"We send out salves and syrups, blankets and food, every day," Castinagis interjected.
"And it is not enough to placate those who know they are dying," said Braumin.
"We cannot go out to them," Viscenti reasoned. "Then we weather the plague within our abbey," Abbot Braum decided, "as it has been in the past, as we have done thus far. We will co tinue to send out the salves and other supplies as we can spare them, but the peasants-led by the Brothers Repentant, no doubt-come against i then we will defend St. Precious vigorously."
"And if we lose the abbey? " Castinagis asked grimly.
"Then we flee Palmaris," Braumin replied, "to Caer Tinella, perhap where we might establish' the first chapel of Avelyn."
"That course was denied," Viscenti remarked.
Braumin shrugged as if that fact wasn't important. "Perhaps it is time v, think about establishing the Church of Avelyn, in partnership with d Abellican Church if they so desire, a separate entity altogether if they d not."
The strong words raised the eyebrows of the other two brothers in th room, and Braumin, too, understood the desperation of such a course. Th Church would never agree to such a split, of course, and would likel declare Braumin a heretic-again-and excommunicate any who side. with him. But they wouldn't come after him, Braumin knew, at least no until the time of plague had passed. And in those years, it was quite con ceivable that he, with a more generous attitude toward the terrified peas ants, might establish himself so securely that the Abellican Church woulc think it wiser to just let him be.
Those fanciful thoughts continued to roll in Braumin's head for a Ion; while, long after both Viscenti and Castinagis had taken their leave. But ir the end, they didn't hold, for Braumin recognized them as the course ol a desperate fool. His current problems were not the making of a new Church-indeed, he and his comrades had pushed the Church in a direction favorable to Avelyn and Jojonah, favorable to his own beliefs. The current problem was the plague, pure and simple, and even if Braumin successfully managed to go and establish his coveted chapel, even if he split from the Abellican Church altogether and began his own religion, what would be the gain? The rosy plague would still be among them, and Braumin would still be helpless against it.
Another rock thudded against the abbot's wall.
He glanced that way, toward the window, and tuned in to the curses and shouts being hurled against his abbey. No, he would not run away. He and his brethren would defend St. Precious from all attacks, and vigorously, as he had instructed. If all the city came against them, then all the city would be destroyed, if that is what it would take.
Braumin hated his own thoughts.
But he wouldn't deny the truth, nor the righteousness, of them.
Pony knelt over Dainsey, holding her hand and talking comfortingly to her, trying to give her some dignity and some sense that she was loved and was not alone at this, the end of her life. How bitter it all seemed to Pony, to fail here, just a mile from her destination, though in truth, she doubted that even if she could get to Avelyn's arm, it would do Dainsey any good. The poor woman was too far gone.
"Let go, Dainsey," she whispered, wanting the woman's misery, her obvious fear and pain, to end. "It is all right to let go."
If Dainsey heard her, she made no indication, but Pony kept talking, kept hoping that she was doing some good.
Then a strong hand grabbed Pony's shoulder and pulled her up to her feet. She glanced back to see Bradwarden, right beside her, holding the pouch of gemstones she had left far back down the path.
"What? " she started to ask.
" Ye get her up on me back and climb yerself up with her," the centaur explained. "I'll get ye to the top o' Mount Aida."
"B-Bradwarden, the plague," Pony stuttered.
"Damn it to the dactyl's own bed!" the centaur roared. "I'd rather be catchin' it and dyin' than to keep away and watch me friends sufferin'!"
Pony started to argue-that generous nature within her thought immediately to protect her unafflicted friend. But who was she to so determine Bradwarden's course, or anyone's for that matter? If she was willing to take such risks with her own life as to dive spiritually right into the disease as it ravaged Dainsey, or even complete strangers, then how could she presume to warn Bradwarden away?
Besides, she didn't disagree with him. There were indeed fates worse than death.
She helped Bradwarden to get Dainsey in place on his strong back, and then she climbed up behind her.
"All this time, you have helped, but from a safe distance," Pony observed. "Why now? "
"Because I trust ye, girl," the centaur admitted. "And if ye're thinkin' that ye can heal the plague at the arm, and if ye're hearin' that from Avelyn and Nightbird themselves, then who might I be to be arguin'?"
Pony considered the words and merely shrugged.
"I'll keep it as smooth as I can," the centaur promised.
"She is feeling nothing," Pony replied. "Speed is more urgent than comfort. Fly on!"
And Bradwarden did just that, pounding along trails that he knew all too well. He came down the side of the Barbacan ring, onto the expanse leading to Mount Aida, fields growing thick with new grasses after the devastation of Avelyn's fight against Bestesbulzibar. Then up, up, went Bradwarden, running along familiar trails.
"I'll be coming up on the south face," he explained. "It's a quicker run to the plateau, but I'll not be able to get up the last climb to the place with ye." "I may need you there," Pony remarked.
"And I'll join ye as soon as I can get meself to the other side," Bradwarden promised.
On they went. They came to places where Pony had to dismount and run along beside, and one cliff where Pony found the strength to use the malachite, levitating both Bradwarden and Dainsey up behind her and saving many hundreds of yards of winding trail.
"Off ye go," the centaur announced, skidding to a stop when they arrived at the last expanse. Pony brought Dainsey around, and Bradwarden hoisted her seemingly lifeless form up over the short rise, laying her atop the flat plateau, then helping Pony up beside her.
"I will get you up with malachite," the woman started to say, but Bradwarden waved the notion away.
"I'll be joinin' ye soon enough," he explained. "Ye save yer strength for Dainsey's last fight." And he turned and thundered away, along the trails that would bring him to the other side of the plateau and an easier route to the top.
Pony turned and stared at the mummified arm ofAvelyn Desbris, standing strong out of the very rock of the blasted mountain. In the final explosion that had destroyed the mountaintop and the physical form of Bestesbulzibar, Avelyn had thrust that arm skyward, holding Tempest and the bag of gemstones for his friends to find. For some reason that Pony did not understand, that arm had not rotted, nor had the continual wind worn it away. It appeared just as she had found it those years before, without the sword or the stones, and she couldn't deny the comfort she felt in merely viewing it.
She gathered up Dainsey in her arms and walked over to the arm, laying the woman on the ground gently before it.
Now what?
Pony knelt before the arm and began to pray, to Avelyn, to Elbryan, to anyone who would give her the answers. Before her, Dainsey continued to squirm uncomfortably, fighting against the seemingly inevitable end.
Pony prayed harder. She took out her soul stone and fell into its magic, then soared boldly into the rot that was Dainsey Aucomb. Might she find better results here, in this sacred place?
Pony attacked.
And was beaten back.
"No!" she cried when she came out of the gemstone trance, sitting on the ground helplessly before Dainsey, who was now writhing in the very last moments of her life. "No! It cannot have been a lie!"
"This is my covenant with you," came a voice behind her, and Pony whirled about-to see a young monk, Romeo Mullahy, standing behind her.
But he was dead! Had died in this very place, throwing himself from the rocks rather than accept capture at
the hands of Father Abbot Markwart.
Pony stammered a few incomprehensible syllables. "Whosoever tastes the blood of my palm shall know no fear from the rosy plague," Mullahy said.
Pony reached for the man-and her hand went right through him! It was Romeo Mullahy, his ghost at least, and he was far less than corporeal!
Pony played back his words desperately.
"But ye're dead!" came a cry from farther back, Bradwarden climbing onto the plateau.
Pony looked at Mullahy's insubstantial hands for the blood.
"I spoke for Avelyn," he explained. "This is the covenant ofAvelyn."
Pony snapped her gaze back to the mummified hand, to see, to her surprise and her delight, that there was indeed a reddish liquid upon the palm.
Dainsey cried out then, as Death reached for her. Pony reacted faster, reaching down and lifting her face to Avelyn's hand, pressing Dainsey's lips against the palm.
The effect was immediate and stunning, for Dainsey went limp but not in death. No, far from that, Pony knew; Dainsey was-so suddenly-more comfortable than she had been in many days!
Pony laid her down gently before the arm, then she, too, leaned in and kissed the bloody palm-and that blood seemed not to diminish in the least.
She felt the warmth all through her body, and knew then for certain that she had contracted the plague from her work with Dainsey, that it was within her, beginning to gather strength.
But no longer. Pony felt that implicitly.
Whosoever tastes the blood of my palm shall know no fear from the rosy plague.
Pony looked down at Dainsey, who was resting and breathing easily. She glanced back to Romeo Mullahy, but the ghost was already gone, its message delivered.
Bradwarden came up to her.
"Ye got blood on yer lips," he remarked.
"Avelyn's," Pony tried to explain, shaking her head. "The taste of his blood grants freedom from the plague, so said-"
"The ghost of Mullahy," the centaur finished. "I seen him jump meself, back then when Markwart and King Danube came to catch us. Hit them rocks hard."
"How can it be?" Pony asked.
Bradwarden laughed aloud, shaking his head with every rolling bellow. "I'm not for disbelievin' anythin' comin' out o' that arm," he said, and then he paused for a moment, staring from Pony to the still-bloody hand. "Are ye goin' to take some with ye, then? "
Pony, too, looked at the hand. "I cannot," she explained, and indeed, in her heart, she knew. She understood all of it now. " It is the blood and it is this place." "What're ye thinkin'?" Bradwarden asked suspiciously. "We're a long way from yer homeland."
Pony just turned a determined look his way.
"That Mullahy ghost tell ye that? "
"No," Pony answered with perfect calm. "The spirit of Avelyn did, just now."
Bradwarden and Pony stared at each other for a long while, then the centaur came in low and kissed the bloody hand.
Chapter 37
The Vision
Symphony ran as never before, bearing Pony straight to the souti thundering down the roads to Dundalis. Bradwarden carried Dainse now, who was recovering with each passing minute, but the cental couldn't begin to pace Symphony and Pony. Even when Symphony ha been carrying both women on the trip to the Barbacan, Bradwarden had t run on much longer each night to keep up.
But Pony couldn't wait for her two friends. Now that she knew Dainsey t be out of danger and was confident that no goblins would surprise the cur ning centaur, her purpose shifted to the wider world, to all the plague vie tims who had to know the truth ofAvelyn's arm. A thousand variables rollei about in Pony's head. Would her newfound immunity against the plagui allow her to begin a general healing process throughout the southland:
Would plague sufferers begin to make the pilgrimage to the wild Barbacan! How would Pony protect them from monsters and animals, from th‹ weather as the season turned to winter? And what of food? Would she offei blind hope to thousands only to have them starve on the road to the north?
Too many questions, too many dire possibilities. But none, Pony pointedly and repeatedly reminded herself on that wild run to the south, were nearly as dire as the reality that the folk of the kingdom now knew, the reality of the rosy plague and so many dying with each passing day.
With each passing minute, she told herself; and she used the malachite as much as she could to lighten Symphony's load; and she used the soul stone to catch some of the strength from nearby deer and other animals, giving it to Symphony; and she used the cat's-eye circlet to see in the dark, then transferred those images to Symphony so that the run could continue long after sunset.
On one such night, in the light of Sheila, Pony found a solitary form standing vigil on the ridge north of Dundalis; and she was not surprised, but her heart was warmed.
"Greetings, Roger," she called, urging Symphony ahead. The man nearly fell over trying to get to her. "Tell me!" he cried. "Where is Dainsey?"
"With Bradwarden, some miles behind."
"Did you get to the B-Barbacan? " Roger stuttered, hardly able to speak the question. "Did Avelyn…"
Pony slipped down from Symphony's back, and when she turned, her beaming smile was all the answer Roger Lockless needed. He exploded into motion, wrapping Pony in the tightest hug she had ever felt, his shoulders shaking with sobs of joy.
They were in Dundalis soon after; and there Pony, strengthened by the miracle of Avelyn's blood, fought the rosy plague.
Her spirit entered the body of an afflicted man. But now she held no fear of it at all. None. It could not latch on to her spiritual arms as she attacked the disease, scraping it from bone and organ, her healing spiritual touch dissipating the greenish disease.
She stayed with the afflicted man for a long time, moving to every edge of his being, fighting and fighting wherever she found sickness.
Finally, exhausted but satisfied, Pony made her way to her own body. She sat back, her eyes closed, reorienting herself to her corporeal form.
"I am healed!" she heard the man cry, and then came a host of responding cheers.
Pony blinked open her eyes, to find Roger and Bolster and Tomas Gingerwart and many, many other folk of Dundalis gathered in the room or just outside the window. And all of them were cheering for her, for her healing of this man.
But Pony knew the truth of it. "You are not cured," she told the man bluntly. The cheering stopped immediately, and the man seemed as if he would topple out of his bed. "I have granted you time, a temporary reprieve, but there is only one way for you to be truly cured."
She paused and looked around, to find them all, every man and every woman, hanging on her every word.
"You said that Dainsey was cured," Roger dared to remark.
"You must travel to the Barbacan," she explained, "to the flattened top of Mount Aida and the arm of Avelyn Desbris. You will see blood in his palm. Kiss it, taste it, and you need not fear the rosy plague anymore."
"The Barbacan?" the man replied, his face bloodless. All about him, people began repeating that question, that name.
Pony understood their terror. Along with the fact that the Barbacan was a place of legendary evil that had been home of the latest incarnation of the demon dactyl, the difficulty of that northern, wild road gave them all pause. Again that tumult of questions, simple logistical problems, assaulted her thoughts. They had to go to the Barbacan, everyone afflicted-and even those who were not yet caught in the grasp of the plague would do well to make the journey. But how?
Pony went back to Fellowship Way soon after, needing rest. The townsfolk had asked her to lead them to the Barbacan, and she had told them that she would answer them in the morning, but in truth, she had known her answer all along. She could not go back now. No, her road must continue to the south, to Caer Tinella and to Palmaris, at least. The word had to be spread far and wide.
She knew the only hope for making this miracle known to the whole land: she would have to enlist the aid of the King's soldi
ers and the Abellican brothers. All of them.
Even if she accomplished such a thing, though, how could she secure the northern road so that the pilgrimages could begin at once?
For every passing minute brought pain and grief, every passing day made the pile of corpses grow larger.
Pony fell asleep with those disturbing thoughts in mind, trying to work out the speech she would make to Braumin and the others, to King Danube and Duke Kalas, trying to figure out some way that Bradwarden and Bolster could find aid to begin the first pilgrimages. She woke up sometime later, the night still dark, the dawn still far away.
She had her answer.
Pony fell into the soul stone once more, freeing her spirit from its corporeal bonds, then flying, flying across the miles to the west.
Soon after, she came to a place where she knew that she was not welcome, but she called out anyway for the lady of the land.
A few minutes passed; Pony considered plunging through the misty vei] that covered Andur'Blough Inninness, invading the elven homeland with her spirit. But then, suddenly, she felt a pull and recognized that Lad) Dasslerond was using the magic of her emerald gemstone to bring more ol Pony's corporeal form to the place, that they might speak more clearly.
And then the lady of Caer'alfar was before her, glaring at her danger ously. Pony noted that many other Touel'alfar were about, and that thosi she caught sight of were carrying their deadly little bows. Instinctively, shi reached down and felt her own body, recognizing that she was solid enougl for Dasslerond's archers to truly harm her.
"We have already had this discussion," the lady said sternly. "Our boi ders are closed, Jilseponie, to you and to all others of your race."
"The situation has changed," Pony started to say.
"No, it has not!" Lady Dasslerond insisted, narrowing her golden eye "The plague is a problem for the human kingdoms. We'll not let it, or yoi touch Andur'Blough Inninness. Now begone from this place-I will relea; your body and I expect your spirit to follow. On pain of death, Jilseponi your spirit must follow."
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