"Yes. It looks easy enough."

I felt another jab of Aral's elbow, but I'm not stupid. I was just about to speak in any case.

"Our thanks, Lady. With your assistance, I think we can help Shikrar."

Idai dipped her head and a sinuous wave followed down her long neck. Very odd indeed, but she seemed happy enough.

Aral is right. I do tend to lose track of the social graces when I'm working.

We moved back to Shikrar's side. "We'll do it as usual, eh?" I said. "You compress and provide the pain relief, I'll shift the inflammation."

I looked up at the vast form now above me. Truly, things could be easier.

"My lord Shikrar," I said, not knowing if they used such titles. Better than nothing. "Will it please you to come closer?"

His head was suddenly very, very close to mine and I couldn't help but flinch. Goddess, he was huge. "Have you any hope, truly, of healing me?"

I almost laughed. Honestly. Everyone always thought they were different. The Lady's power heals all, my lord, rich and poor alike. I cannot think why it should not heal you."

"But we do not worship the Lady of the Gedri," he said.

"Maybe you should start," said Aral, grinning. "Have we your permission to try, Shikrar?"

He lay right down then, putting his wing gingerly upon the ground. It was still going to be hard to reach that affected shoulder, but—first things first.

"You may try, Aralishaan," he said kindly.

We moved together to the wing joint, getting it clear before our eyes, seeing exactly what needed to be done. We joined hands and sent our power forth.

At least, we tried to. I felt Vil increase his own strength until he glowed even in broad daylight, but it wasn't going anywhere. Our power went no farther than the ends of our fingers.

Shikrar, watching closely, closed his eyes. "Alas. I feared it might be so. In all our history, there have been few of the Gedri who could help us to heal." He sighed. "Perhaps it was too much to hope that the two of you might have been among them."

"Don't move!" I yelled angrily to Shikrar. "Don't give up yet, Vil! We healed Salera's people, I know we can—wait—wait, of course!"

I had felt a slight burning for the last few minutes, where the pouch around my neck touched my chest, and it had finally occurred to me that when we had healed Salera and her kin, I had held the gem in my hand. Perhaps that would do it.

I let go Vil's left hand and fumbled with the pouch and finally managed to get out the large gem. I held it tight in my hand.

I wish someone had told me. That kind of thing shouldn't happen to the unprepared.

The Kin-Summoning is a ritual among our people, requiring days of fasting and preparation and the burning of special herbs and leaves. As a part of our choice at the dawn of Time, we were given a way to remember all that has gone before. The soulgems of our ancestors allow us, when necessary, to speak to those who have died.

Or so it had ever been before;. Though on those occasions, it has always been the Keeper of Souls who gave way to the Ancestor being summoned.

Aral, with her Healer's power about her, drew forth the soul-gem she had in her keeping. I spared a moment's thought to commend that unknown Ancestor to the Winds, and to pledge silently that I would soon rescue her from this Gedri child who held her all unwitting, when Aral suddenly stood straighter and looked into my eyes. The Healer's glow about her was reduced to a flicker.

"What are you called, my kitling?" she asked, and her voice was as near to the voice of a Lady of our Kindred as a human could manage it.

I could think of nothing to say, though my mind began to race. Kitling, indeed! I was the Eldest of the Kantri alive at that time.

"Come, come, what are you called? I hight Loriavaitriakeris, daughter of Kai the Old and my dear mother Tethrik. You may call me Loriakeris." Aral smiled. "So you see, there is no need to be rude. What is your use-name?"

"I hight Shikrar," I said, entranced. "Lady, I know of you. My soulfriend Akhor is of your lineage, but—but we thought you lost these many ages past!"

"Not lost, young Shikrar, no, no, not lost. Just... spending my time with the Gedri." Aral's smile softened. "This is not the time for this discussion. I believe that with my help, these Healers can do their work. Do you permit?"

"Yes," I stammered, and in the instant Aral was back, with her Healer's aura deep blue about her, and the soulgem in her hand glowing brilliant ruby.

"Hells' teeth, what was that?" she cried.

"Later, Aral," said Vilkas, his voice stony, his gaze still locked deep in my injuries. "Are you well?"

"How should I be well? Some dead dragon just took over my body, how in all the Hells could I be well!" she yelled.

Vilkas wrenched himself away from studying me and took Aral by the shoulders. "Aral, not now. We need to work. Are you injured?"

"No," she said sullenly, shaking off his grasp. "Just angry."

'Then help me. I need you, and we need that—Loria-whats-her-name. Now."

"I'll do what I can, but don't ask me to work, I'm far too angry."

"That's fine for now," said Vilkas, turning back to stare into my wing. "Just you open that door and let me in ..."

Aral, mumbling, laid her left hand on his shoulder. Her right still held Loriakeris's soulgem—and in the moment, I felt a wave of power, and blessedly, there was no more pain. "You've damaged this ligament," muttered Vilkas as he worked, "shouldn't take long to—there, that's it—now the inflammation ..."

It was fascinating, the link that was forged. Not that he could hear truespeech, or that I could hear him precisely, but there was most certainly a connection. I wondered if other Gedri were aware of it when they were being healed.

And then, as I was concentrating on the fink between us, I noticed for the first time a strange undercurrent to my thought. There was something of truespeech in it, but there did not seem to be many words. It was more like a distant murmuring. I wondered briefly if Salera was teaching all her people about true-speech, but that did not seem right—as I have said, younglings cannot normally keep their early truespeech under such control. However, a swift sharp pain, like a stiff muscle unlocking, brought my thought suddenly back to those who were working to assist me.

This Vilkas, I noted, was a most extraordinary soul. I had never heard of such a man. For all his usual reserve, for all that he fought the very essence of himself with every breath, he could yet give of his gifts without stint and without restraint to accomplish this healing. A gift indeed. It was over in mere minutes, but in those minutes, what a change! By the time he had finished, Vilkas was sweating and breathing like prey running from a hunter. He was moving towards my shoulder, but I stretched out my forearm and stopped him. "Enough for now, Master Vilkas," I said quietly.

"No, that's just the easy part, I need to—"

I did not let him move. "It is enough for now. You will exhaust yourself, and that will serve no one."

Vilkas opened his mouth to argue, but Aral interrupted. "Quite right. Thank you, Shikrar," she responded loudly. Then she quietly muttered something to Vilkas that I could not hear. It must have been a powerful argument, for he released his healing power and sat heavily on the ground.

I was concerned for him, but as I opened my mouth to speak to him a great noise arose from behind me. Name of the Winds, does this day hold no peace?

And there, in the back of my mind, a little louder now but still faint, that distant murmuring, like waves on a shingle shore.