoured the soup hungrily.

Mid-afternoon, a trio of women approached, each of them carrying a basket. When they set them down near the fire, they rattled loudly.

“We noticed,” one said, rather shyly, “people are sharing cups and bowls. Feeding so many, we thought, isn't what you'd expect.”

“So we went 'round to friends,” another said. “And brought you these.”

Kaveri peeked into the nearest basket, and the smile she turned on the women was pure relief. “Thank you so much! We don't travel with enough dishes to keep up with this. This will make everything much easier! Is there a way we can get them back to you later?”

“Leave them at the temple,” the first suggested. “They'll get back home. I don't know if you know how much of a difference your lady is making, but this is a small thing in return.”

The random collection of vessels—glass, pottery, metal—made it possible, at least, to ensure that everyone had their own and that the vessels were cleaned between uses. Tyrel saw, after one circuit of the lot, a pair of girls of washing cups and bowls, the younger of the two chattering cheerfully to Kaveri while she splashed around, while a boy about their age lugged another pail of water from the well, and a much smaller child played with Mirren beside them. They didn't stay long. Nor did the woman whose short curly hair was entirely white and whose dark wrinkled hands were quick and skillful with a knife as she helped Kaveri cut up ingredients. A quartet of adolescents, including the two boys he'd urged over to eat, had a low-voiced but rather intense conversation with a larger and slightly older group with a belligerent air about them; Tyrel kept an eye on the confrontation, but the larger group left, and the quartet lingered conspicuously in the area for some time after.

It wasn't anything like a festive atmosphere, nor did it generally involve what he'd normally call high spirits... but there was something hard to define that changed, a subtle sort of loosening, like finally drawing a breath after struggling for air. It didn't mean the next breath would be there, but this one was important right now. People, being people, responded to it in their own ways, some by visiting without fuss to get what they needed and leaving immediately to let Narcissa and her people deal with others, some by wanting to contribute something. It was inevitable that there would be some who were considering how to use Narcissa or her resources to their own ends, but other than sporadic attempts by stealth to rob them, no one was quite that brave yet. It was intriguing, he had to admit. Narcissa and Lysandra, when they had a moment, encouraged those who wanted to help, and told him and Kaveri quietly that a feeling of connection, even briefly, was a step towards healing shattered spirits.

As the sun crossed the horizon, Tyrel and Kaveri began to gently explain to new arrivals that it would soon be too dark for the healer to see properly, and she needed to rest, and she'd begin again after sunrise. There was less grumbling than Tyrel expected.

Finally, as the cooler comfort of dusk settled over them, they were alone.

They shook out the blankets and rugs and spread them a short way from the fire, shadowed by the bulk of tents and wagon and cart.

Narcissa sank down heavily. “Do you suppose Onyeka will particularly mind if I don't look quite respectable at the moment?”

“You always look respectable,” Kaveri told her. “Weren't you the one who said that a great lady isn't afraid to get her hands dirty, and that's part of what makes her great?”

She did look less elegant and controlled than usual, however. Her hair was determined to straggle loose from its pins and combs, and despite washing her hands repeatedly, several medicines had left stains on her olive skin—to say nothing of the stains from medicines and blood and other things on her dress, though that hardly mattered since it was moonspun. Lysandra was in a similar state.

“I don't believe she'll care much,” Lysandra said. “We've all worked hard all day, without a rest or anything to eat, since Aithre left. Which feels like it happened days ago. Onyeka doesn't seem likely to be unable to appreciate that or to have unreasonable expectations. At least, I hope so. Until after Meyar rises, I very simply do not have the energy to wash up thoroughly and change my clothes and redo my hair.”

“I think it's very likely,” Kaveri said, “that working hard is something she respects.”

“It's discourteous to a guest, to not make an effort,” Narcissa said meditatively. “It is, however, also discourteous to a guest to put them in an awkward position—such as making a dramatic apology of being less than well-dressed, when one's guest has no choice save whatever she still has available. Best, I think, to say nothing of it.”

Kieran's ears perked, and he whuffed softly, his attention on the road. Everything about his body language was welcoming, not warning.

Narcissa smiled and offered a hand. “Come join us,” she said in the local language.

Small Nechi and her brother Enitan made for the group without hesitation—or possibly for Mirren and Kieran, who bore with the energetic greetings indulgently.

Onyeka settled herself on a rug, regarding the quartet measuringly. “You look tired.”

“It has been quite a long and busy and full day,” Narcissa said, and couldn't entirely keep the weariness from her tone.

“So I've heard. There's talk of little else in this part of the town. Some are saying you must have been sent by some god or another that has taken pity on Ilek.”

“Had we been sent by a god,” Lysandra muttered, “we'd have arrived with several farm wagons full of food, and more on the way.”

“Sent by, no,” Narcissa said. “Connected to, yes. We've been told by a very reliable source that the nearest earthborn fear for Ejiro, and are waiting to help him, as soon as they know their actions will not lead to further harm to him. Other gods are deeply concerned as well.”

Onyeka closed her eyes briefly and whispered something under her breath. “I knew he was alive still, the land hasn't died, but I've been so afraid for him...”

“That sounds,” Lysandra said gently, “like a more personal wish than simply caring about your home.”

Onyeka opened her eyes, and smiled, though Tyrel thought he saw sadness as well. “It is. Do you think Ejiro's Bride is sacrificed at the end of her term in the temple? Every seven years, Ilek celebrates the marriage of Ejiro's new Bride, as her predecessor steps down. Soon after, Ejiro chooses among Ilek's girl-children, and the Bride-to-be spends the next seven years learning her upcoming responsibilities from her predecessors.”

Well, that explains quite a lot.

“Ejiro's former Brides are much sought after as wives, since Ejiro's blessing lingers as long as we stay within his domain, and Ejiro's Brides are famous for beauty and intelligence and charisma—though you'd not know it by any of us now. Ejiro's spirit-creatures remain fond of us and are often around, and we can always see them even though others rarely do. Recently, since those still alive have been weakened badly and are afraid, they have been hiding in our houses. Why are the other earthborn waiting? Are they that afraid of the others like you?”

“Pardon me?” Narcissa said, caught completely off-guard, which was something Tyrel thought he'd remember. Kieran even stopped in his careful game of tag with Enitan to look at the woman in surprise.

Onyeka made a dismissive gesture. “After seven years as the chosen favourite of an earthborn, do you think I can't see what's in front of me? You're like them, and yet, you're entirely different. They'd never waste time even visiting the temple unless they had an ulterior motive, and they wouldn't leave an offering or be kind to Abena. They've certainly shown no compassion for anyone in Ilek. They've done something, haven't they? Are the others afraid they'll be attacked too?”

Lysandra burst out laughing, then pressed her fingers over her mouth. “I'm sorry. That was rude. I'm not laughing at you, or the situation. We were advised to tell you everything. I think there might be less we need to tell than we thought. Help yourselves to the food at will, and we'll explain, and maybe you can help us fill in the missing pieces so we can find the best way to help.”

They were still explaining when Talir rose. Tyrel lost the thread of the conversation for a moment, turning his face upwards and to the east to let her yellow light wash away the fatigue.

She was pleased, he was sure of it, but with it was a sense of caution or warning. He wondered what it was about. Not Onyeka, he thought, it didn't feel that immediate or focused.

He shook himself free of it for the moment, and reoriented on Onyeka, who was watching him warily.

“There's nothing to be afraid of,” Kaveri said reassuringly. “We... wear a bit thin, through some days, especially when there's a lot of sunlight we can't escape. Moonlight is sleep and food and water and healing all in one, when it's bright enough. The dark part of the cycle is less pleasant and we're less effective.”

“We get hungry and very tired,” Tyrel said. “And we can't change shape. All of which means we're relatively vulnerable. But with all except Meyar getting brighter, we'll be fine for a while yet.”

“You will,” Lysandra muttered.

“We are hoping, though, to get this taken care of as quickly as we can. Once they know we're here, they could attack us hoping to keep us from disrupting everything like we did in Enodia. Or they could scatter and get away with doing this. That would help Ilek immediately, but they could do this again to another earthborn.”

Onyeka shuddered. “And yet the moons don't stop them or punish them?”

“That is... complicated,” Narcissa said with a sigh. “They have no direct means of controlling our actions. They are reluctant to punish those who believed lies and have suffered already. They have given us their support and abilities the other bloodline lacks, so I think at this point, we're the moons' best hope and strategy.”

“I think so,” Tyrel agreed. “Since we are, apparently, going to be selective instead of killing them all on sight—or scent—this is going to be more complicated. But we're outsiders here, and we don't know enough about the people locally, or the power structures, or any of the more human side of this.”

“And you need to know everything possible about those others and those who work with them,” Onyeka said.

Tyrel nodded. “Exactly.”

“Ejiro is suffering and in danger. You intend to remove those responsible so he can heal. Anything within my power and knowledge is yours for the asking. For anything before my memory, we can ask the others. Ejiro's Brides find it difficult to leave Ilek and we typically have long and healthy lives—you've met at least four of the others, they wanted to decide for themselves about you. You have their support, too. Funanya is over eighty, she's seen everything, and she approves of you. But for the moment, I'll gladly tell you everything I can.”