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6.

Howling storms dressed my nightmares with sweat inducing fear. Dark water surged around me with a giants tug and by its own volition regurgitated me among the rocks of the Madesto Coast. Cold, dark eyes stared at me from three bodies draped on the frothed rocks like a child's toys. Their muzzles opened, a long low hissing moan calling out my sins of murder. I swam from the rocks, swam from the sounds of Calipo, Rolphio and the young pilgrim. An undertow hooked me down into icy void of ebony. I floated above the Madesto Council, every face of the graying panthers wanting their dues. My father stood before them all, armor stripped, sword held by a master of the watch and his hands shackled. Vivid lucidity painted the bishop in stain glass fire as he spoke with his cheetah grace; my family line decreed void with no proof of a relic vainly sought for. I watched my father plead to take me in his stead, a thief to learn the error of her ways. They laughed and I saw his head part from his body, blood turning to rubies as essence and head dip into the dream waters. My father's head bobbed like a keg from a ship, his emerald eyes stared up at me. He called for me to seek out the relic, fulfill the family duty and restore honor. I screamed, ragged and choked with salt water at his head. I threw my pleas at it to release me from that impossible duty. Darker waves swirled about me and drug my body to the shores of Madesto Coast where my brethren awaited. White hot blades etched with the Golden Crosses of the Crusaders ran through my belly and chest in righteous chastisement.

The warm feel of light arms wrapped around me and a nuzzling of stiff fur upon my cheeks woke me to a throat raw from screaming. Silver eyes stared at me from the ruffled red and white mane of Mihlihssah; twin points of starlight searching deep into my soul to know my deepest terrors. I gave several racking sobs into her chest. I sought refuge like a beaten kitten in the warmth of her embrace. She stroked my ears and whispered softly.

"Be at ease, Trisha. You are safe in my arms. The night terrors whither in the light of the waking." Her voice was gentle, worn.

Once my crying dulled to a fit of sniffles she released our kindled embrace. A bowl of milky white glass was gently pushed into my hands; my fingers warmed from the hot and steaming broth within it. I stared at the offering of black roots sloshing about dark brown oats. The broth wafted scent of gamey pilmoo and a coppery burn of blood with an earthiness from the oats. My nostrils flared a bit in disgust of those scents mixing; my stomach gave a sharp pain to remind me of my promise to sate it last night. I tipped the bowl to my lips and sucked at the congealing thick broth. The flood of salt, metallic bitterness and a biting spice assaulted my tongue, ravaged my throat. I gave several gags and coughed to clear myself of the cloying heat and abrasive salt sting. Mihlihssah watched me, brilliant metallic gaze over the rim of a twin to my own bowl in her hands.

"Spice oats are an acquired taste, one you will get used to here in the deserts. They are the only decent way to muddle the bitter taste of the blood root I had to use. You're body was healed by a long day of focus to encourage its own talent for repair to make haste. Soolmah can do much to restore a person; however your body still craves nutrients to replace the blood loss. You're mind seems troubled. The wailing woke the whole tribe." She said with a soft reprimanding tone.

I set the bowl down and warmed my hands by the fire, my ears sliding back of their own will. "I.. I've never had a nightmare till now. Am I possessed? Poisoned?"

Mihlihssah bore a slime smile on her muzzle. "Neither, Trisha. Nightmares spawn from the mind grasping at too much too quickly. From what I saw of your wounds and your clothing, you have had some interesting times. Worry not on it. Time and rest will make things clear. Sip more broth, the whole bowl must be drunk."

My muzzle curled as I took up the bowl and sipped again, the spice oats not so shocking to my tongue. The blood root was still nasty the second time around.

"I'm a bit puzzled, Mihlihssah. I was found on the beach and brought to you for healing, yet I am to prove my value to the nomads of this camp. It would seem if I was someone with little value, why was I rescued?" I asked.

"I gather Rohtheer has attempted to speak with you then. For all the good that does that male." She sneered the word 'male'. "The way of the Dehsii can be hard to swallow. As a whole, they thrive on absolutes, seeking the best value of what they hold in their tight fisted hands. Every Dehsii from sand dwelling nomad to well clothed merchant has been raised to value everything and profit from it. You're situation is a bit odd right now. You were severely hurt, yet by the prodding of Rohtheer you were seen as valuable to salvage. I am not sure if you remember our little talk before the pain and healing. You're unique, Trisha. Many have heard legends of Felissii but none have seen one and live. You're people are coveted here by many as living proof. You have value, but until the nomads exact that value there is a debt you have to them. You have used me and I'm an oddity as well for a Dehsii tribe to have. Water, clothing, food and a place to sleep are all reserved for tribe members. You are in their good graces for a day or so as someone sick, but it'll end and you'll want to repay their kindness."

I scratched my chin and felt sand and flecks of salt fall from the fur. "So I have value that is to be paid upon then? I'm what, a hostage held in hospitality till sold off?"

"Not quite." Mihlihssah said. "If it were solely up to the nomads, they could trade you for supplies. Perhaps find favor to buy their way into one of the many settlements in the desert. Their choices are not wholly their own. I am going to go out on a limb here and assume Rohtheer fed you a load of Muhdrah that you have to impress the nomads to allow him to keep you safe? The nomads actually look up to him more than their elder, Trahkehr. Though his methods have been underhanded and cruel; the tribe had more males when I was acquired."

"So you are a hostage as well?" I asked dumbfounded.

"Perhaps. Consider me more as an enslaved piece to grand delusions. Rohtheer is bent fully on a mad notion to start his own nation in the sand. He will do what desires to get what he wants and there will be no violence spared to keep that goal aligned. So as long as I mend the wounded nomads, bow to his will and abandon hope of rescue; I am kept starving to a degree and allowed freedom to move within the camp and tend to my needs. I'd rather see him hang from the neck slowly. There are crimes for laying hands upon a Sister of Fohkseengaal. Revenge though is not the right mind for a healer, but I have not seen my fellow Sisters for several months. A little revenge I can easily ask forgiveness for form Lady Fohkseengaal." She said.

I sat my empty bowl down and Mihlihssah was quick to refill it from a copper pot set within the fire. She handed me the refilled bowl and gave me an encouraging smile. I returned a sneer showing my sharp fangs. She made a small growl and held out the bowl to me and jiggled to emphasize that I eat more. I took it from her hand with a glower that could roast chicken. Holding the bowl, my mind worked on what was discussed, delaying the inevitable muzzle full of nastiness.

"So the Dehsii are calculating and driven by profit? In a way, I can understand that. They are like merchants of my town, Madesto. They'd sell anything to gain a better life or an edge over a competitor. What about the Sohltrii? He called you a mahgiit, tricky and crafty? And these sisters you speak of are they Sohltrii as well?" I asked.

Mihlihssah had an amused look upon her muzzle and face. "Trust a sand sniffing Dehsii to call my kind tricky and crafty."

"He mentioned too your kind like to steal as well." I added and took a swallow of the nausea inducing broth.

"Steal? He thinks we are thieves? We are better than the Riivii." She werfled in pure disgust. "Crafty and tricky are apt descriptions of many of us Sohltrii. We delight in being Mahgiit and using Soolmah. That in itself baffles the minds of many of our brethren. To grasp something happening from unknown powers scare many as well. The Sisters I speak of are not my kin, but bond sisters of a sect of healers raised and trained by Lady Fohkseengaal and her words of peace and comfort. Healers are highly valued, protected and touted beyond violence and not to be tainted by it."

I had to think for a few moments on what all she'd said. "So this soolmah is the same as the miracle I saw Rohtheer perform from the red glass orb to make a fire? Could you not use the soolmah to free yourself or me?"

Mihlihssah seemed to wither before me and looked thinner that I thought possible.

"Soolmah is not a free talent for a mahgiit, Trisha. Soolmah takes greedily from a mahgiit when it gives out power for use. As I use my soolmah, it feeds on my body, on my soul. Small acts with it drain me little and I can simply eat and sleep to remain healthy. Large acts like healing you will starve me quicker than a three day trek in this dessert. Now I could try to force my way out save for two issues. As a Fohkseengaal Healer, I am sworn to not harm or kill others especially by soolmah. Beyond that, Rohtheer has told the Dehsii how to keep a mahgiit tractable. They now know our soolmah is always hungry for energy and the best way to keep me docile is to starve me often. This creates a dilemma of turning on them for freedom at the cost of my life starving to death or behaving and being kept alive. So I bide my time and hope I am rescued." She said.

"Soolmah feeds on your body and soul? Sounds more like a demonic curse than a help. Is that why Rohtheer used that red sphere? He called it a soul gem and blew on it to create our fire?" I asked.

Mihlihssah bobbed her head slowly. "Soul gems cast soolmah without feeding on the user. It is instead feeding on the soul within that gem until that soul is consumed into utter nothingness. Rohtheer is one of many Luups that have no talent in using soolmah from their own bodies. Many Luups are simply alive and living among these lands without the curse of having soolmah feeding on them. Many Luups wish to have it, but few appreciate or respect the nature and cost of using it. Have you seen soolmah in your lands?"

"Only a few times." I said. My bowl emptied again I placed it upside down in the sand to protest any further refills. "We call them Miracles in Madesto. Miracles come from the bishops of the True One. They can heal like you do or harm people using long metal wands, but only within the sacred temples of Cala Mormor. To see it so freely used here without holy ground is fascinating and frightening."

"Your land has temples as well? Then your people know of divine soolmah. That is rare here in Luupihnohs. You have to know well the ways of our Father and Mother, Lupis and Canis, the First Alphas of our lands. They grant special soolmah like your priests uses. Though I hope for your case Trisha, that if you find soolmah frightening, it is best you prepare to see it often in our lands. Many raiding bands of nomads like to pay for a mahgiit to add more bite to their attacks upon others. Many mahgiit lose their lives doing so as the price for harming others with soolmah comes back to the mahgiit in time and destroys their souls. Soolmah used for healing and guiding the natural order will never return to harm the mahgiit using it." Mihlihssah said.

Before I could speak, several of the female Dehsii in their woven fiber tops and skirts entered the tent. The all bowed to Mihlihssah and they spoke in a rapid flurry of sing-song vowels. Mihlihssah tilted her head a bit; seeming to catch what they said then looked to me.

"Would seem Rohtheer has informed them of your need for clothing. You're cloak was beyond repair and heavily soaked in blood. These ladies will be happy to take you in for the day and show you how to make clothing. I'd take them up on it or you'll be nude for a long time."