Ihra's stomach rumbled as she followed Jasper and the old priestess through the village. She'd enjoyed the breakfast the tavern had offered them immensely; after weeks on the road, the fresh eggs and fried tubers had tasted like heaven. But that was before Jasper told her of the conversation he'd had during the night. Before she realized that they could complete the quest today.

Now, it was all she could do to not barf. The goal she'd dreamed of since she was a little girl was almost within reach. What child didn't dream of being a mage? But the dream had always been a foolish one, a hope not tethered in reality. Even now, she was afraid to hope; there was no guarantee that Ayallu would agree to his daughter's request. Ihra choked back down the acid filling her mouth and she tried to prepare herself to choose a few relics instead. It's still a good reward.

"We're here." The priestess led them behind a row of houses that backed up nearly directly to the mountain's steep slopes. There was nothing there but a few straggly trees that clung to life despite the harsh winds that buffeted the small plateau, and a small bluff that rose about twenty feet above the homes.

Ihra narrowed her eyes suspiciously, glancing down the narrow alley that led between the villagers' small cottages. It would be folly for the villagers to attack them - and yet the secluded spot seemed the perfect place to launch an ambush.

Her apprehension ratcheted up another notch as the woman clutched the amulet between her fingers and began to chant below her breath. Ihra might not be able to use magic yet, but she'd been in the priestess's mind before and was keenly aware of just how powerful she was.

Unconsciously, her hand began to slip toward her bow, but it froze mid-motion as the empty bluff began to shimmer. Like a page being turned, the image of the rock peeled away, revealing a large, double-doored gate carved into the stone.

The tension bled out of her shoulders, and she hastily pulled away from the bow - though not in time to escape the priestess' amused gaze. "I'm not Qaspul, my dear," the woman said. "None of us here are afflicted by that madness. We just want our goddess back."

Feeling a touch embarrassed, Ihra tried to redirect the conversation. "We aren't exposing you to any danger, are we?"

"It's perfectly safe," Tahanat replied. "The curse only affects Children of St. Martin; you could not spread it to us even if you tried." The priestess stepped forward as she spoke and placed her hands on the door. She chanted another spell beneath her breath, and the black gates rumbled inwards. "Come along," she bade them.

The only thing behind the gate was a road sloping gently downward, just wide enough for two carts to pass, and a small guard outpost manned by a young Fey slumped over in his chair. A thin line of drool dripped on his collar as he snored loudly, and the priestess shook her head disapprovingly.

"S̆ukul, wake up!" The loud crack of her hands clapping together echoed off the walls like the rumble of thunder, and the boy jerked up.

"Uh-"

"What did I tell you about today?" Tahanat scolded him. "And you're asleep?"

"I, uh, didn't get much sleep last night," the guard started to defend himself. "I picked up another shift-"

"Don't lie to me - you were out chasing that girl," the priestess cut him off. "You could have done that any night, but the one time I asked you to be ready…" The priestess calmed herself. "Was it at least worth it?"

S̆ukul's cocky grin was answer enough, as she turned to face them, Ihra could see the fond annoyance writ across the old woman's face. "I'd hoped S̆ukul would make a better impression than this but, well," she tsked lightly. "He's at that age."

Jasper nodded his head at the Fey, who hastily wiped the drool off his chin. "Are you part of the city guard?"

"Aye, he is," Tahanat answered for him, "but that's not why I wanted you to meet him." Stepping beside him, she straightened the guard's collar before pushing him forward. "This is S̆ukul - my great, great grandson - and Qas̆pûl's as well," she added.

"You were with Qas̆pûl?" Ihra blurted out in surprise, a feeling that was quickly followed by guilt as it sunk in that they had just killed him. "I mean…"

"There's no need to apologize. I could tell last night that you," she said, speaking to Jasper, "felt guilty for Qas̆pûl's death, but you shouldn't. If the goddess hadn't sent you, we were all going to kill ourselves. There was no scenario where all of us lived happily ever after. I don't regret the decision to flee and I know that Qas̆pûl, before he succumbed to the madness, didn't regret it either."

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"Have a seat, lad," the priestess continued and, stepping away from her grandson, gestured for them to follow her deeper into the mountain.

"When did your relation with Qas̆pûl start?" Ihra repeated her initial question. "When we…visited you," she carefully avoided the word 'possessed,' "I didn't get the impression you were together. I guess I missed you."

"No," the woman sighed, her voice laden with nostalgia and regret. "You missed nothing. For years, Qas̆p̂ul and I had danced around each other. There was always an unspoken connection there - be it love or lust, I'm not even sure - but there were always so many obstacles in our way."

"I was barely in my teens when I inherited my mother's position in the temple, and there were many who sought to replace me. It was all I could do to stay afloat until my magic grew strong enough to silence the doubters, so I had little time for romantic entanglements."

"Qas̆pûl, on the other hand, was the firstborn son of the Commander of the Western Watch. He was betrothed before he could walk, and trained with the guard from the moment his chubby little fingers could hold a sword."

"There was a moment, when we were young, that I thought Qas̆pûl might choose me, but he was always a creature of duty. When he married his betrothed, I knew it was over. Even after his wife and daughters were taken by the fine cure, Qaspul kept his distance. It wasn't until the day you came that he changed his mind - the prospect of imminent death does a great deal to change your perspective."

"We waited too long to flee. Amēl-Belēt's information about Birat-S̆ahor had been correct; a substantial portion of the guard had holed up there and using rather…rigorous methods, had kept the curse at bay, but the castle had been besieged by the Knockers. When we tried to reach the castle, we found ourselves trapped between the roaming hostiles in the city and the besieging army."

"We were forced to fight our way through, and less than half of our forces made it into the castle. The last I saw of Amēl-Belēt, he had gathered the remnants of our supporters that had been cut off, and was leading them back toward the city."

"So how did Qas̆pûl fall?"

"We were stuck in the castle for three months, and our numbers continually dwindled as the guards executed anyone who showed signs of succumbing to the madness. Morale was at an all-time low, and it was obvious by then that our only hope of escape was if we could take the enemy by surprise, allowing enough time for some of us to sneak past the guard and into the mountains."

"In the end, it was Qas̆pûl's plan that won out. My pregnancy had begun to show, and he couldn't bear the thought of losing his children again. Gathering most of the remaining soldiers, and anyone willing to admit that they heard the 'knocking,' they waited till midnight to strike."

"Half the camp was ablaze before the enemy was able to mount a counterattack, and in the chaos, the rest of us were able to slip out of the city and make it to the portal. I waited there for two weeks, hoping, praying that Qas̆pûl would show up, but he never did. At the time, I assumed he had fallen in the battle, but now…" the priestess sighed heavily. "He must have hid his symptoms from me. At least his sacrifice wasn't in vain." As she spoke, the slope in the tunnel floor evened out and the claustrophobic walls dropped away. "Welcome to our humble city, Ēdes̆-Iltabrīt."

The city, if it could truly be called that, was a far cry from the gilded glory of Iltabrit. Set in a natural cavern rather than a shard of Arallu, there was no glowing lavender sea on the horizon and no distant mountains. Rather than golden domes and towering buildings, most of the homes were carved into the rock face, piled up on top of each other up to the very top of the cavern's dome. Cheerful yellow light twinkled from the humble abodes' open windows, reflected by the cliffs' whitewashed walls, but only a few of the blue enchanted orbs illuminated the common areas.

But that was not to say Ēdes̆-Iltabrit̄ lacked its charms. With the homes built into the cavern's cliffs, almost the entire cavern floor was wide, open space. A deep, rushing river passed through the middle, disappearing into a narrow chasm beyond, with parks running along both banks. Fields of tubers and mushrooms filled another portion of the cavern floor, but the largest section was dedicated to the one truly monumental building the city supported.

A C-shaped row of pillars was set against the cliffs overlooking the chasm. In the middle of the pillars, a three-story tall statue of the goddess had been carved from the bedrock, one hand raised in benediction and the other clutching a spear. Unlike the rest of the city, numerous orbs lit up the pavilion and, even from a distance, Ihra could see the large crowd that had gathered around the statue.

"It's not much, is it," Tahanat asked with a wry smile. "If our ancestors would weep if they could see what we've been reduced to, and yet…our people are proud of it. For fifty years our craftsmen worked on the statue, snatching little bits of time whenever they were freed from their crops, all for a goddess we knew we could never enliven. But now…"

Hope lit up her eyes as she turned to the two of them, "Things will change. With Bēlet-Imtu's blessing, our crops will prosper and our mines will grow rich. We can never rebuild Iltabrīt, but we can regain a measure of what was lost."

"Will you give her to me," she asked, holding out her hands. "I wish to restore her to the altar myself."

Ihra waited as Jasper fished the statue out of his bag. "Careful - it's pretty heavy," he warned as he handed it over to her.

"I'll be-" Ihra leapt forward as the statue slipped through the priestess' hands, her limbs failing her with age, and caught it before it hit the ground. "Nothing like a god to remind you of your own mortality," the woman admitted ruefully. "Perhaps it's better if you carry it, dear."

Hoisting the statue up to her chest, Ihra followed Jasper and Tahanat down the river path. Cries of joy greeted them as they approached the temple, doubling in strength when Ihra raised the statue above her head, giving the whole crowd a view of their returning goddess. Following the priestess' directions, she set down on top of the altar and stepped aside as a pair of bulls were brought forward. Tahanat pierced their arteries, draining the blood from the bulls into a basin placed before the idol as the crowd shouted. "Ana Marat-Asnugallu! Ana Belet-Imtu!"

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