"Yesterday?" one of the women asked, her pale eyes widening. "All of this happened yesterday?"
S'Doryn looked down at Jynna, who nodded.
The woman actually stood and stepped toward the door that led outside. "She could still be contagious! How could you have allowed her into the village, much less this house?"
"She's shown no sign of being ill," S'Doryn said evenly. "From all she's told us it seems that the disease came upon them swiftly and with great force. If she were carrying it, she'd be dead by now."
He couldn't have had any idea of how his words struck at Jynna's heart, nor did she let any of them see. Her father had sent her here to get help, and she trusted that some of them-S'Doryn certainly, and perhaps T'Noth as well-would do all they could for her. But she was less certain of T'Kaar and these others. And so she refused to let them see how she ached inside. Standing there, her back straight, her eyes dry, might well have been the most adult thing she'd ever done. In a small part of her mind that remained apart, watching all that was happening to her, Jynna marveled at how she had grown in just this one day.
For several moments more the woman just stared at Jynna, as if the girl were some beast summoned by Bian himself to lay waste to her village. Finally, she returned to her chair, her cheeks coloring somewhat.
"How is it she escaped with her life?" one of the men asked.
"We've wondered the same thing," S'Doryn told him. He smiled for just an instant. "Perhaps if we knew for certain, we'd never again have cause to fear the pestilence." No one else so much as grinned, and he offered a small shrug. "Perhaps she was merely lucky. Perhaps the gods have marked her for some greater purpose. To be honest, I don't know. But she came to us seeking aid, and I for one don't feel that we can refuse her."
An old woman who sat at the table shook her head. "You make it sound easy, S'Doryn. Yet you know it isn't." Before she could say more, she was taken by a fit of coughing that racked her body. No one said anything, although T'Noth did offer her some water, which she waved away even as her paroxysm went on. Eventually her coughing subsided and she pulled a white rag from the folds of her dress and wiped her mouth. "Forgive me." She glanced at Jynna. "I've been sick a long time. Sooner or later it will get the best of me, though I daresay I have some time left."
She grinned, and Jynna decided that she liked the woman, regardless of what she meant to say.
"It's not that easy," she began again, shifting her gaze back to S'Doryn. "You and I are old for Qirsi, even for Fal'Borna. But others here have young families to care for, children to protect. Jynna may want our help, but our safest course is to let whatever disease has struck her village run its course, and then burn to the ground what's left."
"The disease might well have taken care of that for us already." "What do you mean?"
S'Doryn looked down at Jynna and nodded. And for the second time that morning, she told of the strange and horrible effect the pestilence had on her people. The reaction was much the same this time: silence, followed by speculation that the Y'Qatt had brought this on themselves by refusing to use their magic.
"For all we know," one man said, as T'Kaar looked on and nodded, "the pestilence has always done this to the Y'Qatt. Their faith is old, but it's only recently that so many have subscribed to it."
"I've never heard of this happening before," S'Doryn said. "But even if you're right, what does it have to do with Jynna and her plea for help?"
"The risk is too great," the old woman said. She looked at Jynna. "Forgive me, child. I can't begin to imagine how you've suffered in these past few hours. I'm sorry for you. Truly I am. But surely you can see that I have to protect my people, to keep them from suffering as you and yours have."
Jynna met the woman's gaze, but she neither nodded nor shook her head. Eventually the old Qirsi looked away.
"Jynna and her people are Qirsi," T'Noth said. "Haven't the Fal'Borna sworn an oath to protect all Qirsi, even those of enemy clans?"
T'Kaar and the other man who'd spoken of the Y'Qatt faith shook their heads. "Her kind stopped being Qirsi the moment they stopped using magic," the man said.
The old woman frowned at them. "Nonsense. That's the coward's way out. If you fear going to Tivston, as I do, then just say so. But don't pretend that she's not Qirsi simply because of her faith."
T'Kaar looked genuinely abashed. "Yes, A'Laq. Forgive me."
Jynna stared at the woman. A'Laq? Was she the leader of the village then? If so, then her word would be final, and there would be no help for Tivston.
The woman appeared to notice Jynna's gaze. "Yes," she said. "A'Laq. I lead the clan council in Lowna. My name is U'Selle."
Jynna bowed to the woman, drawing smiles from nearly everyone in the room. "Forgive me, A'Laq. I didn't know."
"There's nothing to forgive, child. You're not Fal'Borna. You owe me no obeisance."
It came to Jynna so quickly that she barely had time to think it through. She just spoke, and hoped it would work.
"But I am Fal'Borna. At least I am now. S'Doryn has said that if my family is gone, I can live here in Lowna with him. Doesn't that make me one of you now?"
The woman narrowed her eyes, a sly smile on her wizened face. "Perhaps."
"In which case, I wouldn't be an outsider asking for help. I'd be one of your own. Doesn't that change things?"
"Now, see here-!" T'Kaar broke in.
But U'Selle raised a hand, silencing him, her eyes fixed on Jynna. "The Fal'Borna are warriors. True, it's the men who ride to war, but all of us would gladly die to keep our people free; men and women, adults and children alike. Will you die for us as well?"
"Yes, A'Laq."
"An easy promise to make," T'Kaar said. "But keeping it-"
"Silence!" U'Selle said, casting a dark look his way. She faced Jynna again. "We use our magic every day, in violation of your faith and all that you've been taught since the day you were born. Will you use your magic when the need arises? Will you heal an injured comrade if Qirsar gives you the gift of healing magic? Will you raise a wind to stop a fire if it threatens the homes of your neighbors?"
"Yes, A'Laq."
"She'd say anything-"
"Be silent, T'Kaar! Or leave! I will not tolerate another interruption!" T'Kaar glared at Jynna for an instant and then stormed out of the house.
"He may be right, you know," the a'laq said, eyeing Jynna. "You would say anything to get us to help you. I know you would. I've been desperate before. Perhaps not as desperate as you are now, but desperate enough. A person in your circumstance will tell all sorts of lies, promise all sorts of things to get her way. That's why T'Kaar doesn't trust you. Can you give me one reason why I should?"
The words were hard, but Jynna sensed that U'Selle wanted her to give a good reason, that in the end, the a'laq wanted to help her. She wasn't certain what the right answer was, but a response came to her, and with nothing more to offer, she gave it voice.
"Because I have no one else, A'Laq. Because you're right, I am desperate. I'm alone. And if my family is dead, if my village is gone, I have only the Fal'Borna. Why would I risk lying to the only family left for me?"
For several moments the woman just looked at her, and even when she began to nod, she didn't smile. "A good answer, Jynna. Good enough at least." She turned her gaze to S'Doryn, and Jynna exhaled. U'Selle might have been old, but there was power in her eyes. "You'll take her back to Tivston. You and T'Noth. Normally I'd send four of you, for luck. But I fear there isn't enough good fortune to help in this endeavor, and I'm reluctant to risk more lives."
"Can we take horses?" S'Doryn asked.
"Yes. Take several, in case there are other survivors. Don't tarry there. Look around. Learn what you can. Then leave. But I don't want you to return here for eight days. If you're all still well after that, you can come back. Do you understand?"