As Jasper watched Tsia and Nēs̆u disappear into the tavern crowd, he couldn’t help but feel a touch worried about them. The two were more than capable fighters, but this city was proving to be more hostile than he’d expected. Plus, Tsia seemed like a little bit of a wildcard; he could only hope that Nēs̆u would be able to restrain her. Dismissing the two, he turned to follow his friend.

The boy led and Ihra him away from the relatively wide main streets into a winding mess of narrow corridors that lay behind the giant, blocky buildings. The backside of the edifices was crowded so close together that in some places the “streets” were barely wide enough to fit two people walking side by side. Even that space was often unavailable, occupied by beggars who lay stretched out in the shadow of the building, making the journey through the streets difficult.

But the child navigated the obstacles with ease, steadily guiding them in a direction away from the tavern and closer to the city walls. The possibility that this could be some sort of elaborate trap had not eluded Jasper - he kept a spell close to the edge of his fingers - but when the boy finally came to a stop, it was clear he had told the truth.

A rickety scaffolding on the backside of one of the apartment buildings led up to a row of shabby doors. The boy only led them up one set of stairs before stopping. His eyes were dark and worried, but tinged with the light of hope. “Do you really think you can fix her?”

“I’ll try my best,” Ihra promised. Pushing past him, she opened the door.

A foul, pungent odor immediately assaulted Jasper, the smell of rot, feces, and the promise of death. A little bit of vomit worked its way up his throat, but he choked it down and followed his friend inside.

A woman lay on a pile of straw on the floor. Her skin was a pale grey that possessed the almost bluish tint that some shale can get and her long black hair was matted and dirty. Her features were haggard, but there was still a touch of youth in them that told of her true age. Damn, she’s barely old enough to even have a kid. A touch of anger ticked up in Jasper’s heart, and from the thunderous look on Ihra’s face, he suspected she felt the same. Probably sees herself lying there, he realized, remembering what she had told him of her past.

But the woman's injuries were far more grievous than he had expected. The source of the smell was immediately obvious. The men who had harmed her apparently hadn’t been content with merely snapping her spine - her broken back was just the beginning of her injuries. The Djinn was covered in wounds from head to toe, most of which festered with angry inflammations and pus that had spilled out from every corner.

From the way the straw had been mounded up around her, it was clear that the boy had tried his best to help her, but it had been no use. A small wooden bucket sat beside her, from which emanated the faint smell of watery alcohol. “I’ve tried to wash her off,” the little boy explained. “But the bad stuff keeps coming back.”

Ihra bent down softly beside the woman and gently pried open her eyes, sighing in relief a moment later. “Selene’s grace, she’s still alive.”

Jasper crouched beside her, lowering his voice so the child couldn’t hear. “Can you heal her?”

Ihra grimaced. “I think so, but it’s going to be hard. Her wounds are so full of pus, we’re going to have to clean them out before we give her a healing potion - and frankly, I’m not sure how much the healing potion will be able to do for. The ones we have only accelerate the body’s natural healing process; does her body even have anything left to give?”

He frowned, casting a worried glance back at the boy. No child should have to be an orphan. “Why not just skip the healing potions then?” he questioned. "Surely your runes can heal her wounds."

Ihra chewed on her lower lip thoughtfully. “Perhaps, but it would be better if we could get her to consciousness. According to the notes Aphora left me, it is technically possible to heal an unconscious subject, but it's more effective if they’re awake.”

“Really? Why?”

“You know how the ritual needs a connection between the injured person and a healthy one?” Jasper nodded, remembering the one-time Aphora had performed the ritual on himself. “According to her notes, something about the patient being aware of the connection seems to have a positive effect on the healing. We have to try to heal her with the potions first.”

Jasper nodded briskly, accepting her explanation. “Alright then, let’s get started.” Rolling up his sleeves, he tried not to cringe as he lifted up the woman’s inflamed, oozing arm and began to gently scrape the pus away.

The work took them a few hours. The little boy had to run back and forth to the closest well, returning with buckets of water that Jasper then heated to the boiling point, before they used it to rinse out her wounds. Once the worst of the pus was cleared out, they forced healing potions down the unconscious woman’s throat.

It was less effective than they had hoped. Some of her wounds closed, but many of them remained open, with only the inflammation significantly lessening. “I guess she didn’t have enough energy left to give,” Ihra commented. It was enough, however, to achieve their main goal - getting the woman just conscious enough to be vaguely aware of their presence. She latched onto her child’s arm desperately, her eyes wide and afraid as they darted back and forth between the two strangers.

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Jasper let Ihra speak - the woman was clearly more afraid of him than another woman. It took some time for her to understand what they wanted, for despite the healing potions she was still in a grievous state, but eventually she let go of the child, surrendering herself to their care.

Then it was a matter of setting up the runic circle. Ihra frowned as she poured out the ingredients, upset at seeing the precious powders Aphora had left her drop well below the halfway point.

Jasper couldn’t read her thoughts, but he could guess well enough what she was thinking. It’s going to be extremely expensive to replace them. But he couldn’t bring himself to object to the expense; the woman wasn’t going to live much longer without it and, though he didn’t know her, the forlorn little boy watching them from the corner was more than enough to tug on his heartstrings.

When the last of the circle had been arranged, Ihra anchored herself to the woman, smudging the powder on the bother of their heads. Then, closing her eyes, she reached out for the essence.

For a moment nothing happened. Then it unleashed like a flood. Ihra gasped, her back stiffening as the unknown power surged through her, but she kept her eyes closed, willing it into the waiting runes. The dark, shabby room filled with light as the chalk and salt began to glow. The wounds on her skin healed first, slowly knitting back together until her skin was left reforged without a blemish. But the essence kept flowing, as the broken bones and ruined organs demanded more and more power.

Ihra’s breath was hard and ragged, the strain of the channeling almost too much to bare, but she perserved, digging her nails into the soft stone of the floor until, finally, the runes guttered out.

Reaching out, he gently tapped her on the shoulder. “You alright?” She nodded faintly, too exhausted to respond, and his attention was pulled away as the woman struggled upright.

“Ma!” The little boy rocketed from his corner, throwing his arms around her. Still weak, she fell backward on the hay, but her arms wrapped around her child tightly as she stroked his hair. Sitting up gingerly, she eyed the two of them. “Who are you? What did Râmu promise you to heal me? I don’t have anything to pay you with.” Her eyes widened as a horrible thought flashed through her head, and she clutched the boy possessively to her chest. “You can’t have him.”

Jasper glanced to Ihra, expecting her to respond, but her head was drooping on her chest, too tired to care. I guess it’s up to me.

“It’s already been taken care of,” he responded soothingly.

Confusion flashed through her eyes. “How? Did Dūrilī-“ she cut herself off immediately, “No, that bastard wouldn’t open his purse strings for me.” For the first time, she noticed his clothes. “You’re a lord.” Understanding flooded her eyes then, and she dropped her head dejectedly. “I see. I will do my best to please you, my lord, as long as you take care of Râmu.”

“No, no,” Jasper shook his head vigorously. “It’s nothing like that. Truly.”

She raised her head slowly, shooting him a baffled look. “I don’t understand then. Why would you help me?”

The name his uncle had mentioned came back to him, offering a convenient excuse. “I’m with the animmû,” he lied.

Some of the wariness fled the woman’s body. “Really? Then you have my thanks, my lord. I’ve heard of them, but they don’t come to our lands often.”

Jasper smiled bitterly. “No, I imagine they don’t.” He glanced around the small, shabby room. The mother and her child had nothing. Straw in place of beds, a dirty fire pit with a single pot, a single low table with no chairs to accompany it. How do you even live like this?

“Do you have some way to support yourself?” She blushed, and he hurried on, “Other than the broth- err, tavern.” She shook her head, continuing to run her fingers through the child’s hair.

“No, Râmu and I are alone. I’m sure once Dūrilī sees I’m better that he’ll take us back.”

He frowned at the thought. He hadn’t even gotten inside the tavern, but from what he’d seen outside, it was no place for a child. And from the story the boy had told, it was no place for the women either. I can’t just leave them here.

He hesitated, mulling over his options. But what can I do with them? If it was the capital, I could just call the guard, but that’s definitely not an option here.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of Ihra’s voice.

“You can’t go back there.” Opening her eyes slowly, she struggled to her feet stiffly, shaking out her limbs with a groan. “That man did nothing to protect you from the customers, and then cast you out when you were on the brink of death. You can’t go back there, you understand?”

The woman blanched at Ihra’s forcefulness. “I-I know,” she admitted softly, “but I have nowhere else to go.”

“Were you an orphan,” Ihra asked, her voice softening.

The djinn nodded. “I was apprenticed to a tailor. One of the fortunate ones, I thought, but it turned out he wasn’t interested in teaching me. Not about tailoring anyways. Once I fell pregnant with Râmu, he sundered the contract and turned me out on the streets. No other tailor would accept a failed apprentice, and I had nowhere else to go.”

Ihra shot Jasper a pleading glance, and he suffocated his groan. Damn it. How am I supposed to help her? Fine. Making a snap decision, he turned back to the Djinn. “Gather up your stuff. You’re coming with us.”

Suspicion darkened the woman’s eyes again. “Why?”

“I’ll send you to my uncle. I’m sure he can find you a job, something that doesn’t require you to do, well, that.”

“Your uncle?” the woman persisted, understandably not predisposed to trust strangers. And Jasper realized, with a start, that though she’d recognized him as a noble, she hadn’t recognized the clothes he wore. I guess the mountain Djinn don’t serve the Royal House, do they? He gestured at the emblem on his chest, the burning gis̆ātu tree. “I’m from As̆rukkat,” he explained. “My uncle works directly beneath the king. He isn't the friendliest of dudes, but he's a decent enough sort. He won't take advantage of you.”

The Djinn hesitated, clearly not entirely convinced, but Ihra, still slightly staggering from the exhaustion, grabbed her hand comfortingly. “He’s a good guy,” she vouched for Jasper. “Besides, do you really want to go back to Dūrilī, after he abandoned you?”

It only took a few moments for the woman to gather what few belongings she had. It turned out that Dūrilī, when he cast them out of the brothel, hadn’t bothered to send most of their belongings with them. Then the four departed.