Cedric and Adrian made good time, having finally situated themselves among the map's fine ink markings after passing Braeden. And no matter how often they stole a backwards glance, they never caught a glimpse of the map's former owner. Yet she lingered in the corners of their minds like a phantom, somehow more unsettling for her lack of physical presence. Never more than a day behind… that was what she'd assured them.

Adrian had told him everything of his encounter with the Bloodclaw, including her claim that no one else in the kingdom would be able to cure him. He wondered if that would've included Alvir, too.

With no sheltering tree in sight, they were forced to make camp in the open, among the endless fields of tough, dry grass. The reddening sun had begun its descent, and Cedric welcomed the familiar, comforting embrace of night.

"Show me the wound," Adrian said after finishing his portion of dried meat.

Cedric, who felt no appetite and hadn't eaten, lifted his ragged shirt. The wound was bright red and swollen. Thin lines of sickly green tendrils had begun to spread outwards from the site like tiny, malevolent roots. Just as the Bloodclaw had foretold.

By now, the initial storm of emotions had subsided. He'd at first been furious at the cruel turn of fate that now rendered everything he'd been through--imprisonment, recovery, narrow escapes from starvation and capture--entirely worthless. Especially the deaths of Jana and Alvir, which now amounted to precisely nothing. That searing, unavoidable truth had hurt far worse than the festering wound.

But the sole alternative, giving himself up to the Bloodclaw, he'd rejected outright. Even a painful and senseless end was preferable to another lifetime of helpless imprisonment, and with that resolve had come some limited degree of peace. He'd keep riding for Borne, no matter the futility of it. The Bloodclaw would have to content herself with a corpse.

Adrian didn't share Cedric's resolve; his lower lip trembled a little as he examined the wound. His gentle fingers were cool against the inflamed flesh.

"Let's seek out an herbalist or healer in the next village we pass by," he said. "Anastir is a half-day away, at most."

"You don't believe the Bloodclaw."

"Do you? She had good reason to claim herself as your sole salvation."

"The symptoms she described have been accurate."

"What's with you?" Adrian frowned. "This is your life, here."

Cedric sat down. The wound flared in protest, and he bit down on a wince of pain.

He raised his eyes to the darkening sky. After so long spent in the smothering confines of a tiny, putrid cell, its yawning infinity never failed to entrance him. He would not be deprived of it again.

"At least I won't die a prisoner."

Adrian huffed. "Are those your only options?"

"I don't object to your suggestion. If consulting a healer will put your mind at ease…"

"Of course. My peace of mind is the true concern here." He produced a square of flatbread from the saddlebags. "Come, eat something before I shove it down your throat myself."

*

Anastir was barely larger than Braeden, and therefore unlikely to be hosting a Blade. Adrian predicted a motley patrol of three, at most, to be stationed at various points of the town border to question newcomers.

Both he and Cedric were exactly the age of suspicion, but Adrian's gray eyes and unthreatening height and build would most likely afford him entry without raising alarm. Only the Bloodclaw knew to pursue the Silken Hog's former bar boy. That was the one claim of hers that Adrian had unequivocally believed--they were her quarry, and she had no interest in easing the hunt for anyone else.

With Cedric and Nightwind camped a good distance away, he set off for Anastir on foot.

Stationed at the end of the main path into town was a tall and strapping dark-haired man in his thirties, no doubt one of the more able-bodied of Anastir's few residents. He wore a brown leather vest and an old but sturdy sword at his hip. He made for a respectable first impression, which was obviously the intent.

"Afternoon," Adrian said, stopping a few steps before the lone guard.

He saw the man's eyes flicker over him, warily acknowledging his age. He also saw him relax once he properly took in his features.

"Well met," the guard said, inclining his head. "What business do you have in Anastir today?"

"My little brother," Adrian gestured vaguely behind him. "He's curled up at camp with some terrible affliction of the belly. Whatever he eats or drinks comes right back up. You wouldn't happen to house a healer or herbalist in town, would you?"

"Sorry lad, but our healer has left town for good. You'll need to head south to Laetera."

Adrian swore under his breath. "Is there really no one closer?"

A cart coming from within Anastir passed them by. Seated there were three hunched, morose individuals, a young girl, a young boy, and an older woman. The former two wore blindfolds while the latter grimly held the reins, squinting slightly.

The guard sighed as he watched their departure. "Struck by the Blight, like our healer," he said to Adrian. "Once it becomes known, they've no choice but to leave. None dare associate with them." He chuckled humorlessly. "And with that monstrous flying Beast everyone's now blabbing about, it rather feels like the world is properly cracked apart, doesn't it?"

"Sir, a healer?"

He scratched his head. "Right, of course. I'm afraid--" His expression suddenly froze as some unsavory remembrance seemed to dawn on him.

"What is it?" Adrian pressed.

He dithered against an internal battle.

"Please, sir. My brother's in a dire state."

Reluctantly, the guard said, "There's a lone cottage about an hour's ride northwest. I grew up on tales of the old witch living there. An herbalist, but also a heretic."

The base of Adrian's neck crawled, an automatic response to the dreaded term akin to a condemnation. Images of blood sacrifices, howling ululations to false gods, and frenzied, animalistic promiscuity flitted through his mind.

But he owed it to Cedric to exhaust every possibility of a cure, no matter the risk.

"Northwest, you say?"

"Aye. Mischievous girls have been known to visit her."

"'Mischievous' girls? For what?"

The guards' eyes shifted. He cleared his throat. "A… preventative measure for their… wanton ways. Most shameful, associating with a heretic for that reason."

"I… see. Many thanks, sir. You may have saved my brother's life."

*

The cottage atop the hill could have grown from the ground like a squat, bulky tree, blanketed as it was by thick mats of tangled vines and leaves. A short rock wall ran an imperfect circle around the eccentric dwelling, and within its bounds flourished dense patches of vegetables and herbs. A steady stream of twirling smoke emitted from the cottage's small chimney.

This was not the sort of place that Adrian had expected a heretic to call home.

He and Cedric left Nightwind at the foot of the hill to graze, and climbed up toward the gap in the wall. They stopped at the foot of the short dirt path that led to the front door.

"Will she give us up?" Cedric asked. His face was now flushed with fever, and his restless, too-bright eyes glanced at Adrian in worry.

"If an Apostle learns of her, she'll be imprisoned for the rest of her life," he said. "Besides, you insisted on coming along." He patted Cedric's shoulder in a show of nonchalance. "Even if the worst happens, we'll be miles away before she could totter off to tell on us." That wasn't strictly true. The "worst" would likely involve them being butchered and meticulously separated into various parts for unholy rituals, but there was no need to worry Cedric with the specifics.

Compensating for his desperately bubbling fear with physical certainty, Adrian strode forward and knocked firmly on the door, upon which hung a weighty bundle of colorful wildflowers. The flimsy wood rang hollow and thin.

"What?" snarled a gravelly voice from inside in an irritable, unwelcoming tone.

"Er… ma'am," Adrian called hesitantly. "We've come to request your services. My friend here is--"

The door flew open with a speed that made Adrian hop back a step.

A short, scowling old woman stood at the threshold. Prominent wrinkles formed an intricate lattice-work across her face, and her voluminous gray hair was twisted into a long, thick rope behind her. She stood straight-backed and squinted suspiciously at them through beetle-dark eyes embedded deep in hollow sockets.

"You two make for an odd pair," she remarked drily, then looked to Adrian. "Let me guess, you planted something unwanted in your unusually tall companion here, and you've come crawling to me to cut its roots."

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They gaped at her, mystified. Then Adrian understood, and he barked a startled laugh. "No, ma'am, it's not--we're not--" he gestured helplessly at Cedric, "--he's a boy. We're here about medicine. For poison."

Cedric flushed a deeper shade than his feverish pink as he also caught up to the momentary confusion.

It was true that at some point in their journey, his long hair had come loose and now cascaded down his shoulders and back in glossy golden tresses. Combined with his undeniably delicate face, Adrian couldn't exactly fault the old woman for her initial assumption. He smirked at Cedric, who tried and failed to hide his chagrin at being mistaken for an expectant woman.

"I suppose I'll take your word for it," she grumbled, then cast an oddly cold, disparaging glance at Cedric. "Come in, you two. Let's see what we've got."

As they stepped inside, Adrian realized with a start that his fear had entirely evaporated.

*

The interior was as wild and uncivilized as the exterior. Curtains of various plants, both fresh and dried, hung from the rafters in thick clumps. The air was stuffy, richly spiced with the mingled aromas of dozens of different herbs and flowers. A small fire boiled something bitter and acrid in a closed iron pot, contributing yet another layer to the dense olfactory landscape.

At the center of the cottage squatted a low, weatherworn wooden table, two feet wide and seven feet long, heavily laden with clutter: piles of half-chopped plants and roots, a chipped pestle and mortar, small glass vials--some empty, some full--and various tiny measuring implements.

The old woman named Oleanna gestured for Cedric to take a seat at the stool. She squatted a little to examine his face.

"Aye, you're feverish, all right. Show me the wound." Cedric lifted his shirt, revealing the expanding spread of tendrils with the deep scarlet eye at its center. "From a coated weapon, you said. Don't tell me you were so foolish as to discard it."

Their abashed silence was all the answer needed. Oleanna scoffed. "Young bucks and your pudding for brains. All recklessness and no sense. If you'd kept a sample of the poison, this would be a modest affair."

"But is it curable?"

Oleanna pursed shrunken, wrinkled lips.

"It would be mostly guesswork, but I'll do what I--" She squinted. "No, that's wrong," she muttered. "Another of my kind created this."

"Your kind?"

"Those of the old ways. Ways of the earth. Even if I had a vat of the poison before me, I couldn't possibly mix an antidote. Too potent, too intricately-crafted."

Adrian's shoulders slumped in defeat. Cedric shot him a knowing look so resigned and patronizing that he could have decked him.

Oleanna stepped back. "I can make something that would ease the fever, tame the symptoms for a while."

"A while? Until when?"

"Until the taming is no longer needed." Her eyes were hard as she swept to her over-laden work table and began gathering ingredients together. She reached above her head and plucked a dry sprig of something dark and pungent.

"You," she grunted at Cedric. "Go pick some berries from the garden. The small white kind."

Unperturbed by her curt, impersonal tone, Cedric did as he was told. As soon as the door closed, Oleanna released a long, relieved sigh.

"By Eris, I can breathe again!"

Adrian, who'd been about to voice his displeasure at her treatment of Cedric, was brought up short. "What are you talking about?"

"How well do you know this friend of your?"

He frowned. "Barely" was his first impulse, but he quickly realized that that wasn't true. "I know that he's loyal, more brave than sensible. Stubborn." Adrian's eyes lowered. "Forgiving."

Oleanna huffed. "Regardless, his energy suffocates."

"I don't understand."

"No need. I wager you'll find out for yourself in good time."

"Before or after he dies?"

Oleanna's eyes softened. "If I spent my years facing the future with dread and apprehension, lad, I wouldn't be here."

The sordid nature of the old woman's identity hit him all over again. Yet here she was helping them, without even mention of payment. No eyeballs or unborn babies in pickling jars, no crusted ritual circle drawn with blood. Over Adrian's many years at the Silken Hog, these colorful tales and more had served as a reliable mainstay in the conversational tapestry. And as much as he'd disdained the tellers of those tales, he'd found himself buying into them nonetheless.

"I'll admit this is a welcome change," Oleanna said wryly as she sliced ginger root into fine strips. "I possess the knowledge and ingredients of a hundred potential remedies and treatments and antidotes, yet the customers at my door are invariably foolish young lustlings." She glanced up. "Pure desperation with you two, isn't it?"

"Well, you're known as a heretic. How have you managed to avoid the Blade for so long?"

"The ruling authority is not regarded well in these parts, where folk are left to fend for themselves yet must still pay their quarterly tributes. The locals may spit vitriol behind my back and sell me their wares with grudging contempt, but they have greater concerns than an old woman selling preventatives to foolish youths."

"Before, when you thought Cedric and I... you mentioned 'cutting the roots.' Not preventing."

"Aye, I know of a formula for that as well. I exercise a little more discretion for that aspect of my services, of course." She tutted at Adrian's discomfited look. "Regardless of your judgements, know that I've never done this lightly."

She pointed upwards. "Go on, pick that violet flower above your head."

Adrian did so. It was narrow and cone-shaped with a bright yellow center, about as large as a thumb. An odd sensation came over him as he held it in his hand. He paused, drinking in the vague, undefined feeling. Cool, soothing, the barest hint of something sharp and bracing.

Oleanna had stopped mashing herbs. "What?" she demanded. Her eyes sparked with an almost frightening intensity.

Adrian handed her the flower. "Nothing."

She didn't take it. "Don't give me that. Speak true, boy. Did you sense something?"

"N--no," Adrian protested. "I mean, just a feeling. An errant thought. What's it to you?"

A slow, crooked grin began to spread one corner of Oleanna's mouth. "It's about bloody time," she said quietly.

Cedric then entered the cottage with a heaping handful of small white berries.

"More than I needed, but I won't fault you for that," she said, oddly buoyant now. "Lay them on the table. There's a good lad."

Cedric glanced at Adrian, confusion over her changed demeanor written all over his face.

It took less than an hour for Oleanna to brew up the concoction. She stubbornly refused any offers of money or food in exchange, and was eager to help to tip the brown, lumpy mixture into Cedric's unenthusiastic mouth.

Within a minute, he was rubbing his eyes in exhaustion. Oleanna led him to the straw mat and thin covers in the corner of the cottage. "Why don't you rest a while? Go on, lay your head there." Cedric happily acquiesced, and was deeply asleep within seconds of lying down.

"What did you do?" Adrian demanded, taking an angry step forward.

Oleanna smiled with the impish vibrance of a young, misbehaving girl. "Settle down, lad. The medicine will do everything I promised. But I did add a little something more."

"Why?"

Her eyes shone. "So that we could talk alone."

*

The noon sun blazed mercilessly as they walked outside to Oleanna's overgrown garden, with Adrian trailing a cautious step behind her. The innumerable scents here were lighter and fresher than they were inside, but just as layered and complex. A couple of fat bumblebees hovered amongst the flowers.

"You're free to share all that I say with your friend, but I will speak only to you," she said. She bent down and picked a chalky, oblong leaf from one of the many knee-high plants. "What do you make of this?" She held it out to Adrian.

"It appears to be an herb," he said flatly.

She rolled her eyes. "Luckily for you, I'm in good humor. Take it."

He reluctantly took it from her dry, weatherworn palm. A gentle impression settled over him, but it was distinctly different from that of the violet flower. He closed his eyes in concentration.

"Earthiness, warmth…" he frowned. "What is this? Why…?"

"It seems you've an affinity."

"I don't understand."

"Of course not. The Heirs have done their level best to bury the old ways."

Adrian found himself growing impatient. Cedric was currently enslaved to a witchcraft-induced slumber, utterly dead to the world. Why on earth would Adrian remotely care for an elderly eccentric's blathering about plants, old ways, or Eris knows what else?

His next response hissed through his teeth. "I'd appreciate if you cared to arrive somewhere in the vicinity of a point."

Oleanna planted hands on her wide, sturdy hips.

"Tell me what you know of the Axes."

He blinked. "The… four Axes?"

"Why, do you know of others?"

"The Axes are the forces of…" he wracked his brains for the old memories, "…light, darkness, water, and fire. The Goddess wielded them to create the world, and Her Blessed Ones inherited that power."

"What else?"

Adrian stared, nonplussed. "That is all I know. That is all anyone knows."

"What is the essential missing element, boy?"

"I--I don't--"

"Her body!" Oleanna cried, almost shouted. She stamped her foot on the ground. "Eris' body! Where is it, eh? We know of the four Axes that created the cycle of day and night, the lakes and rivers and seas, the cold and the warmth, but what of the substance of the world? Did it simply spring into existence out of nothing?" She rubbed her thumb and forefinger together. "From where did the Axes originate?"

"Her… body?"

"Precisely!" her gaze shimmered with an almost frightening intensity. "'From flesh and blood She wove the earth…' All living flesh, all that grows, the very earth beneath us--all that occupies space--these are Eris' body. Do you see?"

"Why would this not be taught?"

She grinned widely. "Think. From where do Blessed Ones draw their power?"

"Diamonds. Gemstones," he said. A bolt of realization. "Mined from the earth. From… Eris' body."

"Aye. But every part of Eris' body, not only gemstones, holds divine power. Those precious little rocks are simply the purest, most refined, most potent forms of it."

She waited as Adrian pondered further. "So plants, animals, soil, even people--"

"All hold small reservoirs of Eris' power, aye." She gestured at her garden. "I cannot draw it directly from the fruits of Her body like the Blessed Ones can, as its concentration is too weak. Instead, I must craft Her bounties into medicines, balms, potions, and poultices to distill that power through the practice of terramancy. But unlike the Heirs, we can then share these creations with anyone, even those without the Touch."

Oleanna bent down to sniff a cluster of tiny yellow flowers. "Someone devoid of the Touch could mirror my every move, match my every ingredient, but their results would merely be pale, impotent versions of mine. Most of the best herbalists in the kingdom either unknowingly possess the Touch or work furiously to conceal it."

"Again, why would the Divine Heirs seek to hide this?"

"Because it all stems from the same root--drawing power from the bounties of the earth, channeling it through one's own body, repurposing it."

"So… the Heirs are ultimately no different from you. Or me."

"Aye, though vastly stronger," Oleanna said. "Goddess forbid the common folk wield Her power, too! We wouldn't wish to tarnish the image of the mighty Blessed Ones, would we? But our kind existed long before this kingdom laid its first stone, when the Heirs were our kin, not our betters."

"Are there those aside from the Heirs who can harness gemstones?"

"Gemstones house only the Axes of Creation, the great forces that wove the world together. Only the Heirs possess the physical fortitude to wield them, hence their heightened strength, health, longevity. There must always be one living body, no more and no less, aligned to each Axis. For all their talk of divine legacy, enlightenment, and spiritual inheritance, the Blessed Ones' flesh remains their true source of power."

Adrian felt like a prisoner once trapped in the dark, freed by the key of truth to a land where the sun shone and the horizon stretched to infinity. And that key had fallen right into his lap, unasked for yet surprisingly welcome. He'd been one of untold others who, thanks to the Divine Heirs, had no inkling of the potential lying dormant and squandered within them.

But perhaps in Adrian's case, the Heirs weren't entirely to blame; he couldn't recall a single instance of his life in Laetera when he'd held a plant that wasn't vigorously pickled, apparently rendered impotent by that particular means of preservation. Nor had he ever cooked, which he now realized could also qualify as terramancy if done by someone with the Touch.

"So I am able to recognize and draw forth power from Eris' body. What now?"

Oleanna shrugged. "You may choose to cultivate it however you see fit. A terramancer must always be self-taught, just as every young sapling can only properly flourish in an empty plot of land. The lone qualifier of our tradition is to pass on the truth to at least one other of the gifted."

Adrian's mind reeled with an endless multitude of additional questions, but he forced himself to ask the most useful one. "You claimed that everything contains Eris' power. What of living flesh? Not dead, butchered meat, I mean." Some instinctual knowledge within him drew a vital distinction between the two.

Her eyes darkened. "Those are blacker disciplines than mine. Living flesh yields a much greater concentration of the Goddess' power, at a much greater price. I strongly caution you against that path, but it is, as they say, your garden."

Visions of howling blood sacrifices again flitted through Adrian's mind, though now he understood the likely origins of such tales. His body was wracked with an involuntary shiver, despite the oppressive heat.

"And thus marks the end of my first and last lesson," Oleanna said, clapping her hands together. "Come, my kin of the earth, let us return to your friend."