In every flock a wolf shall hide, awaiting its opportunity to strike.

Lessons 51

"He's still just standing there." Kilan stared out the window of the modest home given to Daphney for her use while she remained in Kannas. Trast kept a silent vigil by the door.

"I feel like a prisoner." Daphney brushed knots from her hair with smooth strokes.

"Even you need to rest, Miss Crenst. And to be honest, if Trast hadn't stepped in yesterday and told everyone to knock it off with the requests, you'd have worked yourself into a coma healing this and blessing that."

"Stop exaggerating." Setting aside the brush, she joined him at the window. "Curing sniffles and saying a benediction over some seeds will hardly wipe me out."

"You were exhausted. You needed a break." He pointed to the crowd standing back away from the door. "Besides, look at them. They're all still lined up waiting for you. Stood out there all night long. And I swear there's more today than yesterday. Someone must have gone out into the surrounding countryside and spread the word."

Daphney confirmed his assertion that the crowd had indeed grown in size overnight. But she saw it as an opportunity, not as a problem. "I think it is a good thing. Don't you? Every person I can touch with the message of Earoni is another devotee to our cause. These people's faith has been shattered for so long. They weren't our allies. Now, they are."

"It's more greed than anything."

"Are you always so cynical?"

Retreating from the window, Kilan placed himself in an empty chair. It creaked as he leaned back, balancing on the rear legs. "My cynicism keeps me alive, Miss Crenst."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Do you believe?"

"Believe?" Kilan drew his thin dagger and pondered it. "Absolutely. I believe in a lot of things. Foremost is that one should always carry a good, sharp blade."

"That's not what I meant."

"I know what you meant, Miss Crenst." Kilan put the knife back. "You mean do I believe in the Greater Goddess? Of course I do. And if I didn't today after seeing what you did yesterday? I'd be a fool. But I know people. And people aren't beyond doing what's in their own best interest and using someone, someone like you, to achieve those interests. It took a show of force to win them over."

Daphney smiled. "Well, you said I needed to crack some skulls."

"Yes, I did." The front two legs of the chair came back to the ground as Kilan leaned forward. "And you thought I was crazy and talked about using sugar instead. Look, I'm not saying don't help people. Just always be wary of what their ultimate goals are."

Daphney remained at the window, taking stock of every face she could see. On some she saw pure anguish. On others she noted what looked like fear. Some even bore an expression that spoke of absolute weariness. But as she scanned the gathering, Daphney also witnessed expressions that she was forced to admit betrayed dubious intentions.

One particular man eagerly chatted with another, holding something in his hand that looked like dice. He kept pointing to them and gesticulating, making a constant throwing motion. By the way he coveted the small cubes, Daphney could read his mind. He was a gambler. She figured he came here looking for an advantage to a vice that had become his addiction.

What would she do when his turn arrived? Would she anoint them and send him off to destroy himself? Would she really use her gifts to feed his wicked ways? Or would she have the courage to refuse his request and set him on a more righteous path? What if he wouldn't listen? What if he became angry with her?

Kilan's words now made her speculate about many things she never considered. Were people using her? Was Rwan?

When he'd come to her village, Rwan insisted that a mysterious light in the sky led him onward for six days. According to his story, he only heard the word "follow" repeated over and over in his mind with a voice that wasn't his. Each time he thought of stopping, doubting his sanity, the voice became louder. Once he arrived, Rwan claimed that the beacon had shone down on her, pointing Daphney out to him. But no one else saw this, only him.

After witnessing her mending a few small scapes and scratches with just the touch of her hands, Rwan told her how important she was to the Rebellion. He spent the next month persuading her parents to allow him to take her from her home. After Rwan presented her to The Gathering as a True Cleric, they elected him as the new leader of the Rebellion. But the outcome was by far from a convincing margin.

Had he used her to gain power?

"No," Kilan said.

Daphney broke out of the trance that had befallen her. "What?"

"I know what you're thinking. It's as clear as that nose on your face. Not Rwan. He's never used you for his own ends." Kilan joined her at the window again. "I trust him. And so should you. I believe him when he claims that a divine star led him to you. He would probably still been elected to lead us, even if you hadn't been there. You only made people like Ubuer Yawin hate him more."

"You know, no matter how many times I hear you talk about things like that, I can't picture you as being the pious sort."

Kilan chuckled. "Well, I wouldn't exactly say my faith is traditional. But I do believe. And enough to make my mark permanent." He pulled down the collar of his shirt to reveal the eagle tattoo above his heart.

Daphney leaned in to examine it more closely, struck by the detail of the rendering. "I never knew that."

"Just want you to know you can trust me too."

Her hand went onto his shoulder as he brought his shirt back up to cover the mark. "I trust you more than anyone right now."

"Good. Then what say we get you out there and have you perform some miracles for these people?"

Daphney nodded her agreement, and he led her to the door. Kilan opened it with a gracious bow and as she emerged from the humble home Trast straightened up a bit more.

Ubuer's half-brother then announced her. "Presenting the Revered Cleric!"

Daphney addressed his actions under her breath. "You don't need to do that."

Her request caused Trast to melt to his knees, his eyes becoming glued to the ground. "Forgive me, Revered Cleric. I meant no offense."

Daphney gasped and stepped back. "Trast, please, get up." Her cheeks flushed, she glanced to the crowd and saw the uncertainty in their expressions. The mass of humanity had pushed forward, but stopped upon seeing Trast's reaction.

"No. I have displeased you. And as such I have offended the Greater Goddess."

"Trast, please, get up. You haven't displeased me. It was just a request. You don't need to treat me like I'm someone special."

"You are special. A true blessing. The word of the Almighty made flesh."

Kilan injected himself into the conversation. "Trast, you're angering the Revered Cleric by ignoring her request."

Daphney attempted to rebut him. "But I-"

Her escort made the slightest motion that caused her to fall silent. "Look, buddy, you remember what she did to your brother yesterday? I suggest you get up."

Trast raised his eyes to her. "I do not wish to suffer your wrath. Please accept my humblest apologies." But he still did not rise.

"Okay, okay." Daphney rushed the words. "I accept your apology, Trast. Now, please get up. And I want to discuss this with you later."

Finally relenting, Trast did as she requested, returning to an upright position. As he did, the mob descended upon her. They were polite, but also demanding at the same time. In an instant, they confronted her with so many requests it became impossible to sort out what she was being asked to do.

A woman in front of her held a crying baby and said something about a cough that wouldn't stop. Easy enough, Daphney thought. Taking the baby girl in her arms, Daphney recited a small healing prayer and the child soon cooed and smiled. The overly grateful woman accepted the infant back, offering a loaf of bread as payment. No one presented her with any sort of gifts yesterday and Daphney tried to decline, but Kilan stepped in and took it.

"Thank You for your kindness," he said.

"What are you doing?" Daphney asked.

"Not being rude. Do your thing. I'll take care of controlling the crowd."

Daphney wanted to continue the discussion, but a man with a small clay vial stood before her, asking for a blessing upon the ointment within. She heard only bits and pieces about his mother and stiff joints. Within a split second, she found herself caught back up in the crowd rather than her escort's actions.

When she completed the latest request, the man offered a copper. Kilan collected it. Next he snatched up the pouch of spice a woman offered when Daphney finished curing a wart on her finger.

For his part, Kilan pretty much just tossed the items on the ground behind him. His goal was to get people to disperse quickly once they received what they wanted, and to make it easier for him to spot potential trouble. And it didn't take him long to detect something suspicious.

Despite it being the peak of summer, one man wore the hood of his cloak up, his face hidden. Kilan caught only the slightest glimpse of the man's face, most of it hidden. What he saw wore a particular mix of both sourness and seriousness as he moved not entirely with the rest of the crowd. Instead, he seemed to pick his way through it, more interested in something other than getting to the front for a blessing from the cleric who had come to town performing miracles.

Without mentioning it to Daphney, Kilan fought against the current of bodies towards the man. He could have sworn the suspicious fellow even looked right at him once and noticed him, but continued on with his dubious behavior nonetheless. Well out into the sea of people, Kilan became certain the man was watching him. Not directly, but out of the corner of his eye.

"This is not right," muttered Kilan to himself. He stopped his advance on the man, who seemed to stay far enough away from him that he was out of reach, but didn't give off the impression that he was trying to flee either. The wheels of Kilan's mind turned, processing the information available to him. It all led him to a troubling realization: a decoy. Damn it.

Whirling about, Kilan went into full alert, scrutinizing every inch of the crowd. He eliminated almost everyone as being a threat, except one. This man was a hair taller than anyone else in the crowd, barely distinguishable from others in that department. What really set him apart was the profile of his face when Kilan caught sight of him. His head moved rhythmically from side to side, scanning his surroundings. And he had this focus to him that Kilan recognized as nothing but trouble. Worst of all was that he stood only about two rows of bodies back from Daphney.

Trast stayed close to the side of the Revered Cleric as she worked, marveling at how she helped each person who came before her. But he also kept a watchful eye on Kilan. He'd seen the man who arrived with the Earoni's blessed messenger move out into the crowd of townsfolk, drifting towards a suspicious figure. When Kilan stopped and turned his attention from that hooded form, Trast could tell in a heartbeat there was a more serious threat.

He started to investigate the crowd himself, inching nearer to the Revered Cleric. The Widow Greymund was there, holding a sickly chicken she had raised from an egg. She was a little senile, and it was her only friend, but old and dying. There was Dru Shalestone, looking down right dejected about the arm that hung limp at his side ever since that disastrous tree cutting incident last fall. Fagan Walsmith was among the crowd, as was Jinny Porter and her son. Mags Forsythe and Julli Shoen were ready to present their own requests too.

Every face he laid eyes on, Trast recognized. Except for one. This man was a complete stranger to him. The cut of his jaw and small little braids in his short beard was a style that was not from around here. And he was right there, one person away from the Revered Cleric.

On instinct, Trast stepped towards him. The woman in front of the man he sought to reach, the daughter of Filar Dunst, was moving away after receiving a blessing on a beautiful shawl she knitted last week. The Revered Cleric turned to fulfill the request of someone new to her left and that was when Trast saw the metal hidden in the man's hand. A light glinted off it, like the finger of a divine hand showing him the threat.

Daphney didn't fully grasp what was happening, not until Trast was on the ground, a knife in his side between the front and rear pieces of his breastplate. There was another man crumpled on the ground as well, his throat cut by Kilan's own thin blade. Blood was everywhere.

Screams cascaded from the gathered onlookers as they fell back, getting clear of the commotion. Daphney recognized a hooded man among the crowd pushing his way to the back of the thong and then disappearing.

"You might want to help him," Kilan said, motioning with his eyes to Trast. "Don't worry about this guy. Mr. Tall, Dark, and Tried To Kill You isn't going anywhere."

Daphney turned her attention to Trast and his wound, realizing Kilan's words were true. She sensed no life for from the other man. "I uh-" She looked over the situation as Ubuer's brother groaned. "I will have to take it out first."

A grimace plastered on his face, Trast clutched at the weapon. "Figured that." Not waiting for her, he yanked it out himself. The amount of blood doubled in an instant as a torrent of Trast's own flowed and he was consumed with agonized cries.

Daphney realized she had to get her mindset sorted out. She'd pretty much been doing nothing except dealing with trivial things. Now she was back into the role of healing someone that needed more than a minor cure. It didn't take long for her thoughts to work themselves out and her to realize that a delay in giving him attention could prove disastrous.

Hands on the wound, slick blood pouring over them, she began to pray. Words were flowing from her, but she was lost envisioning the gaping hole in Trast's side and feeling the flesh melding and mending under her fingers. There was so much going on that she didn't understand and she really wanted to understand how the healing she commanded worked. She felt that each time she healed someone she learned more about how bones, muscles, organs, sinew, and flesh recombined to form a renewed body.

Trast's wounds were extensive. The assassin's blade meant for her penetrated into his liver, and that was the source of the blood. But it was under control now. With a few more seconds of her holding her hands on what used to be the hole in his side, the last bit of flesh was now whole.

"Thank you," Trast said, without even a moment gone by. "You saved my life."

"No," she replied. "I think it was the other way around. You saved my life." Then she referenced the former wound. "It will probably be sore for a day or two. Nothing I can do about that. Thank you for what you did."

"I'd do it again."