Kara was still in her cot when the wagon started to slow. The ground became even bumpier and, peering through the curtains, she could see the caravan was coming to a halt at the side of the road. A days travel would have put them at least a third of the way to Tarwall. In two more days they would be right on the ocean. Until then, she had her friends to face. Most of the performers had their own roles to perform while the troupe was between shows. Men who had yesterday been musicians, jugglers and mummers worked as wood collectors, cooks and stable-boys. Kara, owing to her central role in her performances and - more likely - her after-hour specials was exempt from a lot of the day-to-day responsibilities of the troupe. This often earned her sideways glances and stabbing eyes from other troupe members. The flute-player who had driven her in a wagon all day merely harrumphed when she thanked him.

“Your highness!” commented a female mummer, cutting onions as Kara walked past. Kara knew one word to Turner and said mummer would be back in the hour with a split lip and an apology, but she didn’t want that.

Within a couple of hours the trail of wagons had been transformed into a vibrant campsite, filled with roaring fires, delicious smells and the sounds of old friends chatting and laughing. The atmosphere around Kara and her friends fire was markedly different. Lo’ffen still nurtured a large blue-black bruise on the side of her face, and neither Kara nor Bull had the heart to talk about what had happened. Lo’ffen broke the silence.

“He would do it, you know. He’d send you to a healer, if you asked him yourself. I don’t think he could refuse, the amount you steal for him.”

“It’s not as simple as that.” Kara protested, meekly.

“Not as simple how?”

“I don’t think any regular healer could help with this.”

Bull sat up a little, “So you do know what they are; these episodes?”

“I… I have an idea.”

“Well?” asked Lo’ffen. “Tell us.”

“I can’t,” said Kara, trying to win sympathy and stay firm at the same time, “I just can’t.”

She hated whatever it was she was doing that kept putting her in this situation. Her thoughts were drifting dangerously close to a day she didn’t want to remember. Bull scanned the surrounding campsite to ensure none were close enough to eavesdrop, then quietly he asked;

“Does this has something to do with your grandfather?”

Kara said nothing, but her face must have betrayed her. The others knew instantly the answer to Bull’s question.

Lo’ffen reassured her; “Kara, you don’t have to hide that from us. We already know.”

But you don’t know. Not everything.

“It involves my parents.”

“Involves them how?”

Kara didn’t want to say it, didn’t want to remember, but she couldn’t think of anything else to say.

One wayward thought, one unsolicited recollection and a mob of buried memories and feelings began clawing their way back up to the surface. She remembered the night of the argument, the unspeakable thing she had yearned for, just for a moment. Words she could never un-say. Running back to the wagon seemed like a blur behind crying eyes, darting past curious but unconcerned troupe members and crawling in to find her cot just where she had left it. She climbed in and threw the blanket over herself, hiding under it, sobbing into her pillow.

“I wish I could…” Kara stopped herself.

It took at least an hour and quite a few more tears, but eventually sleep – real sleep – did come.

In conclusion, it is the firm belief of the author that the convalescing spells performed through divine magic could, with enough study, be reinvented in arcane magic. Since as far back as the oldest records, almost all healing has been performed with divine magic, by clerics being gifted power by their god or goddess. I believe this can change.

Thus far I have been unable to replicate the healing performed by clerics. Experiments casting arcane magical spells of my own design unto injured or sick individuals have been met with mixed results. As of the time of this writing I have been banished from four temples, seven villages and one small city. This, I believe, is a small setback and those people’s livelihoods a small price to pay for the advancement of arcane healing.

The Arcane Alternative to Divine Healing – Ralin Edras

The next day passed without much of a word from anyone. Kara only emerged from her cot in the wagon to foray for breakfast and supper; quickly fetching something to eat and taking it back into the wagon with her. On the third day of the journey, not long after the morning meal, the wagon came to a halt. Shortly after Lo’ffen stuck her head inside.

“Hey.” Her voice was as soothing as Kara had ever heard it. “There was an adventuring party riding beside us, Turner struck up a conversation and apparently one of them is a healer. A cleric, actually. Turner has offered to pay for him to see you.”

Kara was acutely aware of her red eyes and matted hair.

“Will he see me in here?”

“I think that’s the plan. Turner wants to keep the caravan moving.”

“Will you help me clean up?”

Lo’ffen only smiled. “Of course.”

The caravan was moving again soon and a not-insignificant amount of hair-brushing and face-washing later, Lo’ffen hopped out the back and a man hopped in. He didn’t look much like other men Kara knew. His hair was all messy brown curls, and his face seemed hard where it wasn’t covered in thick beard.

Rough, but handsome.

“My name is Shane. It is a pleasure to meet you, Kara?”

He sounds different, too. I can’t place that accent...

“Happy to meet you too, stranger” she smiled.

“I understand you are suffering bouts of tiredness. I will seek out the cause and, Sólar willing, I can cure you of it.”

It’s not going to be that simple.

Kara had sought out healers for herself in the past, before she found the troupe. All had failed. Because there is nothing to heal. That had taken a while to figure out. No healer could cure her of being what she was any more than they could cure Lo’ffen of being an elf, or cure Bull of being human. Simply put, there was nothing broken to fix. Still, this one seems nice enough. Kara decided to strike up a conversation.

“You don’t look like most Aren folk, Shane.”

“Neither do you, Kara.”

His eyes lingered on her near-white hair for a moment, then fell to her grey eyes. There was a smile – slight but genuine – under his bearded face. Kara felt her cheeks flush.

“Well, I’m not from around here, if that’s what you mean” he added.

“Where do you hail from, Shane?”

Why did I say his name again?

The smile came back under his beard. “The north of the kingdom. A small town near Farcombe to be exact.”

“Oh. You’re a long way from home.” Shane.

“I’m on a mission. From Sólar.”

Sólar was, without a doubt, the most commonly worshipped deity on the continent. If a village had but one shrine, it would be to him. Depicted as a lion’s head, he was believed by many to be responsible for the warmth and light of the sun itself.

“My friend told me you rode with an adventuring party. Was that Sólar’s idea or yours?”

Shane laughed. It was a deep laugh, like a rumble, but Kara liked it very much. “That was mine. Many clerics of Sólar will spend some time travelling; to heal and to perform good works. The party I ride with are all good people. I believe I can honour Sólar by aiding them. And healing you.”

“Oh, right. Of course.” Kara’s cheeks felt warm and, suddenly, she didn’t know where to put her hands. “Do you want me to…”

“If you would lie in the cot.”

Kara knew clerics of different deities followed different practices when healing. She remembered Lo’ffen telling her of clerics of a god some followed half a world away in the land of Vanara, and the ceremonies they supposedly performed. Thinking about that, and Shane, she blushed deeper. Once she was laying comfortably; Shane held his hands over her and intoned a short prayer, his deep voice so quiet her ears could only isolate a couple of words. Once the prayer was finished, he hesitated a moment.

There it is.

As quickly as he stopped, he started again, muttering divine words of healing in low, rumbling tones. Those came to an end to, and for the first time since their encounter began he was the one who seemed unsure how to proceed.

“I’m sorry, Kara. Your body is tremendously tired, I can sense that for a certainty. But I can find no ailment within you.”

Thought so.

“That’s quite alright. I’m sure you did your best.”

Shane paused for a moment, pondering something.

“Your friend, the elf, told me these sudden episodes are a repeating phenomenon. Is this true?”

“I,” Kara voice caught in her throat. “It is.”

“I cannot heal you of this, Kara, but I can offer my advice. Find the cause and, whatever it is – be it food or drink or labour – cut it out from your life. You’ll be happier that way.”

For a moment Kara stared back at the man.

“Thank you” she said finally.

Abruptly Shane stood. “I must be going. My companions will wish to be keep a faster pace than this caravan. I should not delay them any further.”

“Oh, I see.”

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Kara.”

With that he ducked out of the wagon and left her sitting up in her cot. Kara put hands to her cheeks and felt the warmth.

Gods, have I been blushing this entire time?

Quickly she rose and made her own way to the back of the wagon. Looking out she saw Shane, already mounted atop a stalwart bay gelding and riding by accompanied by his party.

Aside from two men, no two of them were of the same folk, and none the same profession judging by their gear. A more odd collection of travellers I have never seen. Kara wished she could be going with them. Soon after Shane left Lo’ffen was clambering into the back of the wagon and asking how it went. The flute-player driving the wagon cursed something under his breath, but the two of them chose to ignore him.

In this edition of my collection of maps I have also decided to include the locations of shrines to Via, the God of Travellers. Most maps do not, and I agree he is by no means a commonly worshipped deity. But for many, like myself, who find ourselves on the road more often than most Via can come as a strong source of comfort, whether we are hopelessly lost or taking the oft-repeated steps of a familiar journey.

Addendum – Maps of Londor – Terra Goodwyn

Later in the day the wagon came to an unexpected stop. Peering outside, Kara noted that the wagons in front and behind were stopping also, just to the side of the road. There was only one reason the entire caravan would come to a stop that didn’t involve Turner screaming; they had come across a shrine to Via. The God of the Crossroads had a special place in the heart of many frequent travellers, and it was unsurprising that most of the troupe would say a quick prayer to him whenever they chanced upon a shrine. Kara was no exception. She always considered it comforting, the notion someone was watching and gently nudging her onto the right path. Lo’ffen didn’t share in that comfort – she was a devoted follower of Atura, the Goddess of nature and beauty that most elves followed – but she understood Kara’s fondness for a being that helps people find where they’re going.

Kara walked the line of wagons, and soon found herself in a queue of sorts with troupe members to her fore and aft. The sun was past its zenith, and the alders, oaks and beeches provided a refreshing shade from the heat of summer. Leaning idly against a wagon of chipped blue paint she saw Turner, on horseback, a little ways away from the shrine. He was another that didn’t share in Kara’s practice, only he was less understanding. He looked to be stopped there by happenstance, but at every shrine to Via he always waited exactly where he could be seen while one was praying to Via, doing his best to look impatient. He wouldn’t dare speak out against the God of the Crossroads; even with his stranglehold over the troupe he wouldn’t risk forcing members to choose between him and Via. Besides, only a fool stood between a follower and their favoured deity, and not for fear of the wrath of the follower. But if he could hurry them a little, he would.

Even if he looks an idiot doing it.

Not before long, it was Kara’s turn. The shrine itself was a simple thing; a stocky wooden figure, about half as tall as a person, carved and painted – not recently – to resemble a stranger. A small awning had been assembled to cover the figure, to protect it from the worst of the sun and the elements. It was an odd notion, a statue made to look like a stranger, but that was the only way it could be described; someone Kara had never met before. Accordingly, no two statues of Via looked quite the same, and so recognising one was something of a skill. Still, Kara was confident she could pick one out of a crowd. Bull had told her The Stranger on the Path was another name Via went by, hence a stranger being their most common depiction. Bull also claimed to have met Via once. It was a story he loved to tell, but in Kara’s experience half of the troupe had a similar tale. It seemed odd to her that someone could ask for directions, receive directions and then attest the whole experience divine intervention. She did like Bull’s story, though.

Kara sat cross-legged in front of the statue, pulled a blade of grass from beside her and twiddled it whilst she spoke.

“Hello Via, it’s me Kara. I’m going to Tarwall now. With the troupe.”

That was always how Kara started her conversations with Via; an introduction followed by where she was going.

“I…” Kara hesitated. “I know directions are more your speciality, but does anyone ever ask you where they should be going?”

Kara looked to the figure. The paint looked in poorer condition up close than it did from the queue, and the awning didn’t fare much better.

“I feel like I’m on a path. Not to Tarwall I mean. You know how every life is a journey?”

She chuckled to herself.

“Sorry, of course you do. I feel like I’m on this path, but I don’t think it’s the right one. I don’t know where it goes, but I have a bad feeling about it.”

Kara imagined herself at forty, still with the troupe and still stealing at Turner’s behest. She swiftly buried that thought, but not before it caused her to shudder.

“Anyway, if you have any directions for me, I’d really appreciate them. Thanks.”

Kara smiled to her divine friend, stood, brushed herself off, and moved to the side. She had been near the back of the queue, and at the very back several men from the troupe stood with buckets of paint and brushes, and spare planks of wood and hammers. Turner groaned audibly at the sight of them, but said nothing. If the troupe decided Via’s shrine was in need of tending to, then tend to it they would. Any protests on his part would only delay the caravan further. Kara decided to stay and watch, it was always fun to see the difference it made when the troupe restored one of Via’s shrines.