The sunlight that streamed through the open window penetrated his closed eyelids. Waithe blinked himself awake and turned away from the offending light. It was well past sunrise. A painful twinge as he stretched reminded him of his chest wounds and a pounding headache of his excessive drinking. He flopped back down on the bed as he groaned and tried to recall yesterday's events. That a Lady of the Order chose him as protector over many others younger and better qualified still confused him.

"Ah, you awaken. Slept well, I hope." Her kind smile warmed him. A simple green tunic dress modestly covered her willowy figure, a dress more for comfort and function rather than to display social standing.

"Best sleep in a long time, my Lady. What was in that tea you gave me last night?"

"Just chamomile tea, wonderful to help one relax. But I used Life Magic to enhance its properties. So how do you feel?"

Waithe grunted as he propped himself up on the soft bed, pulling the blanket down off his shoulders. His eyes surveyed the room, which included another bed, a wooden table with two chairs, and an exquisitely carved wood cabinet that held a pottery wash basin. Paintings adorned the walls. This was a luxurious inn room normally beyond his budget. He answered, "Like I lost a drunken bar fight last night."

"I believe you did. Why is it that men get drunk and fight in taverns?"

"Be there any other way, my lady?"

Ceres tilted her head. "Hmm, perhaps men should consider not getting drunk and not getting into fights?"

Waithe grinned. "That be far too simple, my Lady Ceres, it would never work."

Ceres returned his grin. "I suppose not. Oh, Waithe, since we will be working together, let us dispense with titles except in official functions. I am not much on formalities. Just call me by my name."

"Umm, very good. So what now... Ceres?"

"We need to get you well. Right now you could hardly protect a freshly baked pie from a little child."

"Well, my dear Ceres, a freshly baked pie would need protection from me."

A knock on the door interrupted their conversation. "Speaking of food, the innkeeper's wife makes a splendid breakfast. That must be it now."

A short gray-haired woman wearing a big apron and a bigger smile, placed a tray on the small table. With a gracious bow, she retreated. The breakfast featured an assortment of local fruits, breads, and flapjacks. 

After eating their fill, Ceres pulled several woven pouches from a large leather saddle bag, inspecting each as she did. Portions from each were ground with a stone mortar and pestle and then wrapped in a piece of coarse weave cloth. She poured hot water into a pottery cup and dropped in the wadded cloth. Waithe watched the process intently.

He asked, "What kind of concoction do you prepare?"

"A special blend of medicinal herbs, just for you. It should help keep the Taint at bay for now. And I also added some willow bark to lessen your pain."

She pushed the cup across the small wooden table to him. He grasped it and took a sniff at the faint wisps of steam that rose above it.

Waithe wrinkled his nose. "The smell be horrid!"

"It tastes even worse. Try to keep it down."

A tentative sip brought a grimace. "By the Spirits, this tastes like shit!" He sighed and took a deep breath, then chugged the rest, all the while fighting back the urge to heave.

She grinned. "So how is it you know what shit tastes like?"

"Just an expression, my fair healer. Nobody really knows what shit tastes like, but likely something like that. Why can't a pint of ale be made medicinal?"

"If so, you would over medicate, like last night."

"That be true. So what next?"

"I need to treat your chest cuts again, lest they fester. Take your shirt off and lie down."

Waithe eyes shot wide open as a small green light appeared next Ceres head. She glanced up at it with a smile, apparently, she thought it not at all harmful. It moved back and forth near her, sometimes sparkling like a star, sometimes steady like a lantern. Waithe tracked it with his eyes as he cocked his head. The light circled his head twice then settled just before him as if it peered into his eyes.

Ceres tilted her head. "Oh, that is the Spirit Phy. She sometimes comes to me even when I do not call. She seems to like you."

"Umm, greetings... Phy."

The light circled him again, then returned to her side and began to shimmer. It seemed almost playful.

Waithe pulled his shirt over his head, clenching his teeth as he lifted his arms, and then laid back on the bed. Like the night before, Ceres poured a few drops of a green liquid on a soft cloth and began to dab it on his cuts. He took a moment to study her again. Her long sandy-blonde hair now lay in a single thick braid down her back, swaying gently back and forth as she moved. Again he noticed her deep blue eyes, ones that projected compassion, but with a hint of loneliness. She had an innocent beauty about her. Had he been a young man he might have tried to woo her.

"A healing oil." She explained as she continued to treat his wounds.

Waithe looked up at her. "If I may ponder, my dear healer, I understand not why a Shaman of the Order has need of a protector. Would you not just call down a lightning bolt, or such a thing, to smite an attacker?"

"My dear protector, it does not work like that. A lightning bolt first requires a storm cloud. I doubt much an attacker would stand in wait while I would conjure one up, they tend to be impatient sort. Besides, Magic has consequences, especially with the elements. I may have my bolt, but the storm that made it might harm others, or at a minimum ruin a pleasant day."

"I see."

She turned her attention back to his wounds. "You carry an impressive array of scars. Last night was not your first bar fight?" Phy came closer to him as if examining the scars for herself.

"Indeed so, but they rarely involve blades. Long ago as a younger man I was an army officer in the desert lands of Woest, serving Lord Girald, during times of war before the Treaty of Lands. Afterward, I sold my services as a mercenary. From these came the scars."

"I would imagine then, my warrior protector, that each has a story. What of the one across your right jaw?"

Waithe chuckled. "You would ask of that one. It be indeed a battle scar. I must be honest though, it be not so glorious. As an eager young officer, I charged into battle, but tripped over a root and sliced my jaw with the sword I held. The embarrassment was, however, to my good fortune. For had I not, a volley of arrows would surely have struck me down."

She smiled. "Nonetheless, it does make for a good tale."

She returned the bottle of healing oil to her saddlebags and then withdrew another pouch. A measure of herbs was ground with water to make a paste. She gently applied the poultice to his cuts. Her very touch soothed him.

Waithe remarked. "You have quite the collection of herbs."

"Aye. A specialty of mine. And through my link with Phy," she pointed at the green light, "I am able to enhance the medicinal qualities."

"Ceres, you told me Phy led you to me. If I may ask, why? I be just an old man past his prime."

"I know this not. Phy has always come easily to me, more so than the other Life Spirits. She is as much a true friend as a Spirit. I trust her. Although, perhaps our meeting was just her sense of humor." Ceres held out her hand and the green light landed on it. "Besides, you seem to have some prime still left in you."

After cleaning her hands in a pottery washing bowl, Ceres sat down cross-legged on the floor next to Waithe. "While the poultice heals your wounds, let us begin to address the foul Taint that would take you. It is the same one that curses the Realm, but more difficult to remove once it infects a man. Medicinal herbs and Phy are not enough. I must also call on Anu, the Life Spirit of balance, if she is willing."

Ceres took a deep breath and placed her hands on his head and chest.

Waithe asked, "What must I do?"

"Be still. I must concentrate." She closed her eyes, took another deep breath, and began to hum softly.

Phy hovered just above him and another light appeared beside her, this one silver. At first, nothing seemed to happen. Then a tingling sensation rose from within his core. His mind swirled and drifted as if in a surreal dream. The air began to shimmer in small sparkling lights around his body, like a swirling multitude of tiny fireflies. He looked on in pleasant wonder as dark wisps slowly rose from his body and dissipated. The Taint!

An ashen gray light suddenly appeared, like the color of bones and pulsing with blackness. A mental shudder wracked Waithe. While Phy and Anu's lights were comforting, this one seemed to radiate a soul-stealing doom. He watched as the green, silver, and ashen lights swirled about each other in a violent dance. The dark wisps began to return to him, this time with churning turbulence. He felt chilled darkness cross his heart. The green and silver lights dimmed, leaving only the malevolent presence of the ashen light.

Waithe gasped. Ceres cried out with an anguished voice that filled him with dread. Whatever this was, it was hurting her. Unable to move beneath the swirling darkness, he reached out to her with his mind, seeking to soothe her, to protect her. A past vision of his daughter unexpectedly rose, as vividly clear as if in the moment. He shuddered at the clarity. As the cherished memory rose, so did the joy associated with it, one long suppressed behind a grief wall hardened by many years.

A tiny swaddled baby girl, hardly bigger than his two hands, laid in the crook of his arm as he looked down in joyful wonder. Two small eyes seemed to be mesmerized by his face. A tiny yawn came to her and her eyes closed. As she slept, tiny arms made tiny movements. He wondered what a little one not yet an hour old would dream about.

The vision seemed to help Ceres. Her breathing steadied and he felt her determination return. The ashen light pulled further away into the corner of the room and then disappeared.

Waithe felt Ceres redouble her effort. Again the dark wisps of the Taint drifted out of his body until there was no more. The waking dream ended. At once it felt like a heavy weight had been shed from him. He smiled as he took a deep breath. The smile ended abruptly as he turned to Ceres.

She laid on the floor curled up in a fetal position, her body shaking and her face paled. Waithe leaped from his bed and scooped her up in his arms. For a woman who before was strong and determined, she seemed so frail now. After placing her gently on her bed, he daubed her forehead with a damp towel while holding her hand. Her body continued to shudder.

He closed his eyes and silently cried out to the Spirits. "Phy, if you would hear me, Ceres needs of you."