Soul of the Fire

If so, Jagang was not simply marching off for the purpose of exploration, exploitation, and conquest. From her experience watching him come to dominate the entirety of the Old World, she knew Jagang rarely rolled down a road he hadn't first had widened and smoothed.

Ann paused in the darkness between groups of men. She squinted off in several directions. Hard as it was for her to believe, she hadn't even seen Jagang's tents yet. She wanted to find them because she hoped they might give her a valuable clue in finding her Sisters of the Light; he likely would keep them near.

She sighed in exasperation at not seeing anything but more fires and troops. In the darkness and confusion of the Order's camp, she knew she could be close and still not see Jagang's tents.

The worst of it, though, was not having the gift to aid her. With the gift she could easily have listened to distant conversations, cast small spells, and conjured discreet aid. Without the gift, she found the search a frustrating and fruitless experience.

She could hardly believe she could be this close to the Sisters of the Light and not find them. With the gift, she would have been able to sense them were she close enough.

Beyond the aid it would have provided, there was more to it. Being unable to use the gift was like being denied the Creator's love. Her lifetime of devotion to doing the Creator's work, coupled with the glory of touching her inner magic-her Han, the force of life-had always been supremely gratifying. Not that there hadn't been frustrations, fears, and failures, but there always was the opening of herself to her Han to make up for every trial.

For over nine centuries her Han had been her constant' companion through life. Her inability to touch her gift had on more than one occasion driven her to the verge of tears.

She felt little different, for the most part-as long as she didn't think about it. But when her thoughts turned to touching that inner light, and she couldn't, it felt like a slow suffocation of the mind.

As long as she didn't try to use her gift, it seemed it was still there, waiting, like a comforting friend seen out of the corner of her eye. But when she reached for it, put the weight of thought against it, it felt as if the ground opened and she plummeted into a terrifying black abyss.

Without her gift, and no longer living under the protection of the spell that had been around the Palace of the Prophets, Ann was no different than anyone else. She was, in reality, little more than a beggar. She was simply an old woman, aging like anyone else, with no more strength than any other old woman. The insights, knowledge, and-she hoped- wisdom of having lived as long as she had were her only advantages.

Until Zedd banished the chimes, she would be, for the most part, helpless. Until Zedd banished the chimes. If Zedd banished the chimes….

Ann picked the wrong route-between wagons standing close together-and came to an impasse with someone going the other way. She excused herself and started to back up out of the way. Beggars were obeisant, even though it was insincere.

"Prelate?"

Ann froze.

"Prelate, is that you?"

Ann looked up into the startled face of Sister Georgia Cifaro. They had known each other for more than five hundred years. The woman's mouth was working as she tried to find words.

Ann reached out and patted the hand holding a pail of steaming porridge. Sister Georgia flinched.

"Sister Georgia, thank the Creator I've found one of you, at last."

Sister Georgia cautiously reached out and touched Ann's face, seemingly testing if it were real.

"You're dead," Sister Georgia said. "I was at your funeral ceremony. I saw… you and Nathan… your bodies were sent into the Light on the funeral pyre. I saw it. We prayed all night as we watched you and Nathan burn."

"Really? How sweet of you. You always were such a considerate person, Sister Georgia. That would be just like you, standing guard through the darkness, praying for me. I'm so appreciative. "But, it wasn't me."

Sister Georgia flinched again. "But, but, Verna was named Prelate."

"Yes, I know. I wrote the orders, remember." The woman nodded. Ann went on. "I had a reason. Nonetheless, I'm quite alive, as you can well see."

At last, Sister Georgia set down the bucket and threw her arms around Ann.

"Oh, Prelate! Oh, Prelate!"

That was all Sister Georgia could get out before she started bawling like a baby. Ann managed to get her calmed down in short order with some short words. They were in no place to risk being seen in such a way. Their lives were at stake, and Ann couldn't have them lost for no more reason than a woman weeping out of control.

"Prelate, what's wrong with you? You smell like dung, and you look a mess!"

Ann chuckled. "I didn't dare allow my beauty to be witnessed by all these men, or I would have more offers of marriage than I could turn down."

Sister Georgia laughed, but it dissolved into tears again. "They're beasts. All of them."