Ellese sat back from the scrying glass and rubbed her temples. Tallis offered her a cup of water, and the seeress sipped it as she thought about what she had seen. Tallis chewed her lip while she waited for Ellese to put down the cup.
“She still lives.”
Tallis sagged. “How does she fare?”
“Not too well, I am afraid. Another demon attacked her, and her power is drained, but Bane keeps her alive. He drove off the demon, and I am more confident now. Every day, her power over him increases, and her weakness helps. Already he defies his father. He will not be parted from her.”
“But he still does not let her help him, and he torments her.”
“Patience, my dear Tallis, this will come in good time, if all goes well.”
Tallis shook her head. “Already two wards are broken, and he marches unhindered to the next.”
“The Earl of Timon raises an army, but I will advise him not to fight Bane. He will lose. His land lies in the Demon Lord’s path, and he is determined to face him. Even now, he marches to challenge him. The Earl is old. He does not understand what Bane is. No one can stand against him. Our only hope is Mirra.”
“It seems a fragile hope.”
“Do not underestimate her. She will succeed.”
Tallis rose and paced the shabby room of the seaside inn where the healers sheltered. The Lady’s white flame burnt in an oil lamp on the mantel, and she bowed her head to it.
“How much longer will we stay here, Elder Mother?”
“Only a few more days, dear.” Ellese wrapped her scrying glass in a thick cloth. “Then we will journey to the sea coast abbey, to join our sisters there. Some of the older sisters require rest. Go now and tell everyone to meet in the common room. I will speak to them shortly.”
Tallis left, and Ellese gazed out of the window at the drab day outside. Beyond the cold, deserted beach, gulls wheeled and mewled, diving for fish in the wind-tossed sea. Boats bobbed on the waves as fishermen struggled to haul their daily bounty from the grey depths. As Bane neared the coast, the weather grew grimmer, and now only occasional shafts of sunlight broke through the clouds. She hoped the abbey up the coast still received some sun. Her healers needed the power they could only obtain from direct sunlight. Many sick and injured queued outside the inn, but the healers were growing weak. Now all but the mortally ill were given only herbal treatments.
Ellese thought back to the time when Mirra had been conceived. Larris’s dream had seemed ridiculous, and many elder mothers had scorned her suggestion that it was a sign from the Lady, so at first it had been rejected. When no one could come up with a better idea, however, or received any sign, it had been reconsidered. Putting it into practice had been hard. Much power was needed to make it work. First, a young healer had volunteered bear the child, knowing her daughter would never know her, nor would she be allowed to raise her. A man had been put into a deep sleep and brought to the abbey.
Ellese remembered Mirra’s father well: a handsome, golden-haired youth; a perfect choice. He never knew that something had been taken from him while he slumbered, and woke unharmed where he had fallen asleep. Had anyone told him he had sired a daughter that night, he would have been most surprised. When Mirra’s mother had informed them that she did indeed carry a daughter, the real plan had been put into action. The girl had basked in the sun every day, drank only pure spring water and ate the best food. She had been excused from all work, and had taken leisurely walks for exercise.
Once the foetus was firmly established in her womb, she had travelled to all the abbeys in the land. At each one, the healers had laid their hands upon her belly and poured their power into the child. Prayers had been chanted in every chapel, and candles lighted for the unborn girl, the saviour of the land. No healer had shirked the task of giving power to the child, nor shaping her with their gifts. Few healers had the gift of speaking to animals; fewer still could speak to trees and plants. Although many could heal themselves, few could do it well. Ellese herself had gifted the child with the ability to scry, although this was one talent that had lain dormant. Each one had poured their love forth with their power, ensuring Mirra was born with an innate love for all things, and judged no one.
Mirra’s upbringing had been a miracle. Her birth, aglow with power, had set awe in the hearts of those who witnessed it. Ellese had taken charge of the baby as soon as she was weaned, and her mother was sent to a faraway abbey. Everyone who had come into contact with the child had been instructed on how to behave. Mirra had never seen an argument, nor had she been shouted at or scolded. Her childhood had been peaceful and happy, and she had flourished, her joy and goodness shining in her clear blue eyes.
Ellese remembered her dread for the fragile girl, and how she had hated the day when Mirra would be placed in the path of the Demon Lord. When Bane had emerged from the Underworld, Mirra was just fourteen, too young for the task. For two years, he had ravaged the land unopposed, until it became clear that time was running out. He would overrun the land and destroy the wards before Mirra was eighteen. For the first two years, he had merely conquered, amassing a mighty army. Then, shortly after acquiring Mirra, as if she was the catalyst, he had started breaking wards.
Shaking her head, Ellese descended the creaking stairs to the common room, where her sisters waited, seated at the crude tables that served the inn. Their pale, gaunt faces turned to her, drained of power and life itself, their eyes dull. They awaited news of Mirra, and Ellese made her report clipped and concise, leaving out the distressing details.
At the end, many looked more downcast, while others appeared hopeful, depending on their natures.
Ellese held their attention. “We must help her, sisters. We must prepare another golden pearl.”
A haggard woman cringed. “We have so little, Mother.”
“I know, but we must do this for her. She is our hope, and even if some of us perish, as Balia did, we must help her. Anshee will call one of her wild winged friends to carry the pearl. Any who gather power will donate it. All healing will stop.”
A groan went around the room at this. Healers hated to turn away the sick.
Elder Mother said, “If Mirra fails, we will all die, and healing some now will only provide more for him to torture. We will do what we can for them with herbs and potions, and use the skills taught to ungifted midwives and doctors. We must try to make the pearl in the next few days.”