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t was late afternoon when Kantele dropped wearily into the chair beside Zhou’s bed. He seemed small and fragile lying alone where two normally slept. Once more she wondered where Shikai had gone but Zhou would not answer her questions and grew annoyed when she pressed him. Xiang Yi fussed over Zhou as he laid his hands over the ritual wounds upon the guild leader’s breast and healed them without a trace. They were superficial, of course; nevertheless it had sickened her to inflict them and it had not helped matters that Zhou had alternately pleaded with her to continue and stop as the rawness of Ashekoroth’s torment overwhelmed him.
It was done now, regardless. The demon could no longer reach him and he was at peace. He wore the severed piece of his psyche within a locket around his neck and his hand strayed there now, holding the small metal vessel that contained the ruby.
“You should go now and rest,” he said quietly to her as Xiang Yi stepped away from him and began setting out a collection of vials from his medicine pouch.
“I agree. You need sleep, as well, Master Bei,” the monk replied, his blue tattooed head gleaming in the gray autumn light that flowed through the glass of the balcony doors. His dour gray robes appeared dingy and tattered and he had no doubt been dragging them through the wreckage during his rounds.
“We all do,” Zhou murmured, “It has been a trying time for everyone. Were any others slain?”
“No,” Xiang Yi replied, “It is fortunate the Tyrian warrior, Orick, saw fit to take defensive measures and sent the elderly and young away. Only Nandao was lost.”
“Any sign of Brigit?”
“No, Master Bei. Her disappearance coincides with that of Pendaran. Ming could find no leads.”
Zhou sighed quietly, resigned.
“Will Orick recover from the demon venom?”
“Yes, Master, he is resting now. Your antidote proved potent and timely. There is no more need to fret over the welfare of anyone other than yourself.”
Kantele watched the monk pour a mixture of substances into a goblet before watering it down with wine. He urged Zhou to sit up and take the draught, which he did after a moment’s hesitation.
“I will insist upon you staying in bed for a day, Master Bei,” Xiang Yi said with the faintest edge of steel in his voice, “I will keep a servant posted nearby to attend to you.”
“And keep an eye on me. I know you well, Xiang Yi.”
The monk smiled crookedly and nodded. Zhou handed the empty goblet back to him and he lay back, pulling the blankets up around his throat with a weary sigh. Xiang Yi drew the heavy curtains and the room was plunged into warm shadows, lit only by the fire that popped and fluttered in the small hearth near the foot of the bed.
“Until tomorrow, then,” he said, closing his eyes, “Miss Marella, you have my gratitude. Do not regret what I asked you to do. Go rest now, my friend.”
Kantele rose and bowed once to him, noting that he was already asleep. Xiang Yi looked her over with the critical eye of a healer and she feared he would intervene. She was tired and no doubt looked worse for wear than she had that morning. Nodding respectfully, she moved quickly away before he could impose his ministrations upon her. She wanted to be alone.
When she arrived in her temporary room, it was to find Lemony dozing in the middle of their shared bed amid of a collection of oddments. Stacking dolls, an assortment of colorful tiles and a tiny brass cage were scattered around her curled figure. She grasped one of the round hollow figurines and it was pressed to her face as if she were cuddling it. The cricket chirped forlornly near her head.
“Any word of Pendaran?” Teleri demanded, holding her bulging belly as she sat up. Mabane clung to her possessively and his face was sad and frightened as he looked upon Kantele. There would never be a good time to discuss what Zhou had shared with her. Secretly, she had hoped to put off this conversation. She was exhausted. The ritual had proved draining, both emotionally and physically. Food and rest were her greatest need now.
Lemony opened her eyes and gazed up at Kantele, looking embarrassed amid her scattered toys. Propping herself up, the diminutive monk said nothing as she stacked up the dolls and tossed the tiles inside a tooled leather case. Kantele sat on the edge of the bed. There was little enough space in the room and no other furniture. The fire breathed warmth on them as Lemony rose and delicately tossed a few more coals into the grate. She then cracked open the door and called for a servant to bring them food and tea before returning to drop unceremoniously on the bed beside Kantele.
How would she tell them that Zhou would do nothing to save Pendaran? That he did not believe Pendaran could be saved and it was pointless even to try? Suddenly she felt very angry with the man for putting her in this difficult situation. Why should she have to smooth over his awkward news?
“At the moment, we know only that Pen is being held by a very powerful water demon,” Kantele replied.
“Is that what that… thing that looked like my husband… is that what he was? A water demon?”
“Yes.”
“What are we going to do?”
“Zhou is resting now. He needs time to decide how to face the demon. It is very powerful and unlike others he has fought.”
“Where is Brigit?”
“No one knows. It is possible she was captured with Pendaran.”
Teleri gazed upon her shrewdly, her eyes narrowing.
“What are you not telling me?”
“Pen may not survive,” Kantele said quietly, the words feeling wrong in her mouth and she instantly wished she could withdraw them when she saw the look of blank horror upon Teleri’s face. Mabane wept quietly. She felt the boy’s raw pain. He knew the truth; he could no doubt sense the anguish of his master. It was cruel and he was far too young to be subjected to such things.
“It took my husband,” Teleri raged, her eyes glistening with tears, “and now Zhou expects me to sit back and let it take my best friend, Brigit, and the only other man I have ever loved? We will rescue them.”
Kantele felt the snap of Teleri’s anger and helplessness. What could she tell her without dampening that fire and taking away her hope? Lemony sighed, biting her lip sadly.
“The motto of the Order of the Crystal Palm… it was embroidered on the standard and I asked Zhou what it meant,” the monk murmured, “I finally understand it now.”
Teleri was taken aback by the strange turn of the conversation.
“In weakness lies great strength. Can’t get much weaker then Pen, so he’ll be that much stronger.”
Kantele smiled at the earnestness of the little monk’s expression. Lemony believed it with all of her heart. If only the rest of them did. Teleri sighed, shaking her head in annoyance at Lemony but not deigning to contradict her.
“There is nothing we can do right now,” Kantele said, seeking to relieve some of the tension, “Let us dine a little and then perhaps go for a short walk around the compound. The southern garden appeared to be unscathed and it will do us some good.”
“Don’t worry, little one, your master is a survivor. If there is a way, he’ll come home.”
Mabane smiled up at her through his tears and nodded.
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