The noise of somebody running up the wooden staircase sounded through the door. There was a knock, but the door was opened without waiting for a response. A moment later, Ninkar stuck her red face through the curtain. “I’m sorry…master,” she said, panting. “Tala asked me…to tell you….”

“Somebody is coming?” master Jas’ar asked.

“Yes,” the big cook said, slowly regaining her breath. “A fast wagon.”

Master Jas’ar nodded. “I understand. What does she intend to do?”

“She told me to tell you that she will greet the strangers in the yard. With Motar. You may stay here and rest.”

Having delivered her message Ninkar waited for the magus’ response, while nervously avoiding his eyes by staring at the floor. She did this before, too, but she seemed to be even more anxious now, Belili thought. What has her so afraid?

“Please thank Tala for her consideration,” Master Jas’ar said, dismissing her with a friendly gesture.

Ninkar bowed awkwardly and hurried out of the room again.

“Belili, please help me up,” the magus said, scooting to the edge of the bed. “I also need a garment. Something long enough to hide the wound.”

Belili hurried to support the old man, not daring to remind him that Tala had asked him not to move the leg.

Leaning heavily on her shoulder, he hobbled toward the table. “This will not do. I am not cutting a very impressive figure right now.” He leaned back against the table taking his weight off Belili.

Stepping back, she had to agree with him. Wearing only his undergarments, his leg using thin streams of pus and blood, the old man looked quite sickly. He was still emanating his natural dignity but even that was much diminished.

“So pathetic?” the magus asked, with a half-smile. “Oh, do not worry.” He held up his hand when he saw her shocked expression. “Rather help me to find something to wear.”

Belili thought feverishly. “Zabu has a wide garment he wears on holy days. It reaches all the way down to the ankles and is dark brown. Blood stains should be hard to spot on it.”

“Perfect. Bring it to me. Quickly, please.”

Belili found the brown robe in one of the chests. It was heavy and had been decorated with beautiful stitching by Tala herself. Together they managed to pull it over the magus’ head and while he busied himself with the laces, she put his shoes back on his feet.

When she was done, she considered their work. Zabu was broader in the shoulders but almost a head shorter than the old man. Luckily the garment was cut loose enough. All in all, he looked quite dignified in it. More so than the burly Zabu could ever have managed.

He needs his staff, Belili thought. It will complete the picture and leaning on it he can hide his leg. Looking around she spotted the long piece of wood leaning against the wall next to the bed.

“I am almost done with these laces,” Master Jas’ar murmured behind her. “Belili, do not touch that!”

The warning came too late.

The moment she heard the magus shout, her fingers were already closed around the smooth grain. Immediately her head filled with voices that weren’t her own.

‘…and a shadow shall fall upon the land and day will be night and the crops shall die and…’

‘Thou shall be healed. Thy lab shall be fertile ground for thy husband’s seed.’

‘Damn, bread and beer again? When was the last time they brought me some wine and goat meat?’

More and more voices flooded into her mind. Some were loud and imposing as if the speaker was standing right next to her, shouting into her ear. Others were barely audible whispers in the distance.

Her body was frozen in place. Any attempt to form a coherent thought was washed away by the storm of thoughts that weren’t her own. Aware that she couldn’t hear the sound of her own mental voice anymore, Belili began to shake.

And then the staff was ripped from her hands and the voices stopped from one heartbeat to the next. Dropping to her knees she gasped for air, tears starting to run down her cheeks.

“It is fine, girl,” the magus’s said next to her resting his long-fingered hand on her shoulder. “Breathe. Let it out. Can you speak?”

Belili opened her mouth but found that she couldn’t. She shook her head, trying to sniff away her tears.

Fear and despair were familiar to her. She had experienced them, kneeling next to Saras when he had been struck by the plague together with half the people around her. She had felt them when bandits had raided the estate years earlier and killed her mother.

This had been different – worse. While the storm of voices was gone, the memory of the panic her utter helplessness had caused still remained.

“Belili, I must go now,” the magus said, in a soft voice. “I shall return as quickly as I can.”

Feeling his hand retreating, Belili reached over her shoulder, holding onto his fingers. “…please.” It was all she managed to bring out.

Squeezing her shoulder lightly, master Jas’ar gave her a couple of heartbeats before slowly freeing himself. “All is well. When I return, I shall teach you. But now you must breathe and rest.”

Please, do not leave, she thought, still fighting the shivering. She didn’t turn around when she heard the old man rise behind her. The sound of the staff hitting the floorboards told her when he reached the top of the stairs and started his descent.

Doing the only thing she could, she focused on her breathing. As the moments passed, she slowly calmed down. When the magus reached the foot of the staircase, she was back in control enough to wipe her eyes and nose with her forearm and look around, trying to decide what to do.

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Slowly, her legs still shaky, she climbed back to her feet. Pushing the curtain aside, she headed for the door. My legs feel like they are filled with warm stew, she thought. But the movement seemed to do her well. With every step, the memory of her utter helplessness became a bit more distant.

Almost at the door she suddenly remembered that Master Jas’ar had told her to stay put and rest. Would he be angry if she disobeyed him? Of course, he will, she thought. Nothing is punished harder than disobedience.

Trying to reconcile the urge to follow the magus with her better judgment her eyes wandered the room and fell on the windows. Most of them were small and high, serving more to let sunlight in than to look outside.

Hesitating only for a heartbeat, Belili grabbed a stool and carried it over to one overseeing the yard. Being as short as she was, even on the stool she had to stand on her toes to see.

Her eyes widened as she took in the scene outside. What stood on one side of the yard wasn’t a simple wagon, it was a chariot. Despite never having seen one before, Belili still recognized it immediately. Drawn by the most beautiful horses, the vehicle only had two wheels, supporting a platform barely large enough for three men to stand next to each other.

“Enough with the pleasantries, woman,” a stranger facing Tala and Motar, said. He spoke in the Old Tongue but with an accent, Belili had never heard before.

One of three, he was clearly the leader. Behind him, slightly to the right stood another man, a bronze-tipped spear firmly planted into the ground. The third hadn’t come forward. Still standing on the chariot, he held an arrow to an undrawn bow. His head constantly moved from sight to sight, as if expecting an attack at any moment.

All three wore traveling cloaks, hoods pulled over their heads, making it impossible for Belili to make out many details. Yet, one thing was clear. These were foreign warriors.

“I am searching for a man,” the leader said. “An old wanderer. A stranger to these lands. Have you seen him?”

Tala bowed her head to the warrior. “I beg your forgiveness. My husband is not here to welcome you at the moment as it is proper. There is no such man on this estate. May I offer you beer and bread and water for your horses before you continue your search?”

The leader considered Tala for a heartbeat before tilting his head slightly to the side, glancing at the spearman. The latter shook his head ever so slightly.

“I say you lie,” the leader said. “The gods guided us here. Tell me where he is!”

The shout made Tala stiffen. Motar took half a step forward, seemingly intent on jumping in front of her should anything happen.

The leader pointed at him. “That old man and the two boys,” he nodded towards the shack, “will not save you. Tell me where the stranger is.”

“That is quite enough,” another voice boomed.

While the warriors hadn’t so much as flinched, facing Motar, this time their reaction was stark. The leader jumped back half a step. His hand shot under his cloak and returned with a bronze sword strangely curved like a sickle. The spearman reacted slightly calmer, falling into a fighting stance while turning towards the new threat.

Belili held her breath. Despite making herself as long as she could, the angle didn’t allow her to see the entrance of the house from where the voice, master Jas’ar’s voice, had come from.

The leader and the spearman exchanged a glance, Belili couldn’t read. To her it seemed like the warriors were taken off guard, unable to make up their mind what to do next. But there are three of them, she thought. Then she remembered her dream and the bodies spread out in the valley not far from here. If these men knew who they were facing, their hesitation was understandable.

The leader said something in a language Belili didn’t understand and master Jas’ar responded with the same guttural sounds. There was a short back and forth followed by the leader and the spearman exchanging another glance. Both men slowly lowered their weapons and retreated toward the chariot, never taking their eyes off the spot where Master Jas’ar stood outside of Belili’s field of view. Only after bringing half the yard between themselves and the magus, they dared to turn their backs.

“Wait!”

Hearing the master’s call, the men froze. Only a twitching in their arms betrayed that they had almost raised their weapons again.

“You,” master Jas’ar called across the yard. “Show me your face.”

Again, the spearman and the leader looked at each other. The latter gave a nod and the spearman turned around fully to face the magus. He planted his weapon on the ground while his other hand pulled down the shawl hiding his face and then threw back his cloak’s hood.

He was a young man, maybe in his early twenties. His skin was the color of wet clay, several shades darker than Belili’s. His chin - challengingly pushed forward - and his head were clean-shaven except for a thick braid of black hair protruding from one site slightly behind and above his ear. Even at the distance, Belili was sure she could see the fury in his eyes.

“You survived the night, priest,” the magus said, followed by something in the other tongue.

For a moment it looked like the young warrior was going to shoot back a reply but then his leader placed a hand on his shoulder and two heartbeats later his stance relaxed slightly.

Without another word, the two men mounted the chariot and the leader picked up the reins. A flick of his wrists and a short command was all it took and the horses fell into a slow trot.

To leave, the vehicle had to circle around Tala and Motar, who stood ignored in the middle of the yard. All the way around, the eyes of the spear- and bowman never left the magus.

When the chariot turned into the road leading through the fields away from the estate, it quickly gained speed and Belili let go of a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. How close had they been to seeing violence?

Below Motar’s posture was relaxing, too. Tala placed a hand on the old guard’s shoulder and said something too low for Belili to hear.

On the other side of the yard, the other two guards stuck their heads out of the shack, nervously looking around.

“Faster, woman, faster!”

Master Jas’ar’s sudden command startled everybody. Heads turned around and a heartbeat later, the magus, heavily leaning on Ninkar’s shoulder, hobbled into Belili’s field of view.

“Master Jas’ar, what…” Tala began to say.

“Silence!” The magus’ eyes were on the distant chariot, speeding down the road.

He raised his staff and one of the symbols carved into the upper third of the wood started to glow. It was the amber gleam of a log burning in a fire, producing a thin trail of smoke.

Both Tala and Motar stepped back, their eyes wide in fear.

Belili leaned forward, her finger pressing against the hardened mudbrick of the windowsill.

‘Misfortune upon your enemies.’

The voice sounded so sudden in Belili’s head; that she almost fell from the stool. Holding on to the wall, she managed to catch herself, trying the whole time not to take her eyes off the magus. She couldn’t miss whatever was about to happen.

A sound in the distance made her eyes snap up. The chariot, almost having reached the end of the wheat fields, buckled and then flew up into the air. Bodies were flung aside like wet rags, wood cracked and a moment later the pitiful whining of the horses reached all the way back to the estate.

“Guard.”

What was that? Belili thought, staring at the cloud of dust, the accident had thrown up.

“Guard!”

The shout snapped Belili out of her frozen state. Looking down, she saw that her reaction hadn’t been unique. Tala and Motar stared at Master Jas’ar, fear and shock written into their faces.

“Motar, yes?” the magus asked. “Take your men and run down there. See if those men are dead and if they are not, kill them.” He paused, looking expectantly at his audience.

“…I…” It was all the grim veteran managed to stutter.

“If you do not kill these men,” the master said, in a tone that left no room to argue, “they will return tonight and everybody here will die.”

It was Tala who caught herself first. She reached out to the old guard and gave him a reassuring nod, pushing him along. “Do it, Motar.”

“I…yes.” Shaking himself, he picked up his spear and fell into a jog.

“You two,” Tala called towards the shack. “Go with him!”

Her resolute tone was enough. The two young guards crawled out of their hideout and hurried after their senior as fast as their legs could carry them. One even forgot to take his weapon.

For the time it took the three to cover the first hundred paces, everybody looked after them. It would take them a while to cover the distance and so the attention returned slowly to the magus standing in the middle of the yard.

Master Jas’ar sighed, his imposing posture deflating a bit. “Belili, you can come down now.”

Belili flinched away from the window, suddenly feeling caught.

“Yes,” she called, jumping down from the stool.

He did not look in my direction, she thought, running toward the stairs. Not once.