Gracie seemed surprised when Waithe asked her to join them for dinner, and then he was just as surprised when she accepted. It turned out she lived in a similar cabin not far away. She arrived later as the sun dipped low in the sky, bearing a basket of bread and honey with one hand while grasping the arm of a tall grey-haired man with the other.

Gracie smiled, which to Waithe seemed out of character for the intense authoritative woman he worked with earlier at the clinic. She tipped her head to her companion. "My husband, Graham. He just returned from a, umm, assignment. I hope you do not mind."

"Not at all." Waithe shook Graham's hand and noted the firmness of his grip. "Do come in."

Waithe ushered the guests to a pair of wooden chairs before a wood plank table set to one side of the small one-room cabin. He noted how Gracie glowed as she pulled her chair close to her husband and leaned into him. She appeared to be overjoyed to see him again from whatever this 'assignment' had been, perhaps a long separation or a dangerous one.

They both rose as Ceres came up to them. Graham shook her hand, using a gentler grip. "My Lady, Gracie told me of your amazing healing skills. It be my pleasure to meet you."

Ceres dipped her head. "I am glad to help."

"I prepared a stew for us." Waithe walked out the back door and retrieved an iron kettle from the outdoor fire pit. He then ladled out steaming portions into four pottery bowls.

Gracie sniffed the contents of the one set before her and smirked as she turned toward Ceres. "A man who cooks? Your father does appear to be useful after all."

Waithe grinned as he bowed. "High praise indeed from the queen of the clinic."

With a half smile, Ceres said, "He is useful in more important ways, Gracie. Many times has he saved me from peril."

Graham rose and pulled out a corked bottle half full of an amber-colored liquid and four small glasses from the basket. "Let us toast today's success."

He yanked the cork out with a pop, poured a small measure of the liquid into each of the glasses, and distributed them as the others stood. "A fine rye whiskey this be from the southern lowlands of Kust." He raised his glass high. "To the freedom of the people of this land! And to a certain young woman of the Order who blessed us with her skills."

Graham and Gracie tilted their heads tossed back the contents of their glasses in a single gulp. Waithe did so as well. He pursed his lips. "A fine whiskey it be indeed."

Ceres copied their actions. Her eyes grew wide as she began to cough and sputter, staggering on her feet.

Waithe grabbed her shoulders to steady her and helped her sit down. "Forgive me, Daughter. I should have warned you. This drink be quite strong."

She let out a breath as her face flushed. "Strong it is. I had not expected that."

Graham said, "Nor had we expected a Lady of the Order to suddenly appear, but that being a much more pleasant kind of surprise. To what purpose do you come here?"

Waithe held up his hand to interrupt Ceres' response. Graham's presence here seemed to be no coincidence. His wife implied an unexpected return from a vague 'assignment' and he raised his glass to the freedom of the people. There was only one likely explanation. "You be part of those who would resist Scias' rule."

Graham nodded. "Perceptive you be, sir. The acting director of the Freedom Alliance be I. Like the young Lady of the Order, a fugitive I also be. My presence here has some risk."

Ceres asked, "And the clinic?"

"It be mostly funded by the Alliance. Although Dr. Ren lends his resources and we ask the patients to pay what they can. We have two more clinics within the city."

"I could not help but notice that most sicknesses are of the lungs."

Gracie responded, "Aye. The factories, they spoil the air. It be even worse for those who work there."

Graham gritted his teeth. "This be Scias' doing. He ravages the land and his people while he lives in luxury! And for what? To build an army for his own twisted glory."

Waithe said, "You said you be 'acting director'. Where be the director?"

Graham put his spoon down and took a deep breath, staring off into the distance. "They say he betrayed us. Many died as a result. Those that remain lay in hiding as I was." He turned his eyes toward Waithe. "But I do not believe betrayal was his intention. Scias' Chief Shaman, Raste, bewitched him in some way, made him a mindless slave. I saw it all as I remained hidden. Only just did I escape with my life."

Grace shuddered as she reached over to embrace her husband.

Ceres spoke, "Raste practices in the Dark Arts. The Darkness is what enslaved your director and many before him. You asked of my purpose here. It is to purge the Darkness from the Lands."

Grace said, "I thought the Darkness a myth."

Ceres shook her head. "Nay. Real it is. Already have I cleansed the village of Eule and Mt. Grimmur of it."

Graham's eyes grew wide. "Then the stories be true. The foundry down the road, the director now toils there making weapons for Scias' army. They made him an example. So many have the same dark bewitched eyes. My Lady, would--"

Ceres nodded. "Aye. If you would bring me close, I would liberate them from the Darkness."

*****

Shortly after dawn, the group made their way to the foundry, wearing the loose brown oiled rain cloaks characteristic of the workers. With the drizzling rain, it did not seem at all odd to have the hoods pulled up over their heads. Waithe, Clavis, and two other men surrounded Ceres, forming a shield around her.

Ceres whispered to the men. "The Darkness is here."

The hot air inside the large building smelled of sulfurous smoke. The sharp clangs of hammers shaping hot metal and the whoosh of furnace bellows made for an uncomfortably loud environment.

None of the workers seemed to notice them, oblivious to all but their assigned tasks with no outward sign of emotion. Waithe nudged Clavis and pointed to an elevated wooden platform at the far end of the building from where three black-uniformed soldiers surveyed the activity, although seemingly bored.

Waithe directed the group to a coal pile not far from where they stood. Behind it, they would be out of sight of the soldiers and a nearby doorway to the outside would provide an escape route if needed. Ceres nodded to him.

Ceres sat down cross-legged on the dirty floor, her back upright and hands extended palms up. She pulled a strip of cloth over her mouth and nose to filter the black dust. The men flanked her. Waithe peered around the coal heap, keeping watch on the soldiers. With a deep breath, she closed her eyes.

The dark wisps that rose from the floor and the men were barely visible in the dim light within the foundry. The tendrils of Darkness lifted to the ceiling and twirled around themselves, becoming turbulent and angry. All work stopped as the workers stood stiffly, their faces still devoid of all emotion. Except for a few glowing billets that clattered to the floor with a shower of sparks, the building became deathly quiet. The soldiers jerked up and scanned the building, unsure of what was happening. Waithe surmised that they were not under the influence of the Darkness, rather there to direct those that were.

The Darkness formed together into a single menacing mass, swirling in a violent maelstrom. The workers wandered about aimlessly, then all turned toward the coal pile behind which Ceres hid and trudged slowly toward it. The soldiers jumped from the platform and drew their blades as they spread out.

Waithe whipped out his long-knife and held out three fingers to the other men with him. He leaped, flashing his knife, as one of the soldiers rounded the coal pile. The soldier went down quickly, barely seeing the shiny blade that slashed his throat.

Ceres lifted her arms as the Darkness compressed into a large opaque globe that churned above her. She brought her hands together and the dark ball disappeared into oblivion with an audible snap. She opened her eyes. The band of cloth that covered her lower face combined with her narrowed dark blue eyes intensified her glare.

The workers gazed at each other, some shaking their heads as if waking from a nightmare. The two remaining soldiers converged on the group from two sides, moving around the coal pile, holding aloft their swords.

Waithe lifted a wobbly Ceres to her feet. He yelled at the three others who protected her, motioning to the door behind them. "It be time to leave!"

As Waithe turned toward the door, three more armed soldiers entered it. They were now surrounded. He pushed Ceres behind him and raised his long-knife, moving it back and forth.

A soldier rushed from the side, striking down one of her defenders with a vicious sword thrust, then rushed forward to grab Ceres around the neck, holding his blade against her cheek. Her eyes grew wide as she yelped. A panic overtook Waithe as he parried the swinging swords of two soldiers before him, unable to reach her. Clavis jumped. Grabbing the sword hilt, he wrestled Ceres from the soldier's grasp. She tumbled to the floor, stirring up a cloud of coal dust. The soldier flung Clavis down and lifted his sword. Ceres yelled out as the sword pierced Clavis's gut, just above his belt.

Struggling to scoot away on his back, Clavis trembled and gritted his teeth against the pain. The soldier put on a cruel smile as he raised the sword for a final blow. But the killing thrust never came. An iron bar struck the soldier's head with a flat thud. A multitude of metal workers, now freed from the Darkness, converged on the remaining soldiers, striking them down with multiple blows from tools and iron.

The battle was now over.

Clavis' face began to pale and his breath became shallow as he clutched at the wound on his stomach, blood flowing out between his fingers. Ceres crawled to his side and placed a hand on his shoulder. She spoke in a gentle tone. "Hold on, my dear Clavis. I shall bring the healing to you."

He seemed to relax as she closed her eyes. The green light of the Spirit Phy and the amber light of the Spirit Dal appeared above, gently sparkling. A shimmering cloud of white lights that swirled around Ceres descended on Clavis, shrouding him in the Magic. The crowd of workers surrounding them backed up a step, looking on in awe.

The color returned to Clavis' face as the Magic did its work. He tipped his head back and a smile came to his face. After a moment the shimmering lights faded away and Ceres pulled her hand away.

She said, "There. You will be well, but it may take a few days for your full strength to return."

She looked back at the other man crumpled on the floor and arched an eyebrow. Waithe, kneeling beside him, shook his head with a solemn expression.

With her head turned down, Ceres stood up. She trembled and staggered backward, her eyes rolling up. Waithe jumped up and caught her in his arms, pulling her up to his chest. The workers parted in silence, creating an open path as Waithe carried her away.