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The Last Medallion

Chapter 2

The Marven

---

Theora packed her satchel quickly. The temple guards, or worse, would be coming for her at any moment. She threw any herbs and ingredients she thought could be useful into the simple cloth bag, she could sort out the contents later. Rushed, heavy footsteps echoed on the stone stairs that led to her small laboratory high in the temple. Theora turned and hastily drew a crude locking spell in the air, its shape was inconsistent and fractured but it would have to do. She used both hands to push it into the door. The wood creaked as the boards cemented themselves in place. The spell wouldn't hold for long, her powers were too weak, but she hoped it would last long enough for what came next.

Theora cinched her bag and turned towards the tall narrow window looking out across the forest and distant blue-hazed mountains. Hundreds of feet below her window was the Caspian River, a torrent of angry whitewater that sprayed and crashed against innumerable rocks. Her hands trembled as they betrayed her fear. With a deep breath she shakily sliced her palm with the small engraved knife she kept on her belt. She couldn't help but wince as her crimson blood dripped down her hand onto the stone below. Her mother's voice from when she was young replayed in her head, saying to not show weakness, not ever. The cruel words made Theora's heart feel cold and her pale skin prickle.

She clutched the star-shaped amulet she wore with a bloodied hand as she began to concentrate, doing her best to ignore heavy banging and chanting coming from the other side of her door. She sang the words she had dreamed of using so many times.

Theora felt her mind travel through the streams and meadows, into the forest and beyond. Her mind crawled up the mossy rocks as she ascended up the ragged peaks and down into the valleys beyond. Away and away she went, faster and faster, as far as she could reach. It would take a leap of faith, she had never even attempted this spell before. As she raced over the kingdom a thought snapped to her mind. She opened her eyes suddenly, the spell interrupted as she dashed back to her work bench.

"All hells, Theora, how could you be so stupid," she scolded herself as she grabbed a nearby rag she used for cleaning.

She couldn't let them have it or this would all be for nothing. Theora gingerly moved the rag under the golden medallion that gently floated atop an intricate stasis column of her own design. The medallion was ancient, older than the temple Theora stood in. Its surface was rusted and pitted, made of an unknown metal that shone like gold but rusted like iron. Even in its decrepit state the small disc's finely etched circles of runes held a power that terrified her. Theora wrapped the medallion in the rag quickly, careful not to touch it with her bare hands. Her blood stained the cloth as she tucked it into her bag, careful to maintain the wrapping.

The door shuddered as Theora grabbed the amulet around her neck once more. Her whole body was shaking now, she knew there wasn't time. Dark tendrils snaked through the cracks of the door as the banging on the other side stopped. The tendrils were only used by one she knew of among all the hundreds of Marvens in the temple. It was Anthea Arkwright, her caretaker. A woman of no subtlety in her hatred for her, but compelled by her mother to treat her with withering reverence. She raced towards the window again and closed her eyes tight. Her mouth moved quickly as she recited the words.

She wasn't climbing across the land now, she was flying. Flying far too fast. Trees, lakes, and mountains blurred as her mind raced in panic. She could neither concentrate nor focus enough to slow herself down, they would take her if she didn't act. Tears fell from her tightly closed eyes as the door behind her exploded into splinters. She told herself it was now or never as she took a deep breath. Her bleeding hand pierced itself on the sharp points of her amulet as she took the leap. There was a flash of light before the window along with the wall of her laboratory exploded outward. Carved stones as large as a horse catapulted from their resting places before plummeting hundreds of feet below into the raging river that flanked the temple.

"Out of the way!" The Marven barked just as the light flashed through the torch-lit hall. The shockwave of air blasted past her, dislodging her robes before it continued down the spiral stairs. Anthea's heavy, grapefruit-sized breasts erupted from their meager bindings. Her thick nipples and dark magenta areola prickled at the sudden exposure to the cold air. She gasped at the sensation as she felt the beast within claw just below her skin for release. She had barely used a fraction of her power to push the brat's door down, so it should not be coming out so quickly. She pushed her worry down as her disciplined mind gathered itself. Her hands began to grow small pointy obsidian claws from the tips of her fingers, even as they cleared golden locks away from her eyes.

The guards staggered around her, shaking their heads and moaning in pain as they clutched their helmets. The Marven straightened her robes, leaving her large breasts exposed, free to sway with her body. The guards could pay no attention as they struggled with their ringing heads. They were in her way. She did not like things in her way. Anthea opened and tightly closed her newly clawed hand in well-practiced motion. Blue-green lines of energy shone through the silk of her robe as they raced across her body, forming intricate jagged patterns across her olive skin. Dark swirling tendrils erupted from the walls and pinned the ineffectual guards against the staircase walls. Their armor began to buckle at the pressure of the tendrils as they cried out in pain. Anthea ignored it as she rushed past their contorting, choking bodies.

"You had one task, only one!" The Marven sneered in frustration as she made her way to the open archway, her voice full of detached anger as she surveyed the laboratory.

"The High Marven will not look kindly on this," she contemplated as she looked over the room. Strong cold wind intruded from the gaping opening as loose parchments took flight. The bare flesh of her breasts became riddled with goosebumps upon contact with the frigid air. The tingling coursed through her body as a small tuft of golden fur pushed out from her sternum, deep between her cleavage.

"But it is not without its opportunities," she thought as her clawed hands gripped her voluptuous teats and circled her rigid nipples. Delicious pleasure ground the gears in her mind as they turned and clicked into place. Theora, the brat, was the High Marven's daughter. She could use that. She knew what she needed to do next.

Her mind turned back to the situation at hand, but Anthea couldn't stifle a gasp, the muscles in her neck strained as she felt a hot slickness form deep between her legs. Her breasts swelled slightly larger and heavier under her hands as her attentive nipples elongated. Reluctantly she withdrew her hand from her right teat and massaged her temple to focus herself. The beast wanted out and she was almost inclined to acquiesce. Alas, she remembered that she had a job to do as she slowly, hesitantly, withdrew her hand from her left breast and turned back towards the stairs.

"Lady Arkwright, please..." a guard moaned, his one free arm outstretched to the Marven as the tendril dug long deep channels into his polished armor.

Anthea saw his eyes grow wide, even in pain as he was, as he gazed upon her half-naked changed form. She couldn't let them see her like this and live.

"Ahh right," Anthea's eyes darkened as she glanced past the begging guard at the half-dozen others that adorned the staircase.

"I can't let you oafs foul this up for me," she said as she traced her thickening digits in a well-practiced series of precise circles. Upon completion of the spell Anthea felt her breasts grow heavier and her finely kept teeth suddenly grew several sizes too large for her mouth. She tasted blood on her tongue as she felt the beast stir something deep in her loins. Something was wrong, very wrong indeed. She would deal with it once her witnesses were disposed of. The temple guards had no time to react to her changes as their pained moans were quickly silenced with a loud *crack* as their spines suddenly snapped in unison. Their limp heads listed forward, as what remaining life they had was leached from their bodies.

With neither pomp nor hesitation, the greedy tendrils gathered the armored bodies and catapulted them through the convenient hole Theora had left. Their crumpled forms plummeted into the river below. As the circuitous tendrils dissipated into the air the remaining books and equipment began to combust, quickly filling the small laboratory with smoke and ash. Anthea couldn't stifle a wicked smile as she began down the stairs. She had much to do and not much time to do it. Her sharp claws raked the hard stone walls as she descended.

---

Colt woke to a coughing fit. His lungs both burned and felt like they were full of water. Colt couldn't stop wheezing as he struggled to open his eyes. His face was covered in a layer of fine ash. He could feel his parents' bodies snuggled tight up against him, protecting him from the fire. Their protective barrier felt smothering as he struggled to gain his senses. Disoriented, he called out to his parents as he desperately tried to clear his face.

"Mom? Dad?!" Colt managed to croak out of his parched throat. His hands, covered in the same dirt and ash as his face were having a hard time properly clearing enough for him to open his eyes. Every time his right arm moved lances of immobilizing pain whipped through his body. Despite the pain Colt grew frantic as he clawed at his face until finally he could begin to crack open his eyelids. Piercing rays of the early-morning sun polluted by slowly drifting ash poured into the stone archway through the remaining burnt timbers of their home's roof.

Colt looked down, his parents' forms were barely discernible among the debris that littered the opening of the arch. His mother and father's bodies were coated with a thick layer of ash and half-burnt wood so thick that it would be impossible to know they were there. Colt quickly began to wipe away the layers of debris covering them in panic.

"No, no, no!" Colt repeated as he frantically excavated their bodies. His heart beat in his ash-stuffed ears even as his every breath felt like it was being pushed through a very small piece of straw. Colt couldn't dig fast enough for his racing mind as he finally found the edge of the thick blanket they had covered themselves with. His eyes went wide as he struggled to peel it back. His parents were there, seemingly untouched by the fire, their bodies locked into an embrace, limp hands holding one another. There was no movement or signs of life on their pale gaunt faces.

Colt could only let out a deep and sudden sob as he clutched their ragged sides with his colorless hands. Tears streamed down his face, carving small rivers through the ash. His head slumped onto their bodies as he suddenly lost all strength. His heart felt like it had sunk low into his stomach.

"C..Colt?" his mother whispered.

Colt sat up, it couldn't be. Then he felt her cold hand on his cheek.

"M..mom, I thought...I thought..." Colt blubbered as he put his hand over hers.

"Oh my... little boy..." she whispered, slowly regaining her voice. Her throat felt and sounded cracked and dry. Color slowly returned to her face as she gulped for air between her words.

"I won't leave you, not ever," she assured him as she slowly, deliberately began to extricate herself from the blanket. Colt couldn't help but cry at the assurance, even though he knew how little control any of them had on the future. Their ruined home was proof of that. But the words coming from his mother comforted him all the same.

"Is it morning yet? Where are my eggs?" his father joined in as he, with some effort, rolled onto his back, a wide smile crossing his face.

"Dad!" Colt exclaimed as he hugged his father.

"Ouch, ouch, not so hard," his father begged, his throat similarly clogged by the sediment that surrounded them. Colt broke the embrace as his father raised his weak hand and gripped Colts'.

"My son, my son... I knew you would make it," he smiled, his half-opened eyes sparkled as a tear rolled down his cheek.

"I think we have spent enough time in this hole, shall we?" Mary suggested as she wormed and crawled her way out into the cellar, or what remained of it.

"Your mother has the right idea, go, go," Duncan waved Colt towards the opening, his own body still as if resting. Colt nodded, he would be happy to never see the cramped space under the archway again.

Colt began to extricate himself out of the archway as he maneuvered himself around his father's body. He forgot his injuries in the excitement as he put weight on his arms and feet. Lightning coursed through him.

"AHHH!!" Colt managed to cry out. His vision went white, the pain was so great as his body collapsed in place.

"Colt! What's wrong?!" his mother rushed back to the opening. She didn't wait for him to respond before she saw his clear distress.

"Here, take my hands if you can," she said, her face was full of empathy like she had been the one injured. Colt weakly stretched his arms towards her as she took his wrists; with a strength he didn't know she had she pulled him free in a billow of ash.

Colt could only lay there, looking at the pale blue sky as his mother gingerly wiped his face with the hem of her dress. The pain was beyond anything he had ever felt; it was immobilizing. After what seemed like forever he took a deep jagged breath, the pain subsiding to a dull throbbing as the world came back into view. Colt's eyes focused as he took in the surroundings.

Their house, the house he grew up in, that his father grew up in, was nothing more than a collection of jagged smoldering logs overlooking a deep pit of ash. Bits of the roof had somehow escaped the fire, but the majority of the cabin had collapsed inward, it was hardly recognizable as their home.

"How did we survive?" Colt asked rhetorically as his visible breath blew out of him like an overstuffed chimney. Melting snow began to drip in from the edges of the exposed cellar.

As Colt stared at the wreckage hIs mother was attending his father. She dragged him next to Colt as she tried to warm his cold body with the blanket that had protected them. Colt surprisingly didn't feel the cold as the pain began to concentrate into his right arm and ankle. Colt carefully rubbed his arm, looking for the wound with his fingers until the pain made him stop. He didn't want to look at how bad it was.

"Mary, look, I'm not coughing anymore," his father joked weakly next to him.

Colt turned his head towards his father "What do you mea--" his words caught in his throat as his heart skipped a beat. A trickle of dark red blood slipped from the side of his father's mouth.

"No, honey, no..." Mary despaired as she wiped away the blood. "Hold on, just...hold on," she sputtered as she put her hands on his father's cheeks.

"Mom?" Colt inquired as she wiped her own eyes with her her sleeve.

With a sudden determination his mother collected herself. "We have to get out of the cellar," his mother said, the strain in her voice badly hidden. Colt knew she understood what the blood meant too. Mary knew full well the condition Duncan was in, but she had to separate it for now, it would do none of them any good if she broke down.

She looked around. The rough dirt steps were still intact across the pit of their cellar. They could make it.

"Do you think you can walk?" she asked Colt as she scavenged boards.

"I..."I don't think so." Colt sputtered as he tried to right himself before his ankle drove him down onto his back once more.

"No don't. I will get us out," she said with a powerful resolve she had summoned once before in her youth. She was already hard at work lashing together a wooden sled from two long pieces of slightly singed flat wood that used to make up a hanger they used for drying meats. The rope was buried under the ash, but right where she had left it from the growing season. A thick piece of twisted metal that used to be part of her favorite pot served as her knife.

She placed the board next to Duncan with the rope interwoven under it, ready to be pulled tight. Her thin muscles ached as she heaved his heavy body onto the boards. He moaned quietly as his blanket-wrapped body was cinched onto the makeshift sled.

"Is that ok honey? Are the ropes too tight?" She asked but only got a slight murmur in return.

Mary felt like she may break down in that moment, it all seemed hopeless. But no, she had to believe that things would be ok. They had to. She steeled herself to the task ahead and with great effort, she pulled on the long pieces of rope she had attached to the sled. Her feet dug into the ash as she began to move Duncan across the cellar. Finally after catching on several hidden boards and pieces of debris she came to the stairs. She tried to ignore the large scorched horn sticking out of the ash near the stairs. With all the strength she had she lifted the end of the sled onto the first step, and then the next and the next. She ignored the tearing feeling in her back and arms as the sled carrying the love of her life tilted ever upward onto the stairs.

Once the sled was in position she carefully climbed over it and grabbed hold of the two ropes. She arrived at the top of the stairs and heaved with everything she had. Her sodden shoes dug deeply into the soft snow-wetted ground as the sled barely budged. Dropping the ropes in frustration as much as fatigue, she saw that her hands were bleeding. Desperate, she looked around and saw the hitching posts for the horses were still intact. The horses! In her rush she had forgotten about them. She prayed to the forefathers that they were still there. She tied the sled off before she ran through the shallow soft snow to the lean-to near the large tree where they kept the horses.

Like a miracle, their old gray sumpter horse was still there, lazily eating hay from its trough. The younger of the two was gone, its hitching rope laid slack on the ground. They had names once when Colt was very young, but it was easier to refer to them both as horse. She quickly strapped on its heavy plowing harness and a simple saddle. She considered not fully securing it in the interest of time but years of work on the farm had taught her what calamity could occur if she didn't. After what felt like far too long the horse was finally fully geared. In a hurry she quickly led it back to the cellar. Wasting no time she attached the ropes from the sled to the harness, making sure the knots were tight before she slowly led the horse away from the house. Within moments the sled had crested the edge of the cellar. She sighed, her husband was still securely held in its embrace.

She lashed the horse to the nearest pole and began to undo the ropes that held Duncan in place. Colt would need it next. Her body felt like it would break at any moment, her muscles hurt so badly. But even so, she prepared to descend again into the cellar. She heard shuffling coming from the stairs as she unfastened the last of the straps from her bundled husband. To her complete shock Colt's hand grabbed for purchase as he emerged from the cellar steps, unaided.

His body was matted with ash and dirt. It was clear that he had crawled using his operable limbs all the way across the ruins of their home. She rushed to help him summit the final step as she hugged him and stoked his hair.

"Colt, how did you?" She asked as she hugged him as tightly as she was able.

"Mom, please, take care of dad," Colt begged as he broke off the hug and began coughing. He didn't care what happened to him. "Please..." he begged through cracked dry lips. Mary nodded in acknowledgement, her face a mix of pain and resolve as she began to re-tie Duncan into the sled.

"Sister Mia in Brooksdale, she can..." Mary trailed off as she looked to the ground, her head shaking as she tried to push down the enormity of their situation.

With overstressed arms she raised the top of the sled upwards with the ropes so that Duncan's head would be elevated as they travelled. Mary looked back at Colt who had shakily raised himself onto one foot with the help of a hitching post. Despite the obvious pain he was in he nodded for her to go. Mary felt the urgency of the situation, her heart was racing. There was no time to dwell on the loss of their worldly things or her son's grievous injuries as she released the horse. With great effort she hitched her body up via the stirrup, her body felt broken as she lay atop the beast. Mary closed her eyes for a moment and regained her composure. She could do this she told herself. For them.

"Four, maybe five days, if I'm not back by then," Mary brought the horse around as she checked the sled's security.

"You will be," Colt managed a pained smile, holding back tears. "I can get dad's..." Colt held back a sob as he averted his eyes from the bundle on the sled. "I can get the workshop setup, it should be dry..." he trailed off.

Mary pulled on the horses reins as she turned to her son. "I love you...don't worry," she said as her voice began to break.

She had to go now while she still had some of the remaining determination she had conjured in the cellar. Leaving her son there in the ruins of their home was the hardest thing she had ever done as a mother. She bade the horse onwards as it carried her and her husband towards the king's road. She was thankful that the horse's wide hooves made so much noise as they clopped through the muddy snow, masking the uncontrollable cries that emanated from deep in her chest.

---

The roads were never good, but the winter had been unkind as they turned the narrow paths into a slurry of freezing cold mud and snow. Mary was careful to not goad the horse too fast as the ends of the sled her husband lay on deteriorated as they dragged behind her, crashing into every rock and bump. There were no pained groans or complaint from Duncan which only made her want to whip the horse into a frenzy, but she restrained herself. She feared checking on Duncan for what she might discover. She kept her mind on the road and guiding the horse through the worst of it.

She saw signs of the creatures everywhere. Smashed carts and burning supplies scattered the road. She was careful to divert their horse around them into the deep snow banks only when the blockage was too much to navigate. It was slow going for a trip that normally could be accomplished in a few hours.

After a day of riding she finally arrived at the king's road, a stoned path frequented by traders heading to the coast. Brooksdale was just an hour away but her horse was exhausted from trudging through the snow. Its hooves barely lifted off the ground as it walked. She feared if the horse collapsed it would kill not only herself but Duncan as well. The sun was beginning to set thanks to the short days of winter that still beset them as the temperatures began to drop. The road was empty of travellers as she turned the horse towards Brooksdale. She felt in her heart that Duncan wouldn't make it if she couldn't get him help that night.

The horse's mouth foamed, its breathing ragged as it slowly laid down on the road upon reaching the gates of Brooksdale. The warm glow of fires washed over the low-hanging clouds, illuminating the town's perimeter. Indistinct sounds of voices travelled over the high walls made of rough-hewn logs. She wasn't sure if her horse had died or fallen asleep as it laid its heavy head into the dirt. As she dismounted she barely had time to think about the beast as a burning cart burst through the open gate. Its driver lashed his horses like the mouths of the four hells had opened behind him.

She rushed to check on the sled. Duncan's face was incredibly gaunt and pale, as if all the fat on his features had evaporated. She looked at him closely, desperately searching for signs of life. Almost imperceptible small tufts of breath pushed past his chapped lips into the night air. She felt a wave of elation, that felt a bit like nausea, wash over her. He was alive, but she had no energy to celebrate. She unhooked the sled from the horse, a meager hope in her heart.

The weight of her husband and his sled suddenly rested on her arms as it detached from the harness, her strength failed her and the sled fell from her grip to the ground. Mary felt herself fall with it. Her body slumped against the horse. She had nothing left. She had not eaten properly in days. She regretted not setting aside more food for herself on Colt's birthday. It felt like a hundred years ago. She laid her head against the horse's haunches. Her thoughts were of Colt, alone in the smoldering wreckage of their farm as the darkness took her.

---

Muffled voices talking nearby streamed into and out of Mary's flickering consciousness as she struggled to wake. Scratchy warm straw cradled her body and poked her bony frame through her ragged dirty dress. She grabbed handfuls of straw as she tried to right herself. Her whole body ached as she began to re-establish her bearings. Torches sat in iron sconces on thick wooden posts, casting long shadows across the tall room. Mary recognized it almost immediately, it was the large stable in the center of town. She was in a tall horse stall near the large swinging entrance doors. A cold night breeze swept in, the torches' flames threatened to go out before recovering as the wind died down.

Her eyes grew wide as her attention was brought down towards the floor by nearby crying. Dozens of people were huddled and sprawled across the dirt floor. Large families were crowded into stalls, their clothes were as dirty as hers, some soaked with blood. Somewhere deeper in the barn came inconsolable wailing. The family closest to her was composed of a woman and at least five or six of her small children. Their eyes were distant, red from tears long since shed. The woman was unresponsive to her swaddling babe's pleas as she looked straight ahead without seeing.

Mary surveyed her immediate surroundings. Ducan was there with her, nestled in the straw, his body lay on its side facing away from her, free of the blanket she had wrapped him in. Red marks adorned his arms and ankles where she had tied him to the sled.

"Duncan, honey--" she shook his shoulder. He was unresponsive as she scrambled to hold a hand under his shirt to feel for his heartbeat. She didn't know what she would do if she lost him now after all they had survived. Her fingers moved through his once thick chest hair as it waited for a sign. She could feel his ribs just under his skin. She was interrupted as a large group of men blocked the entrance of her stall.

"Set her here, with the others," a gruff man at the head of the gang said as he pointed to the open space next to Mary. With little care they produced a young woman. The woman's stringy dirty hair hid her face. Her body was covered in small red bleeding lashes like she had been cut with hundreds of small knives. A small dirty satchel with its cinch undone was slung around her body, very obviously having been rifled through. Unceremoniously, they threw her into the straw next to Mary. The woman groaned as she landed.

"Wait! What's happening?" Mary asked as the men turned to go.

The gruff man's brow furrowed as he registered her presence, his beady eyes focusing on her, "The creatures of course! Swept through like a...like a..." the man struggled to find the words.

Mary interrupted his pained thinking, "Where is Sister Mia? My husband, he won't make it without her help. Please," Mary couldn't help but sound as desperate as she was "you must help us."

"The Maven?" The man looked confused. "She left days ago, some summons or the like, probably lyin' in a ditch somewhere with a hoof on her back." he spat. "Come on boys, Mayor wants all the rabble off the streets by sunrise," as his crew trudged out of the barn.

The young woman next to Mary began to laugh at the news of the Maven as the men left the stall. Her body shuddered like she was stifling a cry. Her body was dressed in tatters of something beautiful once, the blue-purple of the cloth sullied and torn. Under all the dirt and blood she seemed about the same age as Colt.

"What could you possibly be laughing at?" Mary inquired with an edge to her voice she didn't fully intend. She was just so tired.

The woman shook her head, stifling her laughter as she righted herself. "I'm sorry, it's just that I used the last of my--" she paused, pursing her lips before continuing "and I wind up falling through a forest of your finest and sharpest trees."

Her laughter was on the edge of weeping as she rubbed her watery eyes. She looked down dejected as she sat and hugged her knees to her chest.

"Where is this?" she asked.

"Brooksdale...how did you come here?" Mary answered, she could have sworn the woman said she fell through the forest.

"Barely on the other side of the sawtooths! Not nearly far enough," the woman's voice choked.

Mary reached out and wordlessly hugged the strange woman, there was little else she could do. The woman flinched at her hands on her shoulders, unsure, before accepting the embrace. Mary patted her back, she didn't know what had broken this young woman, talking gibberish as she was, but her instinct was to comfort her as best she could.

"T... thank you," the woman stuttered as they broke off the hug. "I'm sorry, I'm not used to that," she explained, her voice much more calm as she sniffled her nose.

"What's your name?" the young woman asked in almost a whisper.

"Mary, and this is my husband, Duncan," Mary continued without thinking. As soon as she said his name she felt numb. Even though he was right beside her he felt gone. Her hopes smashed.

"I'm sorry this all happened to you, Mary, you seem like a...good person. I don't get to meet many of those," the young woman said as she uncurled and began to rifle through her satchel.

"Here, rub this on his lips," she handed Mary a small twig with an iridescent red berry on the end. Mary hesitantly took it, it looked like something the woman had found on the ground.

"I'm no good at healing," the woman looked at Duncan's unmoving body and then back to Mary, "but it will help." Her sharp violet eyes were sincere.

Mary was mostly sure that the young woman was touched in the head, but she was desperate. She clutched the small branch and dragged it across Duncan's cold cracked lips. Almost immediately his still body suddenly convulsed. He began to hack and cough violently as his lungs attempted to clear themselves. Mary didn't feel like she had any tears left to shed, but seeing her beloved alive proved her wrong. She held Duncan, unsure how this was possible. She turned back to the young woman.

"Oh thank you! Thank you! Please, I don't have anything to pay you w..." she patted her soiled dress as she looked for her small bag of coins. It was all they had left in the world, and it was gone.

The young woman laid her hand on Mary's to stop her distressed searching. "I need no payment for a trinket," she said with a wince. The numerous cuts on her arms had opened up and were weeping blood.

"I'm Theora by the way," the young woman smiled.