The Thirteenth Scroll (22 page)

“I have strong arms and hands,” Renan replied. “I may not know the ways of the Cryf, as you say, but I know how to work hard,
and I know what it is to suffer. I will help you so that the Cryf do not suffer any loss another pair of hands might have
saved.”

“Ye be Up-worlders,” the old one said again. “Why should ye care if the Cryf suffer?”

“Because I am a healer,” Lysandra said, now joining the conversation, “and because he is one who serves the Creator God. All
life is precious to us, whether Upworlder, Cryf… or animal,” she added, running her hand over Cloud-Dancer’s head.

The old one said nothing for a few seconds. Then, again, he nodded, as if her words meant more than she had said.

“Come,” he said finally to Renan. “Thou shalt work beside the Cryf. And thee,” he said to Lysandra, “I shall work with thee.
Many Cryf may yet be saved this day, if the Divine giveth power unto thy hands.”

“Our belongings,” Lysandra said. “They are still back where we were sleeping, where your people first found us. We must have
them. My medicines, the things I need to heal, are in them.”

“They shall be brought,” the old one said. He called out, and one of the younger Cryf immediately came to answer. The Cryf
Elder quickly conferred with him, issuing orders in the same chirping language Lysandra had heard them use twice before. The
young Cryf dashed away. The old one led Renan and Lysandra up a ramp off the huge cavern’s floor, to one of the other council
leaders.

After a few swift sentences in the Cryf tongue, he turned to the priest. “This one shall take thee unto the digging,” he told
Renan. “His words in thy tongue are few, but thou shalt obey his orders. Dost thou understand and agree?”

Renan nodded, then followed his new guide down one of the passages from which Lysandra could hear other voices calling. She
waited to hear what the Cryf leader would say to her.

“Art thou truly a healer,” he asked, “though thine eyes be dark?”

“I am,” Lysandra replied.

“Then I shall work beside thee—and if thy words or touch be true, I will know.”

Know what?
Lysandra wondered, though she did not question him. It was enough that for the moment she had his trust. She only prayed
that the
Sight
would not leave her and that she would be able to help all those who might need her.

It would take some time before the first of the injured would be brought out. The runner returned with Lysandra’s things and
while they waited, the old one helped her set up a hospital area. After laying out her meager supplies,
Lysandra shook her head, wishing fervently that she had access to her garden and medicine cupboard at home. She did not know
what might be needed during the hours ahead, but she was certain she did not have enough of anything.

The old one, who had watched silently as she arranged her pouches of herbs, the three small pots of salve, and the two rolls
of cloth strips in the order she liked, saw her sad look and finally spoke.

“There is worry upon thy face,” he said. “Dost thou fear thou canst not heal the Cryf?”

“I fear there will be too many injured, and I will not have enough to help all who are in need,” she replied. “Do the Cryf
have medicines I might add to my own?”

“We do. Come, I shall show thee.”

Cloud-Dancer stayed close by her side, for he would not leave her again. They walked only a short distance, around a bend
to where the underground opened up again. This new cavern held a pool that sent great ribbons of steam swirling upward. She
could smell the minerals in the water. It would be a great source of healing, she realized, and a comfort to those with painful
joints and tired muscles.

Next to the pool was a great cave. It was there that the Elder led her, and it was like walking into a healer’s fond dream.

The inside of the cave was bright. Here, the strangely luminous stones had been gathered and piled. Some of the piles reached
nearly to the ceiling, concentrating the illumination. In other places, stones had been placed inside lanterns of crystal
that caught and further amplified the light.

Plants grew in lush abundance, their roots filling troughs of water instead of soil. Mushrooms and other
fungi, healing molds and lichens also grew, these carefully shielded from the brightness. The scent of growing things made
the air fresh with the aroma of life.

On long stone shelves were pots of unguents and creams, stoppered vials of tinctures and tonics, oils and infusions. Neatly
stacked to one side were long poles—some straight and flat, others hollowed out to carefully cup a broken bone. Bandages of
every size and width were rolled and placed near coils of rope that ranged from the thickness of her wrist down to the fineness
of silk thread.

“How did all these things get here?” Lysandra asked, amazed by it all.

“In times far past,” the old one began, “when thy kind did not yet cover the land, the Cryf were free to go Up-world. There
was then many an open way betwixt our Realms, and the Cryf had only to wait until the Great Brightness had passed beyond the
far shore. Then, in the time of the Soft Light, would our Healers or Hunters ascend unto the Up-world and bring back all that
our Realm could not provide. But as the numbers of thy kind grew and spread like grasping fingers across the land, it became
not safe for the Cryf to be seen. Up-worlders name the Cryf as monsters. Thy kind did capture and kill the Cryf whenever they
were seen.

“It was then the men of the Up-world came unto the Realm of the Cryf. We welcomed them, for we did hope to show them our ways
that they would know the Cryf were not monsters. Our Elders did hope for friendship betwixt our kinds. We were wrong. The
men of Up-world saw the beauty of our Realm and greed did join the enmity in their hearts. They killed the Cryf who had welcomed
them and did begin to tear our Realm apart.

“But the Cryf know many places, places deep within
the heart of our Mother the Earth, that no Up-worlder may find—then or now. Our Guide did wait until the Mind of the Divine
opened unto him to show him what the Cryf must do. Soon the visions came unto our Guide and to the Elders of the twelve. The
Divine, who loveth the Cryf, showed unto us how to hide the shining stones—for Upworlders can not see as we do. Many fell
into the deep pits that they themselves had dug and perished there. We mourned them not, though they, too, be the children
of the Divine, as are all living things.

“Others ascended back Up-world so they might bring their brightness back with them. But again the Divine did guide us. It
was then the Cryf sealed all but two doors betwixt thy world and the Realm of the Cryf. Those that remained open we did hide
behind stone. By the Wisdom of the Divine was this done, and only the Guide of the Cryf knoweth where those last doors remain.

“The Mind of the Divine then revealed unto us how we may grow what we need and never again be forced to enter unto the Up-world.
There be many such places as this in the Realm of the Cryf,” he said, waving his hand to include the whole cave. “This one
be for our Healers. Others grow the food we eat or the plants to make our clothing. We go not Up-world—and our law be that
no Up-worlder may come unto the realm of the Cryf.”

“Where are your Healers now?” Lysandra asked. “Didn’t they hear the cave-in?”

“They heard,” the elder replied calmly. “They shall be ready if thou canst not help the Cryf, as thou hast said. But I send
word that thou alone shalt act as Healer in this. Then shall we know if the Hand of the Divine be truly upon thee.”

Lysandra drew a deep breath. She was being asked to undertake—alone—the healing of those whose survival
might completely depend on what she did in the next few hours. She turned back to the stone shelves and the medicines stored
there, trying to hide her uncertainties from the far-too-observant gaze of the Elder.

“Gather what thou needst,” the old one said. “We must return and ready ourselves. The ones who now dig may well have reached
the trapped ones. Thy healer’s touch will be needed.”

Once more drawing a deep breath, Lysandra began quickly sorting through the vials and pots before her. Her fingers trembled,
and she could taste the bitterness of fear.

Oh, please
, she prayed—to her
Sight
or to the Source from whence it came—
please don’t fail. If not for my sake, then for the sake of the injured. Stay with me so I can help them
.

E
ven though the Festival did not officially start until the next day, the streets of Yembo were a riot of happy noise and color.
Banners, woven or stitched with bright springtime flowers, hung from balconies and upper-story windows. Window boxes were
filled with artificial bouquets, flowers of impossible hues fashioned of silks and satins. Building doors, window boxes, and
shutters
had all been freshly painted in brilliant jewel tones, shining in the sunlight.

The Enfawr River ran through the center of the town, the main and most famous street, with buildings built up on either side.
Down these streets, vendors had set their stalls, all covered with bright canopies. Many had tied long streamers to the tent
poles that fluttered with every breath of breeze.

The streets were already crowded. Like the buildings and stalls, the people were dressed up in bright colors so that they
looked like flowers moving in the wind. Once the Spring-Fest began, these streets would be closed to all but foot traffic.

For now, Aurya and Giraldus were still on horseback. As they picked their way through the crowd, Aurya looked around, seeking
some clue that might lead her to the Three Sisters. Were they people or landmarks, something native to Yembo or something
brought here for the Festival? If the latter, would she find it on the first day or the last?

Nothing caught her eye, but Yembo was a big place, and they were still far from the site where the children’s choir would
sing. Aurya was not discouraged; she would not allow herself to be. Under her breath, she repeated the words of the scroll,
making sure they remained ever-present in her thoughts.

Finally, they entered the part of town given over to inns and public houses. The crowds were thinner here. Stable hands scurried
through inn yards, dashing on errands to care for their charges. Giraldus called to several of them, trying to learn which
inns were already filled. They were finally directed to the seventh inn on the long row, The Dancing Dolphin.

The wooden placard that hung over the door showed a great sea creature, a kind Aurya had never seen, balancing
on its tail and surrounded by ocean waves. It was a comical creature with a long-nosed snout and a mouth that looked open
in a grin. If such a creature truly existed, she thought, it was not in the waters around Aghamore.

Aurya found herself grinning back at the charmingly carved face. She took it to be a good omen that they should be housed
in a place where the known and the unknown were blended. She was suddenly certain that tomorrow, when at dawn the children
sang before the city’s Water-Gates, she would find the Three Sisters.

Satisfied with the comfort, the good food, and good cheer that filled the Inn of the Dancing Dolphin—that, in fact, filled
all the town of Yembo—Aurya slept well and deeply. She did not awaken until the hour before dawn, when the innkeeper came
around to knock on the doors of all the guest rooms. Almost everyone planned to attend the opening of the Festival, when the
children gathered to sing to the brightening day.

Aurya awoke at the first knock, and she, in turn, awakened Giraldus. He opened his eyes as readily as she had. He seemed just
as eager to reach the Water-Gates and find a place in the surrounding parks where the crowd did not impede their view of the
event.

“There’s a breakfast waiting downstairs,” Giraldus told her as he added some wood to the fire he had just built to chase the
predawn chill from the room. “And I’ve a good appetite this morning.”

Aurya smiled. She was hungry, too—but not for food. Her appetite was for knowledge and for the power awaiting her discovery
at the park. Seeing her smile, Giraldus rose from his knees and came to her. He slipped his arms around her waist.

“You’re in a good mood,” he said, nuzzling her neck softly.

“I’m eager for the day,” she replied. “We’ll find what we’re looking for… I’m sure of it.”

“Humph—we’d better,” Giraldus said, a bit more gruffly. “We’ve wasted enough time with this scroll nonsense. I still say we’d
do better with a dozen armed men at our backs.”

They had already had this argument—several times—and Aurya did not want to have it again this morning. She still had not convinced
Giraldus, but he was here, and that was enough for now. When he sat on the throne of Aghamore and saw that it was her powers
that had put him there…
then
he would believe.

With that belief could come her destiny. She would then see that Aghamore became the kingdom it had once been, a
great
kingdom where the old gods and the old ways were still mighty. Then Aurya would no longer be an outcast among society… she
would be
First
among all the rest.

Then she remembered Elon’s words about her need to publicly embrace the Church and marry Giraldus in accordance with its precepts.
She shook her head.
After I have the child
, she thought,
and know what powers it conveys and controls
, then
I’ll consider Elon’s advice. If what I hope is true, I won’t have to worry about the Church
or
marriage. I’ll he a Priestess-Queen, Servant of the Great Goddess, as Queens once were and are meant to be
.

Yes,
that
was a worthy goal, one toward which she could willingly work. It would not be easy to banish the Church from Aghamore. For
the last several centuries it had been slowly building its influence and power until now its insidious tendrils had wormed
their way into
every aspect of Aghamore’s society. The hearts of the people would need to be changed and redirected in their devotion.