The filth had been washed off Allika's body now, but the little red bites remained. Vervain excused herself and hastened out into the garden. Deveren continued to hold Allika, wiping away the tears that seemed endless. Vervain returned, carrying a basket laden with a small, weedlike plant. She began busily to crush the plant, rubbing Allika's body with it.
"What's that?" Deveren asked.
"Vervain. It should calm her." She spared a glance for Deveren, and smiled a little. "I come from a long, unbroken line of Healers. My mother named us after healing herbs. I was lucky. My sisters are Agrimony and Chamomile."
Deveren laughed, and the Healer's smile grew. Their eyes met, and suddenly Deveren realized that for the first time he was seeing the Healer without her severe red wimple. Her hair was a rich, warm brown, and tumbled down her shoulders and back. There was a little gray winding its way through the thick curls, but there was no hint of aging on the open, warm face and kind eyes. She was, he realized, beautiful.
Allika's hitching breath brought his attention back to the matter at hand. She did seem to be calming down somewhat. Vervain's… vervain… would appear to have the desired effect. He stroked her wet cheek.
"Now I must try to Heal her. Deveren, many times I deal with things I do not understand. This is one of those times." Her voice and mien were calm, almost tranquil. Deveren marveled at it. "If she has picked up a disease from Vengeance, the attempt to Heal her may kill us both. You need to know that before I begin. If something happens, you must somehow get Lord Vandaris and the council to agree to a quarantine. If it is so powerful that I cannot contain or cure it, then we must protect the rest of the country from contamination. Do you understand?"
Her words were almost like a physical blow. He'd simply assumed that Vervain would be able to take care of Allika. With a sinking realization, Deveren felt like someone who had set out to cross the ocean in a small dinghy, and only now, with land out of sight, fully realized the danger.
"Yes. I understand." His own voice betrayed him. Spontaneously, he reached out his hand to her. She took it, squeezed it tightly. Then, taking a deep breath, she sat down on a stool next to the bed, closed her eyes, and placed her hands on Allika's chest.
Healing.
It was a simple word, really. A simple concept. And often, it was her bone-deep comprehension of the utter simplicity of the act that enabled Vervain to accomplish what some called "miracles." She did not dare hope for a miracle tonight.
Her hands felt the chilliness of Allika's damp flesh. She spread her fingers; reached deeper, for the warmth of the small organ that pumped life. She murmured a brief prayer: Lady Health, guide me to accomplish your healing.
Her hands suddenly felt hot. The healing energy had responded to her call-a good sign. Heartened, Vervain directed the heat inward, into the chilled child's soul.
And gasped.
Her healing energy slammed up against an icy blockage. She recognized some of it — the natural fear of the sick or injured. That, she knew how to penetrate. But there was something else, something cold and dark and deadly. Its chill began to seep into her own hands, trying to turn the tables on her Healing.
She frowned, eyes still closed. No. She could not let it. Again the healing energy welled, came to her call, and again she sent it forward. She felt the child beneath her hands jump at the attack of heat, writhe, trying to break contact. Then Allika ceased flailing. Vervain suspected Deveren had stepped in, helped quiet the girl. Thank Health for him. He was steadier than most she had known.
This time Vervain burst through the blockage, and it was as if she found herself adrift in a raging river. Her breath caught, froze, and she forced herself to breathe as she was mentally buffeted by something that had its talons in the child. Briefly, Vervain had an image of twisting; of something being turned inside out. And again the darkness brushed her healing warmth. This time, Vervain knew what it was, and the thought alarmed her.
Not disease. Curse.
It was the perfect opposite of all she had been taught. Dimly, she recalled learning how to summon such things in order to know how to dispel them. Tears formed beneath her closed lids. She recalled Jemma teaching… what? Gods, it was so long ago, she had been barely ten years old! Hard to recall, now that everything depended on her memory…
Yes. A third time Vervain called for the great power of Healing. This time, she remembered what to do.
She surrendered.
Surrendered herself and Allika utterly to the power of evil that raged within the girl's spirit. Felt the cold seize her own heart, felt the mammoth hate that seemed far too large to be housed in the tiny body of a seven-year-old child turn eagerly upon this new, sweet prey. Vervain saw her own thoughts and memories being twisted, tainted, as the curse tried to corrupt her as it had Allika. But it failed. She was a Blesser of Health, and the goddess's claim upon her loyalty and spirit stood firm against the buffeting of the curse. Angrily it receded, renewing its attack upon the more vulnerable little girl. Vervain felt herself drowning in the dark, black cold…
… and a fourth time called forth the red warmth of Healing. She remembered how to direct it. It scattered the bearer (bearers, thousands of them) of the dark curse with the force of a rechanneled river. Vervain began to pant with exhaustion, dimly felt sweat gather at her hairline, trickle down the back of her neck. Her body began to quiver. No… no, she had to stay strong, had to keep fighting!
The power was ebbing, cooling. She reached for it a fifth time, something she had never done before, and found no trace of the gift left. Her own strength of will had to do. Vervain gritted her teeth and continued fighting, and at last the black darkness ebbed, went away, like a shadow before a growing light.
She opened her eyes. Allika lay quietly, as exhausted by the struggle as she was. Vervain realized she was trembling. Deveren went to her, steadied her with strong arms on her shoulders. "What… is it all right?"
She couldn't speak, only nodded. Gods, she was tired. Vervain licked her lips and pointed feebly to a pitcher on the sideboard. "Some water… please…"
Deveren leaped up and poured her a goblet, sloshing the water on her red dress as he handed it to her. His hazel eyes were concerned. Vervain gulped greedily. Never had water tasted so sweet. She sighed, waited for her racing heart to still, then spoke.
"Allika was cursed," she said. Deveren gasped, then glanced back up at the girl who was sleeping soundly. "I was able to cure her, do not worry. It was spread by the rat… or, rather, by the rat's own vermin."
"The fleas," breathed Deveren. "I had the rat killed, but…"
"Exactly. The fleas have no doubt spread." She took a deep breath, drank some more water, and continued. "I had to surrender to the curse in order to defeat it. Deveren, this is… I can hardly even articulate it. It… it likes darkness. It likes to make people do evil things. They will thrive on cruelty. Goodness, kind deeds-that weakens the victims, makes them hurt. Did you notice every time Allika cooperated, seemed sorry for what she had done, she was stricken with pain?"
Deveren nodded.
"It's like the bite of a snake. To cure, one must fight back with an antidote crafted with the same poison. To cure this curse, one must be made utterly evil, cease fighting it, in order to defeat it. It is called the Law of Similarities. Do you follow me?"
This time, Deveren shook his head. Her heart went out to him. Poor man. For all that he was a selfconfessed thief, he had a good soul. And all of this had shaken him profoundly-as well it might. "In essence, then, Allika and I surrendered completely to evil-and then I was able to fight back, to pull her out along with me." She wiped a hand across her brow, greasy with sweat. "We almost didn't make it."