“Papa? What is’Papa’?”

“A name they call male theas. She thinks you’re her father.”

“Her thea?”

“Talk to her. Get her to drink something.”

“Hush, Lara.” Papa’s voice sounded odd somehow, but it was deep and gentle and his cool hands touched my face. “Be easy. I am here, little one.” A cup clinked against my teeth. “Drink.”

I swallowed as the water flowed into my mouth, easing the dryness within. I let myself relax back into Papa’s arms, soothed. I was safe, safe, Xymund couldn’t get me here. The flames could still hurt me though, and Papa rocked me in his arms.

But when had Papa been so badly burned?

I stood by the well in the village square, which was silent and dark. As I looked about, I saw the morning larks laying on the ground, their little legs stiff, their songs silenced. As I covered my mouth in horror, the doors of the

buildings opened, and the dead began to emerge. They were moving slowly, murmuring over and over, stumbling toward me, their eyes glittering with rage.

The door of the shrine opened and Epor stepped out, his gentle, smiling face easing my fears. I called out to him, and he started toward me. But as he grew closer, his face contorted into a snarl and he joined the villagers in their chant. “You killed us. You killed us.”

“No, no, no, oh, Goddess, forgive me, please forgive me, Epor.”

I pressed against the well, feeling the windlass cut into my back. They kept coming, pressing in, chanting their accusations. Rahel stood there, her arms raised, cursing me in a voice that rose to the skies.

I turned, looking into the well, seeking escape. But the dead were there, too, their arms lifted as if to pull me into the depths. I cried out again, terrified and looked back to see Epor before me, his club raised to strike me down. “Epor, please don’t hurt me!”

“Epor would never hurt you, Lara.”

“She can’t hear you, Isdra.”

Terrified, I sought a way to the gate. But the dead had piled themselves at my feet, their dead and dry carcasses pressed against my legs like cord wood. Xymund stood before me, the madness dancing in his eyes, with a flaming brand in his hand. “Die, whore.”

He threw the torch at my feet, The flames flared up, I cried out…

I burned.

The castle was dark, but the stones were cool under my feet. I welcomed the silence and the quiet. But as I walked the halls the very stones began to warm, blistering my feet. The familiar halls became a maze where I wandered, lost and confused.

“She’s stopped drinking.”

I stumbled into the kitchen. Anna was there, lying on the floor, sweating and moaning. Othur was seated at the table, a mug of ale in one hand. When I touched his shoulder, he collapsed to the floor like a broken doll.

“Her eyes are so sunken, like Epor’s.”

I fled, running, crying out to the Goddess for aid. When I burst into the chapel, the benches were filled with the dead and dying victims of the sweat.

Archbishop Drizen and Deacon Browdus stood before the statute of the Lady, their vestments drenched in sweat, dragging on the floor as they went about the service. Two acolytes, the men in Rahel’s loft, were assisting with the offering.

“Can you think of anything else to try, young’un? From her teachings?”

They all ignored my pleas and cries as they moved about the base of the marble statue. The cool peace of the chapel filled me then, and I sank to my knees. The Goddess reached out to me and with a glad heart I stretched out my hand to touch hers, wanting nothing more than the peace of her gardens, there to dwell forever.

But her hand withdrew before it touched mine and it was only when I looked up into the Lady’s face that I realized that she was sweating too. Suffering as Her people suffered. The marble moved then, the Lady raised her arms and called out to her husband, the Sacred Sun, and the flames rained down on my skin.

“I’s have an idea.”

I burned.

“… Death of earth, birth of water...”

I burned.

The heat within my body was all encompassing, and there was no escape. It was in my blood, in my lungs, and every limb of my body. I tried to lick my lips, to find some precious moisture in my mouth, but there was none. My tongue was a dry and lifeless thing, and my lips cracked and stung. I could feel the sweat under my breasts and behind my knees, but it dried as fast as it appeared. There was only heat and I burned. I tried to open my eyes, to see what was happening but there were only blurs about me. Nothing seemed to have any substance except the pain behind my eyes and the flames that licked my flesh. I tried to reach out but my hands grasped nothing but dry air.

“… Death of water, birth of air . . .”

I was flying beneath a field of blurry stars against a clear black sky. My eyelids rasped, dry and itchy, but still I stared at the blooms of light above me. There were figures around me, moving with me, chanting softly. I flew, but my hair hung heavy, seeming to brush against the tall grass. The heat was still with me, the hearth located in my chest. It was impossible to move with the weight that pressed me down. Each breath was an effort. All I could do was hold open my weary eyes and stare.

“… Death of air, birth of fire .. .”

The chanting was muted, soft, as indistinct as my vision. It seemed somehow to first raise me closer to the sky, then lower me to the earth.

I cried out as something cold bit my skin, surrounding me, covering me, stealing my breath and the heat from my body. My mouth opened as the flame died, and I sucked in great gulps of air, even as I rose high in the air… “… Death of fire, birth of earth ...”

Keir. It was Keir beside me, Marcus on the other side. I blinked as the water ran off my face. I was in their arms, cradled, being lowered back into water as cold as death. Keir was letting cold water trickle from his cupped hand onto my face, and I blinked as the drops hit my eyes. I felt clean. Clean and cold and alive.

“… Death of earth, birth of water...”

They lowered me again, into the stream, letting the heat flow from my body with the water. I was wrapped in a blanket and Isdra and someone else were holding my legs, chanting as they lifted me, dripping and gasping. Wet cloth clung to my body, as the hands supporting me lowered me into the water once again.

“… Death of water, birth of air.. .”

The waters flowed over me, driving away every breath and thought. My hair grew heavy, drawn away from my head as the current caught it, fanning it out in the water. My parched lips softened, and I ran my tongue over them, trying to get moisture into my dry throat. Keir used his cupped hand to dribble water into my mouth. I shuddered in relief even as the cold seeped into my very soul.

“Enough.”

Gils? Was that Gils? There was a reason that thought was important, a reason that it was wrong to hear his voice. But my concerns were wispy and I couldn’t keep them. They were pulled from me even as I was raised from the water. Before I could gather them back, I was dry and under warm furs and a hand was pressing softly on my heart. My eyes refused to open. A cup at my lips, a few swallows and the warm darkness welcomed me back.

I opened my eyes, and stared into the darkness. It seemed familiar somehow, to lay so, in a tent where the only light came from braziers. I was too weak to move, or do much more than simply breathe. It felt good, and it took long moments for me to understand that I was feeling better. Utterly drained of any strength, but I wasn’t hot, wasn’t sweating. My breath came slowly and I enjoyed the sensation for a while in the quiet warmth of the tent.

A soft sound drew my attention. I thought about that for a moment, then slowly turned my head toward the noise.

Keir was sitting on the floor, leaning on the bed. His one hand braced his head, the other lay close to mine. He was asleep, and snoring, something I hadn’t heard him do before. He looked so tired, so haggard. Hair mussed, his chin rough and unshaven. If he slept like that for much longer, he’d have a sore neck. With some effort, I managed to move my hand enough to brush his fingertips with mine.