She turned and strode toward the exit, smiling just slightly as the soft clatter of footsteps sounded close behind.
She slowed her pace until the two of them were walking side-by-side. The streets of Forrenwake weren’t as crowded in the first hours of evening, but there were still people moving from one building to the next, negotiating with merchants and otherwise keeping busy. A fishmonger was packing up shop for the day while attempting to explain to an angry customer why the latest catch had not been up to the usual standards. An elderly man with graying whiskers and matted hair was resting against a massive wooden post that had an oil lamp hanging from it. Sheantris was far from pleased to see homeless citizens on the streets near Valathinea’s temple. The goddess of creation must never be represented by suffering or loss, though the priestess could not find the heart to send this poor man away.
“Come with me.” She pointed in his direction.
“What are you going to do?”
She didn’t answer. Instead she approached the sleeping man, refusing to allow her face to show disgust at the foul odor emanating from him. It was likely that he had not bathed or changed his clothes in some time—perhaps months—and that was of no fault of his own.
“Good sir,” Sheantris said, reaching down to lightly shake him awake. “Homeless are not allowed on the main road. Do you know this?”
He opened his eyes and blinked the sleep away. His eyes went wide at the sight of a priestess of Valathinea standing before him.
“I—I don’t know what... I’m sorry… I’ll move on—just so tired…”
“What is your name, old timer?”
“Hingar. Hingar Tsinji, to be exact, ma’am.”
“Please stand, Mr. Tsinji.”
The old man stumbled to his feet and did his best to straighten his moth-eaten tunic; before he could say anything, Sheantris of Mirea, High Priestess of Valathinea, reached out and took his hand into hers.
“The sores on your hands and face speak of one who has been through much sorrow. How long have you been without food or shelter?”
Hingar’s lips quivered as though he was trying his hardest to recall memories locked away for generations. “Don’t rightly know ma’am. Been wanderin’ for as long as I can remember—ever since my wife passed on, Goddess rest her soul. Got lost near the Forest of Souls and ended up here. I—I thought no one would mind me resting for a spell. Many apologies if I offended, m’lady.”
“No apologies needed, my child. You do not offend Valathinea, though your suffering breaks her heart. Do you see the white building just to the south? That is the temple. Go there, tell them Sheantris sent you. They will offer you a hot meal, a change of clothes, a place to sleep and a few pieces of silver for your future travels.”
“Ma’am—M’lady, you don’t have to—what I mean to say is—”
“There is no need to thank me. We are all children of Valathinea. Now off with you. There is much for me to do before I retire to my chambers for the evening.”
Hingar nodded his head and started for the temple, but paused mid-step. “Madam? May I ask something of you?”
Sheantris raised an eyebrow. “What is it, my son?”
“The sores. My body. I’m covered in them from head to toe. I fear it happened when I strayed too close to the cursed forest, but I don’t—I don’t exactly remember. They say that holy ones like yourselves can heal the sick. Is it true?”
Chapter 1
Start from the beginning
