She woke to early morning light filtering in to her through the overhanging ivy that covered the entrance to the shallow cave – barely more than an indentation in the cliff face – in which she lay curled under an animal skin of some kind. There was a bed of springy green bracken beneath her, and she could hear the sound of running water close by.

She lifted her head, shaking it to clear her thoughts; and kept still, listening. She could almost feel her ears swivelling as if she were a deer, tracking sounds outside the cave. There was the sound of early birdsong; a lark somewhere whose carol came down to her clearly, the shrill warble of some small bird, and somewhere close at hand the loud tchack! of a Jackdaw.

She remained still and closed her eyes, concentrating.

The scent on the breeze – through that of the ivy – was that of late summer or early autumn. There was a slight nip in the air....there was a mouse drinking at the edge of the tiny stream which sprang from the cliff face, there was a group of four or five rabbits nibbling the grass close by – and the watching eyes of a vixen close to them. She had cubs to feed, and was hungry. The vixen's scent came to Farinka on the breeze. Gradually the vixen recognised the Awareness of a creature other than herself, and one of her ears flicked, distracted. The rabbits froze. Farinka withdrew her Awareness from the vixen ... and opened her eyes, sitting up slowly and pulling the ... bearskin ... closely around her shoulders. She smiled briefly to herself, Aware of a 'memory' which wasn't really hers, and which hadn't been there a moment ago. She crept on hands and knees to the cave entrance, and peered out through the ivy. She caught the quick flicker of movement as the mouse made a dive for cover.

A faint smell of woodsmoke drifted up the hillside towards her. There was a sudden scuffle below as the vixen sprang out upon an unwary rabbit. The others scattered, white scuts bobbing against the grassy background. The vixen trotted off, the rabbit dangling from her jaws, her brush held stiffly behind her as a counterbalance.

Farinka crept back into the cave, picked up the smooth wooden bowl, and went out to the spring for water. The rock beneath her feet had not yet had a chance to warm in the early sun, and the spring water was very cold. She hastily splashed her face and washed her hands. The cold made her skin tingle.

Her boots – fashioned again from some animal skin; and whose soles were wearing thin – lay beside the crude backpack ...where she had left them the night before... another of those 'non-memories', she thought to herself. She pulled the boots on and tied the laces round the ankles; rolled the bearskin up next to the pack, and quickly pulled the hooded jacket – again skin – over the crudely knitted woollen vest. It felt like lambswool. Underpants, she noticed, were of some kind of creamy woven thread, and very soft. The trousers were of the same skin as the jacket ....deerskin.... and surprisingly comfortable ...they had had a long time to adjust to her shape... although they were by now a little short, barely reaching to the top of the boots. She would have to make some more soon. She pulled the polished wooden comb through her dark chestnut hair, re-plaiting it deftly into the long braid which swung down beyond her waist, and tying a soft leather band around her head, Indian-fashion, to keep the side strands from blowing into her eyes.

She searched the backpack for the last of the bread ration which was stowed in there, and buttered it with herb-flavoured bacon-dripping from a small wooden pot. She sat in the cave entrance, eating slowly, and looking around.

The sun climbed slowly up the sky; the warmth gradually crept into her. She stood, collected her things together, filled her waterskin from the spring, tied the bearskin roll to the top of the backpack, and slipped her arms and head through the straps, hefting it to adjust the balance before tightening the hip strap. She trod, quiet as a cat, down the sheep-track on the side of the hill, making for the smell of the woodsmoke.

***

A group of young children was playing a marbles game in front of the wooden shack at the eastern end of the village. One caught a glimpse of movement on the hillside, and drew the attention of the rest. It was seldom that a stranger came near, these days – the occasional travelling shaman or healer, sometimes a trader (though they usually had a packbeast with them), sometimes a solitary hunter; and sometimes an outcast from another village. Though they had never seen a Seeker, they had heard of them in bedtime stories; everything about this stranger was right for the part.

One child ran toward the village hearth, calling to his mother to come and see. The rest of the children ranged themselves across the wide pathway to intercept the stranger, their faces alight with curiosity.

Farinka had been watching the children ever since stepping over the brow of the hill; by the time she reached the village they had been joined by a small group of women. The faces of the women were less alight – though no less curious. Farinka could feel the suspicion that tinged their curiosity. The oldest of the women addressed her; a tall dark-haired, big-built woman with deep brown eyes and weather-browned skin.

"Ubiyee? War gosta?"

"Seeking," she heard herself answering. Her mind re-ran the questions. – Who are you? Where are you going?

"Uzai dah?" asked one of the children, and was quickly hushed by another.

Her mind interpreted swiftly: Who's your father? "My father is dead," she answered....their dialect is strange... she passed a hand across her forehead. She could almost feel her mind click into a more appropriate way of listening.

"I Seek – and I beg shelter for some days." She caught the oldest woman's eye, and smiled, projecting all the warmth she could into the smile.

The woman's face lit up. "Of course – of course. You are very welcome, Seeker. Drink with us now." The rest of the party around her relaxed as suddenly as if a switch had been thrown; she was engulfed by questions from the children, and managed to find answers for nearly all of them – from where, she never quite knew, but the answers were there, and seemed to satisfy her audience. There was only one question to which the answer was missing.

"What do you Seek?" asked a young woman with rich auburn hair. Farinka felt a sudden chill inside her.

"I may not tell you, it is not permitted," she answered. "Please don't ask me. May I ask you some questions?"

She learnt that the men were away, had been so for some days, hunting; that there was an undercurrent of concern that they had been away for longer than expected; that the village healer was lying sick and unable to speak in one of the houses, and that the healer's apprentice was with the group of men who were away.

She learnt that the Headman, Piet, was the partner of Annse, the big dark woman who had first spoken to her; the auburn girl's name was Marte and she was promised to the Headman's brother Jaimeh; and also that Piet's uncle Bern was regarded with wary caution by the women of the village – this she gathered from an Awareness of the tightening of their thoughts when he was spoken of.

She finished the cup of hot herbal tisane. And made up her mind.

"Take me to your healer's house – I may be able to help her." That sudden knowledge had wafted into her mind, leaving her feeling confident.

"You have skill as a healer?" asked Annse, her eyes brightening.

"Some. And my own supplies of herbs are low." This she had noticed that morning. "Maybe your healer can also help me."

Marte took over watching the stewpot. Farinka walked with Annse to the house of the healer – one of the few stone buildings in the village – and stood for a moment in the doorway, her eyes desperately trying to adjust to the darkness within. She felt another sudden 'gear-shift' within her mind; the subsequent ability of her eyes to adapt to the available light was instant. And permanent...she realised.

"She cannot abide the light," whispered Annse as they entered. Annse approached the crude bed, laying a hand on the shoulder of the woman who lay curled under the skin cover.

"Karinna, a Seeker is here. Will you accept her Touch?"

The lump under the bedcoverings barely stirred, but from the doorway Farinka was Aware of her consent. She stepped over to the bed, casting Awareness over and through the body of the woman who lay there.

....there is such stillness ... too much stillness. The woman's breathing was rough, as though each breath was the result of conscious effort rather than unconscious instinct. Farinka half shut her eyes, knowing that the knowledge she needed was within reach. She bent over the still form, putting one hand on the hot brow.

There was poison, somewhere – a slowly absorbed toxin gradually building up in the body. There was also fever, and the brain was reacting to it ... that's the reason for the photophobia... there was also a definite, but small, alien presence which was the cause of the problem.

A parasite of some kind ... this is a tick paralysis. With some complications. She spoke to the woman.

"I can help you, Karinna. There may be a little pain." She slid her smallest knife – more of a scalpel – from its wrist sheath into her left palm, going to the banked fire and stirring it into life. She held the blade in the flame until it glowed, then returned to the bedside.

The tick was easily found – clear instinct led her hand immediately to it. The flat of the hot blade settled the tick's accounts, and the sharp point made a small incision where it had bitten. Two ticks had bitten, and though the second bite was clean, the first had festered where the tick had been knocked away, leaving its jaws embedded in the skin. There was angry red around the first bite, and the scalp was hot to the touch – and painful. A second incision opened the festering point, and pus spurted out. She was vaguely Aware of something more happening through her touch, but couldn't put a name to it.

"Annse, can you fetch for me the camomile tea? With flowerheads in?" Farinka glanced up briefly at Annse, who nodded and went out, returning a moment later with a pot held in a rough cloth cradled in her hands. Farinka pulled a small square of clean linen from her pocket, dipped it and wrung it almost dry, then bathed the small wound, closing it by knotting together a few hairs from each side of the cut. A few flowerheads fished from the hot tea and briefly cooled were enough for a small poultice, which she held in place with a strip of cloth torn from the roll beside the sick healer's drying herbs. She smiled down at Karinna; "You will be well soon. Rest now. I will find someone to make you more comfortable." She patted the woman's hand.

"How long will it be before she is well?" asked Annse in a whisper as they left the house.

"A few days, probably. She must be kept comfortable – change the rushes on the bed, burn the old rushes. Turn her regularly so her skin doesn't get more sore. Give her a fresh cover, and bathe her. She will have some small sores where she has been lying still – these must be washed with camomile, or comfrey ..." – Annse's face was briefly puzzled. Farinka hesitated. "Um... knitbone. Cook some camomile into lard, and use the lard to grease the sores. The lard must be cooked smoke-hot, and put into a new wooden pot with a tight lid. Cook in a little salt, too – it will help it to stay fresh. Though it may sting on the sores. If that stings her too much, use honey instead of the ointment."

Annse's face brightened. "I asked because we have had no healer since the men went away – there are some small things Karinna would have done, which need to be done..?"

Farinka grinned. "Yes. I'll do them. Whoever needs me, send them to Karinna's house – I will need her herbs. We need not disturb her." A sudden tiredness washed over her. "Where may I stay, Annse? I need somewhere to put my things – and to rest. For a while. I have been Seeking for a long time."

"I forget my manners, Seeker. Come with me – there is a small house empty. I will show you."

'Small house' was a generous overstatement, Farinka thought as she looked at the building. Most people at home would have been ashamed to have called it a garden shed – but it would suffice.

She collected fresh dried rushes to heap against one wall for a bed, unrolled the bearskin to air it in the sunshine beside the doorway, and lay down on the rushes. Just half an hour... she thought.

***

She was woken some time later by the sound of voices outside, the quiet sound of unshod hooves in the dust. She sat up. From the angle of the sun, she had slept for at least three hours. She rubbed her eyes, deftly re-did her hair, and used some of the spring-water she had brought with her to wash quickly, taking a few sips, before stepping outside.

A group of shaggy, sturdy ponies was hitched to a rail about thirty feet away; most of them were still laden with packs slung across their backs. There was some kind of argument in progress around the farthest pony. Annse's voice was raised in protest.

"By all that's sacred, why have you brought this Demon-spawn into our village, Piet? Have you no sense? They will come for it!"

"And we shall be ready for them," said Piet, glowering at her. "Believe me, woman, we shall be ready. And by the time they arrive we'll know all there is to know about the murdering swine. Look at us! Look, woman!" He swept a hand wide.

From the doorway of her house Farinka looked at the returned hunters. They were weary, dusty; some had smears of blood on them which Farinka could see even from that distance.

Piet went on. "Eight of us went out. Only seven have come back. Think on that one." He turned to the pony and untied something from its pack; something which thudded to the ground by the pony's hooves. The pony lowered his head as far as he was able, trying to sniff, careful not to tread on whatever it was.

Farinka walked slowly across.

The thing on the ground was the body of a small girl; golden-skinned and with sleekly smooth dark hair. Farinka cast her Awareness quickly over. ...Not dead; unconscious – and badly beaten. Sudden recognition hit her, and her pulse quickened. This was a Child.

Annse caught sight of Farinka from the corner of her eye.

"Piet," she said, resting a hand on his arm. "I forgot. We have a visitor. A Seeker."

"A Seeker?" the big man whirled round, looking appraisingly at Farinka. His face broke into a smile. "I greet you, Seeker. Perhaps the Luck you bring us will remove the Curse of this Demon-spawn."

"Our Headman, and my man – Piet." Annse introduced her.

Piet was still watching her, his eyes curious. "May we know your name, Seeker?" he asked. "It would add to our Luck!"

She heard Annse's gasp of horror. "Piet, you know better than to ask!"

Farinka smiled in reassurance. "It's okay – with me. My name is Farinka," she answered, looking at the Child.

Piet slapped the pony's rump, "Get over, Brownie," he said. The pony jumped aside, landing on three legs so as to avoid treading on the Child. Farinka found herself Aware of the depths of its animal concern. Piet quickly unstrapped the rest of the packs from the pony; he looked up at the rest of the men.

"Well, get on with it!" he said. "Time for socialising later."

The ponies were unloaded swiftly, the men going about their work quietly. Farinka crouched by the Child. She looked to be about five years old – but somehow Farinka knew that in this case, looks were deceptive. There was the impression of a much greater age – a sort of timelessness. Piet caught sight of her, and frowned.

"I'd keep away from that Demon-spawn, were I you," he said abruptly.

Farinka looked up at him and met his eyes squarely. "This is a Child," she said.

Piet stopped his work. "That's no child," he said. "That's a devil. The woods close to our hunting grounds are accursed – swarming with these devils. We've been trying to eradicate them for generations. Thought we had, at one time – but more moved in. Where do you come from that you don't know about them?" He stood close to her.

She stood up. "I come from very far away. But I have seen no devils on my way."

"No – they've more sense than to tackle a Seeker, I'll bet."

"Devil or not, this Child's wounds must be treated."

Piet frowned. "You are a healer?"

"I am."

"Don't waste your time, Seeker. My men also have wounds which need seeing to."

"I will treat this one first," said Farinka, her eyes challenging his. "And then I will treat your men. And then any others that need treatment." She bent to pick up the Child.

"On your own head be it," said Piet as she carried the child to her house. "But that devil will be wearing iron before it wakes up. I give you my word on that." There was an unspoken threat in his voice. And also fear, Farinka noticed.

The Child weighed little ... hardly there at all, Farinka thought as she carried her. She laid the Child down gently on the pile of rushes, aware of a gradual awakening of sense in her at the same instant as she heard heavy footsteps approaching the house. The Child stirred restlessly.

– Be still, little one, keep very still, her Voice was urgent. Show no sign that you are awake.

She turned to look at the man who stood in the doorway; a big brute of a man, thickly bearded and with unkempt dark hair. He stank of old sweat. She felt the hackles rise on her neck. He was looking steadily at her, then sniffed and turned away.

Farinka turned back to the Child. Its Voice was the lightest of mental whispers, and hesitant, filled with dawning recognition, disbelief, and wonder.

– ...Domina?.....Domina? The Child opened her eyes and looked up. Her eyes were hazel-chestnut – two shades darker than the leaves in autumn.

Farinka cast Awareness beyond the house walls for long enough to know that no-one was within earshot, and crouched by the Child.

"What is your name, little one?" she asked in a whisper.

"Shiffih," came the answer, even quieter. "And yours?"

"Farinka. Lie very still. I must do something about your hurts."

"They're not much. No bones broken. Just sore." – Mostly the feet, was the mental coda.

Farinka grinned. – So I see. What did they do to you?

– They tied me behind the packbeast and galloped it.

Farinka winced. – Yes. Nasty. They are going to be sore for a long while, little one. Most of the skin is torn. However, I will do as much as I can.

– They will kill me, you know. And you, too – if they find out what you are.

– Don't worry about a thing. Farinka's eyes laughed. They have no idea who I am! And I will not let them hurt you, either. Although we will have to play their game for a while. They spoke of chaining you in iron?

The Child grinned; there was a mental chuckle. – It's a myth. It makes no difference because I am not enabled; I have no Power anyway. And if I were enabled, it would still make no difference. I don't know why they believe it does.

Farinka smiled. – So it won't bother you?

– Not at all. Except for the weight.