The weekend

We were going to go to Old Trafford on Saturday. On Friday evening we went to meet my sister-in-law in Cambridge and the car broke down. The key wouldn't switch on the ignition. We had to get my brother-in- law to come out to take us to his house where we were staying overnight.
Next day we rang Mercedes roadside help and their man said the steering lock has failed. This means that when the key was put in it didn't release the lock as it normally would because it wasn't in fact locked. The car didn't know this and so said 'I'm not going anywhere with locked steering.'
We had to wait for the rescue vehicle then we went to th Botanical Gardens. We have been saying that we must visit it for many, many years.
The day was sunny and almost hot. No, it was hot. The gardens were very interesting. They have some incredible trees. There's a black walnut tree that is enormous. It must be very old indeed. The lake has a patch of gunnera and some bamboo too. However the place is so huge that it can take it and I suppose that they keep it under better control than it was in 'our' park! That part of the day was most enjoyable.
They had told us that our courtesy vehicle would be brought to us at 5o'clock. We got back to the place at 4:30 and by 5:30 there was no sign so I rang the hire company and they said they had 8:00 down. There is no way we would have agreed to that late. They then said they would have it there in 20 minutes. By 6:15 it arrived.
It is the Mercedes MPV and is like a building. The ride isn't all it could be either. It was like being in a boat on a choppy sea! We laughed all the way back to my brother-in-law's about the way it rolled.
So we didn't get to the match. We've just watched it on MUTV. Brilliant in the first half but they really struggled in the second half, but they have a terrible injury problem.

Grovelands Orchard Park Volunteers. Planting Day.

A small park near to us was looking very neglected and so I contacted the local council about it. It turned out that it was set up about 20 years ago on land donated by the owner of what was a farm. The land was an orchard, hence the name! Anyway, the council set it up and then handed it over to the community to look after. The council had a contract to cut the grass every now and again, and also to trim back the hedges a couple of times a year, but that was it.
Some of us who backed onto the park then started to tidy it up. We then learned that there was money left for its upkeep by its previous owner and so we started to buy some plants. Last Saturday we had a big planting day when several new people came along to help. We also planted a memorial pear tree to a gentleman who liked the park and used to walk his dog there. this was kindly donated by some friends of his and his widow and daughter came along for the planting ceremony.  Here are some photos that I took.

The Wolf Pack Chapter 15

I apologise for not posting for a while, but I have been on holiday, then when I got back I have been rather busy. Anyway, here is the next installment of The Wolf Pack.

CHAPTER 15

JOB-HUNTING

When they re-entered the city, Fero was immediately struck by the smells. They had seemed considerably less in the parkland of the Duke, and he could almost imagine he was back in the countryside. However, when they left the gardens and park, the stink of the city hit him again. 
‘How can people live like this?’  he thought.
When Carthinal and Asphodel left for their respective destinations, he and Basalt wandered around the city getting to know it a little better. It did not improve with the knowledge in his opinion.
‘The sooner I can get a job that takes me out of here the better,’ he grumbled to Basalt. ‘I really don’t like cities. They are crowded and they smell.’
‘Yes, well,’ replied the dwarf. ‘They do give a lot of employment to people though. There are many things that are good about them. The land could not support so many people all trying to grow food on their own small bits, or hunt the game in their own areas. It would soon be depleted, not to mention a little fact of safety. It’s safer in a city with others around and walls to protect you.’
‘I suppose you’re right, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.’
They had found themselves once more outside the walls of the Ducal Palace in the centre of the city. It divided the city into four areas, and Basalt and Fero had just come from the area known as the Warren, which was the poor quarter of the city, and was the place where the thieves, assassins, common whores, beggars and honest poor lived out their lives. It was also the reason for Fero’s complaints about the smells, for although the city now boasted a sewer system, the homes in the Warren were not connected, as the inhabitants could not afford it. That and the close proximity of the dwellings and the unwashed bodies, not to mention the piles of horse dung. This latter was not cleaned up by the road cleaners, as they did not go into this area, it being deemed not important enough. All these things went to make the Warren a very smelly place to be. So the two of them decided to return to the Golden Dragon to get cleaned up and eat a meal.
After their meal, they were sitting in the main room of the inn when Carthinal returned from the Tower. He had a scruffy and smelly boy with curly red hair with him. Carthinal answered their queries by telling them that this was the boy who had stolen his pouch and he was going to question him about the theft and get his goods back.
The other two waited as Carthinal took the boy to their room to question him. Much to their amazement, Carthinal returned with the boy saying that he was going to get his stolen things back.
‘How do you think he got the boy to agree to return the goods?’ asked Fero.
‘Search me,’ replied the dwarf, ‘But mages can do some strange things and compel you against your will, it is said. Maybe he put some sort of glamour on the boy.’
‘Didn’t think he was powerful enough for that yet,’ replied Fero. ‘Still, if he can get that figurine, Duke Rollo would be grateful I think.’
Basalt took out his pipe and ordered a couple of ales for the pair of them. They sat there enjoying each other’s company, and planning what they were going to do the next day to find work.
Eventually, Carthinal returned. Fero sniffed the air and observed that Carthinal smelled like a sewer rat, but Bas was less restrained in his comments, and so Carthinal, grinning, left to partake of a bath. When he returned, he told them of his adventure in the sewers beneath the town, and that although he had got his pouch back, the boy had already sold the figurine. However, he was prepared to try to get it back.
 ‘You amaze me, Carthinal,’ said Fero. ‘How you managed to get a thief to return his ill-gotten gains I will never guess.’
‘No, friend, I don’t suppose you will,’ was all the reply he got. ‘I’ve got a test tomorrow, and so you will excuse me if I do some work for it, won’t you?’ and Carthinal began to open a book and read it.
Eventually, the others decided to leave him to it and go to bed.
The next morning, Fero and Basalt left the Inn to go in search of work. Fero decided to first go to the hiring hall where people looking for work could meet with potential employers. There were quite a lot of people putting themselves up for hire in various capacities, the largest being agricultural workers as it would soon be time for the spring planting. Fero stood in the area where the scouts and guides stood, it being close to the end of the time of year for hunting so there were few demands for hunters. There were not many others, and so he was fairly hopeful. There would still be a number of caravans travelling, and it would be increasing as the weather improved with the advent of spring. A man who was obviously a caravan leader soon approached him.
‘Are you prepared to travel over the Mountains of Doom to the Elven lands?’ he asked Fero. ‘There are some that don’t like crossing that range, I know, but you don’t look like someone of a nervous disposition.’
‘Not much frightens me,’ replied the ranger. ‘Do you want a scout? I’m afraid that I would be of little use to guide you as I’m not from these parts.’
‘A scout and a guard,’ replied the other. ‘That is if you are willing, and the price is right. What were you asking?’
Fero was just about to reply when a man came up to the caravan leader and tapped him on the shoulder, saying, ‘Excuse me, sir. May I have a word with you?’
‘I’ll be back in a minute to complete negotiations,’ said the caravan leader, and then he withdrew with the other man. They had an animated conversation for a few minutes and then the caravan leader walked away across the square and did not return.
‘I wonder what that was all about?’ wondered Fero. 
He was not worried as there was still plenty of time to find employment. Lunchtime came and Fero bought a pie from a nearby stall and a mug of ale. He sat in the sunshine on a wall and ate it. He would be glad to get some employment if only to get out into the countryside. As the Vernal Equinox and New Year approached, he was becoming more and more restless at being in the city. He loved the spring, when the birds were beginning to sing their songs and young animals were being born. He especially loved the pale green of the new leaves on the trees, and the pleasant soft rain that fell to water the early flowers. He could hardly wait to get out.
After he had eaten, he went back to his stand, and was approached several times. Each time, it seemed that the man or woman changed their minds. Sometimes he saw someone speak to them, other times he did not.
‘This is most odd,’ he thought to himself. ‘I could almost imagine that there was someone who was trying to stop me from getting work. Why that should be I cannot imagine. I must be becoming paranoid.’
Whatever the case, he had not found employment by the eleventh hour, so he returned to the inn where he found Basalt just coming in. Bas it appeared had done no better than himself in the job-hunting. He told Fero what had happened.

After leaving Fero at the door of the inn, Basalt told him, he had decided to go straight to the barracks to try to get a job with the city guard. He did not really know where he was in respect of the barracks so he determined to ask someone. Of course, typically, the first person he spoke to was a stranger to the city and had no more idea than Basalt himself, but the next man was more helpful, and told him that the barracks was close to the Western Gate.
Basalt made his way through the streets until he came to Southgate Street, and turned north along it until he came to the gates of Duke Rollo’s palace. From there he skirted the grounds and came to Western Avenue leading to the Western Gate. Along the way he passed an inn and two taverns before he noticed a small side road leading to a large building with a high wall surrounding it. A gate, above which was a crest depicting a fish and a bale of silk; indicating that this was a town of fishing and trade, opened in the wall. Below the first crest was another that bore a sword crossed with a crossbow. Basalt took that to be the symbol of the Hambara guard. He approached the gates and pulled on the bell that was hanging there.
Shortly, a man approached the gates saying, ‘Yes! What is it you want?’
‘I am looking for work as a guard,’ explained Basalt. 
‘Oh! Come on through then,’ the man replied, opening the gate, ‘The captain’ll see you in a few minutes. He’s busy at the moment. You can wait in the common room.’
The guard showed Basalt into the common room where there were a number of off duty guards sitting around. Some were sharpening weapons, others playing cards. Some were dozing in their chairs and yet others were exchanging meaningless banter, as is the way of guards and other military personnel. Basalt wandered over to a group that was playing a game of dice. He watched for a few moments as the game proceeded. He had never seen much point in games of dice, as it was pure chance as to how the dice fell with no skill at all involved. These dice were more complicated than the simple cubic dice of the mountain dwarves. Each of the dice had eight faces and so this made more combinations possible. This particular game seemed to involve three dice as well. He then wandered over to where there were some men playing cards. They were playing a game that was very popular on Vimar, called Rond. This involved skill as well as a little luck, and it was interesting to watch the tactics of the players as they tried to bluff and counter bluff each other and to guess each other’s cards without giving away their own hand. The players were all skilled and it seemed the game would go on for a long time. Judging by the pile of money in front of him, one player, a large blond man, had already won a great deal from his fellow players. 
Basalt left the Rond game to sit near a bar in the corner. The barman struck up a conversation with him.
‘New recruit?’ he asked.
‘Hope so,’ replied Basalt. ‘I’m waiting to see the captain now. I believe he’s busy.’
The other snorted. ‘I doubt it, but he’ll pretend to be to make it seem he’s important. He’ll keep you waiting for a bit then call you in as though doing you a favour.’
‘I hope he will. Do me a favour that is. I’m getting a little short of cash and need a job.’
Just then, a young sergeant came into the room from a flight of stairs opposite the bar. He approached Basalt and told him to follow him up the stairs to see the captain. The stairs led to a small landing and the sergeant knocked on a door at the top.
‘Potential recruit to see you sir,’ he said.
A voice said, ‘Come in then.’ And the sergeant opened the door to admit Basalt.
The room was very organised with a large desk in the centre behind which sat a large man with greying hair and one of the largest moustaches that Basalt had ever seen.
‘Want to be in the Hambara guard do you?’ asked the captain. ‘Why?’
The question took Basalt by surprise. ‘I’ve got experience as a fighter and I need a job for financial reasons,’ he told the other man. ‘I don’t believe there are any wars at the moment so there are no army jobs going, so I thought of a town guard and here I am.’
‘I’d like to give you a job. You look a strong and determined man, but I’m afraid my hands are tied at the moment,’ the captain told him. ‘Duke Rollo has decreed that we are not to employ anyone not born in Hambara, or lived here for at least five years. He thinks that outsiders may not have the commitment to the town at best, and at worst be in league with smugglers and bandits. There it is. Left to me I’d give you a job right away. You look as though you’d be good, and we’re rather short staffed. If you come back in five years, having lived here all that time. I’ll be delighted to employ you.’
He stood up and offered Basalt his hand to shake, which the dwarf did, saying, ‘I doubt I’ll be here or anywhere else in five years unless I can find a job pretty soon. Where do the blacksmiths or metalworkers have their workshops? I’m pretty handy at shaping metal as well as wielding it.’
‘Yes,’ replied the captain, ‘I expect you are. After all you are a dwarf and you are all pretty good metal workers.’
After finding the way to the blacksmiths in the area, Basalt decided that he needed something to eat so he set off to the nearest tavern. There were two very close to the barracks, and he went into the nearest. Here he had a tankard of ale and a pie. The tavern was lively with guards and others who worked in the area, but Basalt was not anxious to tarry, as he wanted to get on with his job hunting.
The afternoon was spent going round the blacksmiths’ forges in the industrial area. The first one that he approached was friendly, but did not have any vacancies. He suggested another man whom he thought was possibly looking for help, so Basalt set off for the second blacksmith.
‘Hello,’ said the smith as Basalt entered his forge. ‘Can I help you?’
‘I hear you’re looking for someone to work here, and I’m looking for a job,’ replied Basalt. ‘I’ve done smith work before, and I’m strong and skilled.’
‘I’m sure you are, you being a dwarf and all,’ replied the smith. ‘However, I don’t have any work at present.’
‘I spoke to another smith and he directed me here saying that he thought that you were looking for help,’ Basalt told him.
‘Well, I was, but I found a boy this morning. Strong looking lad that I can train up. Pity you didn’t come sooner.’
‘Oh well. Thanks anyway,’ said a disappointed Basalt.
The afternoon passed in the same way and by the time the sun was setting, Basalt had still not found any work so he made his way back to the inn where he found an equally disappointed Fero waiting for him.
The two of them sat down to eat a meal and were sitting drinking when Carthinal came back. They asked him how he felt his tests had gone but he was rather brief in his answers as he said that he felt the need to go and do some work in preparation for the next day.
So Fero and Basalt decided to go and explore the taverns of Hambara. They had a lot to drink that evening, consuming quite a lot of dwarven spirits when they found an inn that could supply the “right” brand, as Basalt said. It appeared that there were many brands, which varied according to the area from which it came and the family that made it. All dwarves had their favourite and there was great rivalry between the different areas and families as to the best. Of course, all these different brands had to be sampled at various taverns and inns, and so they were in a rather happy state of mind when they arrived back at the Golden Dragon.
When they returned to the inn, they found that Carthinal was fast asleep. Even in their drunken state they knew that the next day was important for Carthinal and they tried to refrain from waking him. Fero tripped over his bed and Carthinal turned over and muttered something.
‘Sh!’ cautioned Bas, in a whisper that was louder than was needed. ‘You’ll wake the mage. Don’ want t’be turned into a frog d’you?’
Fero started laughing and nearly choked himself trying to laugh quietly. ‘Don’ think he can. ’S not good enough yet. Anyway, frogs’re OK. Jus’a bit slimy’s all.’ slurred Fero.
‘I know some folks’d be good frogs then,’ replied Bas, and then began to giggle.
He fell back onto his bed laughing at his own wit, and so the pair of them spent the next half hour laughing and shushing each other until they managed to undress after a fashion and fall into bed.

Fero woke late feeling rather ill. His head hurt and his stomach felt as though someone was stirring the contents with a spoon. He opened his eyes and immediately wished he had not as the daylight was much brighter than usual and made his head hurt more. He heard a groan from Basalt’s bed.
‘I’m dying,’ groaned the dwarf. ‘The dwarven spirits were poisoned.’
Fero realised, now that memory was returning, that the pair of them had drunk far too much the previous evening and were suffering from the mother of all hangovers.   
‘No it wasn’t,’ he told the dwarf. ‘We just had too much. It’s a hangover not poisoned spirits that’s making you feel ill.’
‘Hangover?’ roared Bas, making Fero wince as his head pounded in time to Bas’s shout. ‘Insult me will you? I—NEVER—SUFFER—FROM—HANGOVERS. Bad drink will make me ill, but I never, ever get hangovers!’
With that, he collapsed back groaning, then reached for the water jug and was violently sick into it. ‘Poisoned we were,’ he muttered as much to himself as to Fero, who was not really listening as he was feeling as sorry for himself as Basalt was. ‘Poisoned. Not a hangover at all. We were poisoned!’
Eventually, the pair made their way gingerly down the stairs into the common room where they asked for a jug of water and two tankards, much to the delight and amusement of Mabrella. She could not help but tease them with offers of cooked breakfast and ale.
‘I’m never going to drink dwarven spirits again,’ declared Basalt with such vehemence that even Fero managed a smile.
‘Until the next time I suppose,’ he said to the dwarf, and got a glare for his trouble, but Basalt could not reply further as he had to rush out of the inn to be sick once again.
Eventually, they were both feeling a little better, but as it was nearly time for the lunchtime meal, they decided to eat before going out to resume their job hunting.

After eating and washing, and feeling almost human again, Fero returned once again to the hiring halls. The afternoon passed in much the same way as the previous day, and by the time the sun was setting he still had no employment. He decided then that he must get out of the city even if for only one night. He made his way across the large square to the inn. Here he went up the stairs to the room he was sharing with Carthinal and Basalt and collected his pack. On descending the stairs, he suddenly thought that his friends might be anxious if he just disappeared. He was not used to having others to think of as well as himself. He had been alone for a long time it seemed. He had not had enough formal education to be confident in writing, although he could sign his name, but he must leave them a message.
He left the inn and eventually, after crossing Doom Road, the main road out of the city to the east, he came to another main thoroughfare. It was known as Blue Lake Street as it led to the Water Street and the docks on the lake where the fishermen plied their trade. About half way along, he saw what he was looking for. A shop with a sign representing a quill pen. Here a clerk, or perhaps several worked and, for a small fee, would write letters or read them for clients. He entered and an elderly man looked up. He had a mop of snow-white hair, which looked rather unruly, as though he had been running his fingers through it. In fact, as Fero was preparing to speak, he did just that.
He squinted through his spectacles at Fero, and said, ‘I was just about to shut up shop as soon as I’ve finished this copy. I can’t work as well as I could in candlelight nowadays. What can I do for you young man? Is it a love letter? Most young men who come in here want love letters written.’
‘No,’ replied Fero. ‘I want to leave a note for some friends. How much do you charge?’
‘That depends on how long the note is. I charge by the word. Half a royal per word.’
‘That sounds all right,’ the ranger replied. ‘Will you write this down please?’
The man did so and Fero signed the letter and handed over the fee of 1 crown and 15 royals. He thanked the clerk and made his way back to the inn where he found Keloriff cleaning the bar. He gave the note to him and asked if he would be certain to give it to Carthinal or Basalt as soon as they returned, and with that he left the inn to head off for the open countryside.
He decided to go out at the Water Gate, as he rather liked the idea of sleeping with the sound of the lake lapping at its shores, so he quickly retraced his steps along Blue Lake Street to Water Street. When he came to the gate, he was surprised to see that the guards looked rather more alert than usual. To start with, there were two guards, one on each side of the gate, with halberds, and the sergeant was also in evidence.
As he approached, the two guards prevented his passage by lowering their weapons across the gate. The sergeant approached as he was about to remonstrate with the guards.
‘You! Come with me,’ said the sergeant. ‘We have reason to suppose that you have stolen goods on you.’
‘What is this?’ queried Fero. ‘There must be some mistake. I’ve got no stolen goods.’
‘Then you won’t mind us searching you, will you, mate?’ said the sergeant as he took Fero into the guardroom next to the gate.
‘Lads,’ he called to the two guards. ‘This is the one. One of you get the lieutenant, and the other one get in here and begin the search.’
‘Hey! What are you doing?’ Fero cried, as the guard, a rough looking man with a broken nose, grabbed the pack from his back. He was just about to reach for his sword when the other guard returned with a fourth man, obviously the lieutenant.
‘Well done, boys,’ said the lieutenant. ‘He certainly answers the description of the man we were told to look out for. Open his pack and let’s see what we’ve got.’
The first guard opened Fero’s pack and emptied it out onto the table. He rummaged through the things that had fallen out, then said, ‘Looks like we were wrong, sir. Nothing here.’
The lieutenant strode forward with his hands in his pockets, looking relaxed and confident. He hitched himself onto the table, leaving one leg on the floor, and looked with disdain at Fero’s worldly goods that were spread all over the table. 
‘Now, maybe if I look. Maybe my eyesight is better than that of the guards. Perhaps I’ll find something.’
With that, he got off the table and, turning his back on Fero, began to move the contents of the pack around.
‘Aha! What is this? I knew it. Abain, you must see about some spectacles.’ This was to the guard who had searched the pack. ‘Here is the necklace that Duke Rollo said was missing. It belonged to his late wife you know. He is very attached to it.’ He held up a beautiful necklace for all to see. ‘Do you deny that you were at the Palace yesterday morning?’
‘N-no,’ stuttered Fero, unable to comprehend what was going on. That the lieutenant had planted the necklace was obvious, but why was more than Fero could work out. ‘We, that is my friends and I, went there on business and…’
‘Yes! Thieves business. Did you find out where any other valuables were? Are your friends going to return tonight to get more?’
Fero decided that arguing was not going to get him anywhere. He had to think this out. Maybe he was not mistaken in thinking that someone was trying to prevent him from getting work after all, although why was still a mystery to him. Then the two guards seized him roughly, removed his weapons from him and dragged him to the stairs in the corner of the room. They descended them and pushed Fero into a cell, locked the door and left him.
He looked round. The cell was small and damp, no more than three paces on either side. Along one wall was a shelf that Fero supposed was to serve as a bed since it had a thin blanket folded at one end and an equally thin pillow. Above the “bed” was a small barred window. Fero could see feet passing occasionally, so he knew he was on the town side of the wall. The door through which he had been thrust was opposite this window and had a small grill near the top. Fero peered through and saw a face peering through a similar grill opposite.
‘What you done?’ asked the face.
‘Nothing,’ replied Fero, unwilling to talk.
‘Then there’s nuffin’ you need worry about. The Duke’s a fair one an’ all. Me, I expect t’ be topped. Th’ man I ’it’s bought it they tells me. Still, I did do it so ’e’ll ’ave me done. I’ll not plead guilty, mind. Allus a chance.’
Fero looked puzzled.
‘“Bought it?”’ he asked. ‘What does that mean? And “Have you topped?”’
‘Oh! Yer bein’ a furriner ain’t yer!’ the man replied. ‘I mean that th’ man I ’it ’as died, and the Duke’ll send me ter th’ gallows fer it.’
‘You sound unconcerned about your death. Aren’t you afraid?’
‘Yeah! Course I am, but I’ll not let them guards know. Got some pride left, I ’ave,’ he continued. ‘Any road, I reckon that Kal'era’ll keep me there in th’ underworld for a while and then send me back on th’ Wheel ter do better. A new life can’t be worse’n this un.’
‘But suppose she thinks that you are unsaveable and destroys your soul?’ Fero continued. ‘By your own admission, you killed a man.’
‘Yeah, but t’was an accident. I’m not like one of yon assassins ’oo kills ’cos ’e enjoys it, and fer money too,’ replied the prisoner. ‘ ’E started th’ fight. I were only a thief. No evil in that is there? Any road, even Kal’era’ll giv’ a person a chance t’improve, like. Send me back on t’Wheel I ’spect.’
Fero turned away from the door and left the man. He did not feel like arguing about religion and morality or anything else at the moment. He went and sat down on the bench. How was he going to manage in this cell? His friends would not come to look for him, as they would think that he was staying out in the countryside, and justice was not quick in the towns he had heard.
He began to wonder what the punishment was for theft. He knew he was innocent, but who would take the word of a stranger against that of a lieutenant in the guard, although why the lieutenant would want to frame him he could not imagine. Whatever the punishment was, he knew that for him it would be dire. He could not stand imprisonment. That would be the worst punishment he could receive. If, however, the punishment were the removal of a hand or even fingers, this too would have severe implications, as it would mean that he would no longer be able to use his bow. 
Fero felt the blackness. He tried to fight it, but could not use his usual methods of going out into the woods or doing something else to keep himself busy. Eventually, he turned over on his bench, faced the wall and gave in to despair.
  
Basalt had had a similarly disappointing time while enquiring amongst the metalworkers as he had had with the Guard and the smiths. As with the blacksmiths, they all seemed to want someone with less experience than the dwarf, or did not want to employ anyone at all. In a large town such as Hambara, Basalt found this state of affairs strange in the least. He wandered back to the inn, musing to himself. 
When he arrived, Keloriff approached him with the note that Fero had left for him and Carthinal. He thanked the man, but did not open it, as it would have been a waste of time since he had never learned to read. It was not a skill that he had required in the mines as a youngster and he had not bothered to learn since. He would wait until Carthinal returned and he would ask him to read it. He did not have to wait too long before Carthinal came in through the door. He was in a buoyant mood, as he had now received the results of three tests and had passed all of them, the second with distinction, and the third with a merit. Basalt was pleased for him and after congratulating the mage, he handed him the note.
‘It’s from Fero,’ Basalt told him. ‘I think it’s telling us he’s gone out of town. He was rather restless and feeling the need for some fresh air, I think. Can’t blame the lad. I feel a bit like that myself.’
Carthinal opened the note and read,

‘Carthinal and Bas,
I have been unable to find work in the city, and I am becoming suffocated here. I cannot breathe this air or stand the press of so many people any longer. I am going out of the city and into the woods for tonight. I will return tomorrow to try my luck again in the Hiring Hall. I will come to the inn after that and eat with you at least.
Fero.’

Carthinal and Basalt ate their meal, fish from the lake, baked with a kind of sweet potato and tomatoes and onions. They finished the meal with goat’s cheese and bread and washed it down with ale.
‘I’m afraid I won’t be able to keep you company this evening, Bas,’ apologised Carthinal to the dwarf. Tomorrow’s test is to be the most important, the practical, and I must ensure that I have enough rest. I hope you don’t mind if I go to our room now.’
‘Of course not, laddie,’ replied the dwarf. ‘Your test is important. I’ll find someone to while away the time with.
’While Carthinal was resting, or trying to, thoughts of what might happen in the test kept passing through his mind. When he eventually fell asleep it was to dream of being bereft of his magic and pursued through impenetrable forests by horrific monsters.
Basalt was not troubled by any such thoughts. He was concentrating on a game of Rond, which he seemed to be winning.
By the end of the evening, he had a nice pile of crown pieces stacked up by his side. These he placed in his pouch and said, ‘Thank you gentlemen. Any time you’d like to play again, I’ll be pleased to join you.’
One of the three other card players grunted that he was too good for them, and maybe they should try a different game next time, and then bid him goodnight. Basalt climbed the stairs feeling a little more pleased as he now had some more money, but was still concerned as to finding a job.
The next morning, when Basalt woke, he was not looking forward to the day as he was still searching for a job. There was still a lot of options open. There were other metal workers that he had not yet approached, and he could also carve wood quite passably, so failing metalwork, he would try his hand at woodwork.
The morning passed in a similar vein to the previous day, but in the late afternoon, in a narrow back street, he came across a small metalworker’s shop. The goods in the window were of a high quality, and so he entered. A young man was there, working on an intricate piece.
‘I’ll be with you in a moment, sir,’ the young man said. ‘Just at a tricky bit. Take a look around while you wait.’
Basalt took the young man at his word and looked. The goods were of a high quality. Not quite as high as he himself could make, but if the young man was responsible, he was not very experienced yet and eventually, Basalt thought he would make a top craftsman.
‘There! That’s done,’ said the young man with feeling. ‘Now, what can I do for you? Sorry to have kept you waiting. Is it a commission, or do you want to buy something from stock?’
‘Neither,’ Bas replied. ‘I’m looking for work.’
‘Really?’ The young man looked surprised. ‘Are you any good? Do you have any examples of your work? Sorry to have to ask, but I’m new here in Hambara and have yet to make my reputation. If I take on a substandard worker, my reputation will suffer.’
‘Yes, I understand. Don’t fret yourself, my lad,’ replied the dwarf, fumbling in his backpack. ‘Now where is it? Ah! Here you are.’ He handed a piece of jewellery to the young man who took it to the window to inspect. ‘I don’t have any larger pieces on me, but I can do wrought iron work for whatever function you require.’ Basalt told him.
‘This is superb work,’ said a rather breathless young man. ‘Why has a craftsman like you come to me for work? Surely you could get a job with one of the more established shops in the town?’
‘No. It seems that no one is looking for a master craftsman at the moment, surprising as it may seem,’ replied the dwarf.
‘Well I am,’ said the young man, surprising Basalt as he was expecting the usual reply. ‘We’ll need to negotiate your pay, of course. I can’t afford the wages that are paid by most of the others in town, but I would really like to have you work for me. This work is the best I’ve seen. You’ll make my shop famous if your larger work is as good. Maybe eventually we can become partners.’ The young man's enthusiasm threatened to overwhelm him, then he said,  ‘Are you sure you want to work here?’
Basalt replied in the affirmative and the two of them negotiated the rate of pay. It was considerably less than he was hoping for, but he knew the young man (whose name turned out to be Nitormon) was in no position to pay more, and so he made a token show of bargaining so as not to embarrass Nitormon. He also knew that in the future, Nitormon was going to make his name such was the quality of his work. They agreed for Basalt to begin work the following morning at the second hour.
That evening, Basalt returned to the inn in a much more cheerful frame of mind. He had a job, and he was looking forward to seeing Fero again, hoping he had also been successful, and also Carthinal as he was sure that he also would have something to celebrate.
He ate alone. Neither of his friends had come in. The evening was spoiled for him. He was worried. Fero had said that he would return to at least dine with them, and Carthinal should have been back from his practical test by now. Basalt hoped that the worst had not happened to Carthinal. Probably he had gone out to celebrate with the other candidates and would be back late, but his worry did not go away, and he fell into an uneasy sleep.
The next morning, when he woke and saw that Carthinal’s bed had not been slept in he was even more anxious. Perhaps he should go to the Tower and find out what had happened? Then he thought that he would look foolish and like an anxious mother if Carthinal was fine and had slept off his celebrations at the Tower. He could do nothing about Fero, but he imagined all sorts of things happening out in the wilds. So he set off for Nitormon’s shop. He entered, and was greeted by Nitormon warmly, and set to work on a complex piece of wrought ironware. It was to be a serving table for a rich house, one of those on the outskirts of the city. Nitormon worked alongside of him, and chatted about himself and asked few questions of Basalt, for which the dwarf was grateful. He did not feel in the mood for talking very much. 
    Lunchtime came, and he determined to go out of the shop and so he walked as far as the nearest tavern. His footsteps did begin to stray towards the Tower, but he made himself return. After lunch, he returned to the shop to find it closed. The door was locked and there was no sign of Nitormon.
He stood there puzzling out what had happened, when a passing woman said, ‘He’s gone. Don’t know where or why. I saw two men go in and a few minutes later, Nitormon came out with them, locked the shop and they all went off down the street. Nitormon looked uneasy, as though he didn’t want to go with them, but the men were big fellows so he probably had no choice. Hope he’s all right though. Nice chap, Nitormon. If you want to buy something, try Tendex in the main street. He’s almost as good. Goodbye.’
With that, she walked off leaving a puzzled Basalt standing looking at the shop. Bas could not think what Nitormon had done to be carted off like that. He could do nothing standing there though so he spent the rest of the afternoon worrying about his friends and his job and wandering the streets of Hambara until he decided to return to the Golden Dragon.
 

Hello everybody.

I'm off on holiday tomorrow. I may be able to post a few comments if the local WiFi permits, but if I am off for a couple of weeks, that's where I am.

 Thought! When I learned to drive, many long years ago, I learned that when entering a roundabout it was not necessary to give a signal until the exit before the one that I was taking. This was because there is only one way to go round a roundabout! Then came mini-roundabouts and somehow they were treated as normal cross roads and people began to give a right turn if they were taking the right hand exit.

In my opinion this has led to great confusion in signalling. Many people signal right turn when they are going to take the straight on option, thus causing confusion. There is a problem with roundabouts that don't have the standard four exits too. What do you do with five or six exits. If you signal right turn for the fourth, how does anyone know you aren't taking the fifth? Another problem is for people entering the roundabout. It is not always possible to see where a vehicle has entered and so they may be taking the exit before yours, or not. What signal do you give if you are going right round and back the way you came?

 Mini roundabouts are a menace too. People often completely ignore the fact that they are roundabouts. Many folk drive right over them, and one near to where I live, people actually go the wrong way round it! It has four exits, but two of them are very close together and so if people are taking the right-hand one, they simply drive down it as though the roundabout weren't there! I don't suppose they think of it as going the wrong way round, but they are.

This signalling is now actually taught to drivers, but in my opinion it causes more confusion than it clears up.

The Wolf Pack Chapter 14

I will be away for 10 days from September 3rd to 13th and so will not be able to post any of The Wolf Pack for that time. I am therefore posting Chapter 14 now. I will possibly blog whilst I am away assuming my ipad will let me!

Anyway, here's Chapter 14. I will try to post Chapter 15 before I go, but no promises.

I am working on Book 2, which is called The Never-Dying Man and I hope it will be out in October sometime.

CHAPTER 14

EXILE

The third day of her time with the Daughters of Sylissa was again spent in prayer and meditation except for the time in praise of Sylissa in the temple. The services were beautiful, if indeed the preaching was a little over long. Asphodel willed the day away. That morning, an acolyte had brought her the lilac sash and lilac-edged white robes of a curate, and she felt proud to be wearing it. She now addressed the acolytes as Sister, and they had to call her Curate Asphodel. (The few elven acolytes who were in Hambara used her full elven name and called her Curate Aspholessaria.) She found it a little odd not having to bow to other curates. She had to squash a sense of pride in herself, knowing that pride was not one of the nicer traits in people. This made her second day of prayer more bearable, and the knowledge that she would tomorrow be healing once more, and able to speak to people. (The rule of silence she found very oppressive.)
Asphodel’s second day of healing dawned, and after another long service at dawn, she made her way through the corridors to the infirmary once more. As a curate, she could now use the acolytes and give them simple tasks to do as other higher-ranking clerics had done with her previously. The day was passing quickly with a fairly busy morning when a young man came in. He looked around somewhat furtively, Asphodel thought, and then took a seat at the end of the queue to wait. He was obviously in some considerable pain, and Asphodel noticed that he was bleeding from a very nasty wound in his shoulder, although he was trying to keep it from being noticed. In her opinion, the wound should be attended to quickly due to the loss of blood and the dangers of infection if it were not cleaned, not to mention the shock that must accompany such a wound. However, the clerics all seemed to be ignoring or even actively avoiding the man. This puzzled Asphodel and she went over to him. As she approached him, the day’s duty vicar called to her. It was Vicar Weslon, and he was a very severe man; not quite what Asphodel thought of as a caring healer. Still, he was good at his job and she respected that.
‘Curate Asphodel,’ he said as she approached. ‘That man is not to be seen until everyone here has been attended to and then only if there is time, perhaps. Is that clear?’
Asphodel could not believe her ears. Was she being asked—no, told—not to perform healing on one who desperately needed it, and fairly quickly at that? This was against what she understood to be her vows. She dared not argue with the Vicar if she wanted to be released from the Daughters, but it worried her. However, she could not help but ask the reasons.
‘That man is evil,’ came the reply. ‘He is an assassin and has killed many people in his life. We cannot condone such, especially since the Most High wishes the elimination of all evil. By with-holding treatment, he is likely not to live, and so another of the evil gods’ minions will have been eliminated.’
With that, Vicar Weslon walked away to attend to a seriously ill woman.
Asphodel continued with her work, until suddenly she heard a cry from the direction of the assassin. She looked over in his direction. He seemed to be about to lose consciousness, and his wound was bleeding again rather more profusely. He was shivering violently even though it was warm in the infirmary, thanks to the hypocaust under the floor. 
‘I cannot ignore a sick man, even if he is an assassin,’ thought Asphodel. ‘It is for the gods to judge us, not other people, Most High or not.’
So she made her way over to him in spite of her earlier instructions and did what she could. She performed a couple of simple healings that stopped the bleeding, and then she carefully washed and dressed the wound with healing herbs. She had just finished, and the man was thanking her profusely when she heard Vicar Weslon call her. He was extremely angry by the look on his face.
‘Disobedience,’ he spluttered. ‘Rank disobedience of an order by a superior. Go back to the House of Daughters immediately. The Great Father will hear of this. You are not to return to the Infirmary, but to remain in your cell. I will speak to the Great Father personally about this, and it may take a few days for him to see me and you will remain in the House of the Daughters until he sends for you. Pray, girl, for the humility to be obedient.’
He watched as she left the room and walked the corridors back to her cell. What was Sylissa doing allowing such disobedient girls into the ranks of the priesthood? How come she had not been weeded out before this, and why was she on his duty roster? Admittedly, she was a good healer for a newly promoted curate, but still, disobedience was disobedience, and he dismissed Asphodel from his mind until the end of his duty.
The next morning, Asphodel was surprised to be summoned to the office of the Great Father soon after breakfast, as she was praying in her cell. (She could not bear to be among other people just at the moment as she felt that they were all condemning her.) Maybe it was not about the incident the previous day? It was a bit quick for Vicar Weslon to have seen the Great Father she thought. The Great Father did not see lesser ranks very quickly as evinced by her own wait in the temple when she first arrived, and she thought that that would have been longer if Mother Caldo were not known to the Great Father. Still, she would have to go to find out.
She walked down the corridor approaching the office with some trepidation, and as she reached the door, the guard outside said, ‘You are Asphodel?’
She replied in the affirmative.
‘You are to go straight in.’ Then he smiled and said, ‘Good luck. He seems to be rather angry this morning. I hope it is not you he’s angry with!’
‘I rather think it may be,’ replied Asphodel, opening the door and crossing the threshold.
As soon as she saw that the Great Father was present, seated behind his desk, she fell to her knees.
‘Words fail me.’ The voice of the Great Father came to her from over her head. ‘Mother Caldo said you were defiant, but I did not fully realise how defiant. You disobeyed a direct order yesterday I understand, and you have only just come to us too!’
Asphodel said nothing. It was not permitted to speak to the Great Father unless told specifically to do so.
‘You were told not to heal an evil man, yet you went ahead and did so anyway. This in spite of the commands of the Most High, that we work to rid the world of evil in all its guises. That man would not have survived if you had not interfered, and another evil soul would be gone from this world to be judged and punished by the gods.’ Here he paused. ‘I do not know what to do with you at the moment,’ he went on, ‘Do you have anything to say for yourself? What is your excuse for your disobedience?’
Asphodel took that as an invitation to speak and answered quietly, ‘Your Holiness, when I took my vows, I swore to help the sick and injured wherever I may find them. I did not promise anything about selective healing, or only healing good people. The man was in need, and I fulfilled my vows. That is all.’
This seemed to infuriate the Great Father still further. Asphodel heard a chair scrape back as he got to his feet, and then heard him walk round the desk. She saw feet and a white robe edged in gold.
‘YOU—DISOBEYED—A—DIRECT—ORDER!’ The words were almost shouted at her. ‘YOU, A NEWLY PROMOTED CURATE, DISOBEYED A VICAR’S ORDERS!’
‘I obeyed my conscience and my vows,’ replied Asphodel, still in a quiet voice.
‘Now you speak before being given permission! Is there no end to your defiance?’
Asphodel looked up. It was forbidden, but she was beginning to become angry herself. Who was this pompous man in charge of the Church of Sylissa in Hambara? She saw in front of her a rather tall man, about 6 feet tall, with grey hair, thinning on the top. He was overweight, indicating overindulgence, and his round face was red with anger. Fortunately for her, he was not looking in her direction and so did not see her looking up.
‘Girl, I have decided.’ He turned towards the window. ‘You will join the Daughters on a permanent basis. You will take the vows of the order. You will learn discipline. You will be confined to your cell until I decide that you can once more take up the duties of a Daughter of Sylissa and then you will take your vows. You will, until that time, be fed only on bread and water.’
 Asphodel forgot all protocol and surged to her feet. Her grey eyes were almost black with anger, and she could no longer contain herself.
‘You cannot force a free person to take vows they are unwilling to take. If you do so, those vows are null and void, and you know it. I will not become a Daughter of Sylissa. I’ve every respect for those who wish to take up that life, but it’s not for me. I cannot live that life, and I will not. I’m going to leave this temple now, and you will not stop me. I’ll become a travelling cleric and heal where it’s needed. It’s not our place to decide who will live and who will die, to put ourselves in the place of the gods. Surely if there is evil in the world the gods put it here? If we are evil, then the gods gave us that capacity. We cannot understand the gods and the way they work only do what we can. If this means that I do not progress any further in the ranks of the Church, then so be it. I’ll remain a humble curate for the rest of my days, but I—will—help—people. Whoever they are, or whatever they have done, as long as they have a need. Maybe seeing what good is, some bad folk may reform. That is surely better than condemning them to death, and surely much more pleasing to the gods.’ With that, she turned and headed for the door.
As she left she heard, ‘Yes, girl, that is right, you will remain a curate. No one in the ranks of the Church will test you for your advancement.’
She hurried down the corridor and into the temple. She did not pause to look at the magnificence, but swept through the main doors and down the steps into the late winter sunshine.

The Wolf Pack Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

ASPHODEL

Asphodel watched Carthinal as he strode away after leaving her on the steps of the temple of Sylissa. She could still feel the faint touch of his lips on her hair. Suddenly she felt very alone. She may never see Carthinal, nor Bas or Fero again. She pushed those thoughts aside as she climbed the steps. This is what she had always wanted to do. Be a healer in the service of Sylissa.
She entered the temple through the great double doors. Inside, the main room of the temple was circular. There were seats all around a central altar, and the windows around the walls and in the dome high above, concentrated the light so that it fell on the altar and also on the alcove opposite the doors where there was a life-sized statue of Sylissa. The temple was built of white marble and the floor was paved with a beautiful mosaic, showing Sylissa giving the gift of healing to her first priestess. Asphodel stopped to admire the beauty.
‘Yes, it makes everyone stop the first time they see it, sister.’ The voice came from by her elbow.
Asphodel jumped. ‘Oh! I didn’t hear you coming,’ she said, adding “Minister” and bowing her head as she saw his deep orange sash, indicating his rank.
‘Sorry, sister,’ replied the minister. ‘I’m Minister Micory, and I’m on duty here today. Is there anything I can help you with?’
‘I have a letter for the Great Father, Minister Micory,’ replied Asphodel, bowing her head to a superior. ‘Could you tell me how to get it to him please?’
‘If you give it to me, I’ll get a novice to take it to him. Do you need a reply?’
‘Yes. I will need some response from the Great Father.’
‘If you wait here,’ continued Minister Micory, ‘The Great Father will send a reply to you as soon as he is able. I’ll let him know where you are. You could use the time in meditation and prayer, sister.’
With that, Minister Micory called a passing novice and Asphodel gave her the letter to take to the Great Father. She then went and sat down in one of the seats surrounding the altar to wait for some response. She had no idea how long she would have to wait for an answer to the note that Mother Caldo had given her for the Great Father, so she settled down for a long wait. As she sat there in the magnificent temple Asphodel framed a prayer to Sylissa to thank her for allowing her to reach Hambara safely, and also added a prayer for the continuing safety of her travelling companions. She then tried to meditate as Minister Micory had suggested, but found that it was almost impossible. Her mind kept wandering and she found the time was passing all too slowly. The duty minister changed. When they changed, Minister Micory said something to the new minister, and they both glanced over at her. She guessed that Minister Micory was telling the new minister who she was.
The new minister came over and spoke to her. ‘Good afternoon, sister. I am the new duty minister for this afternoon. I assume that you have not eaten your noon meal. You may go to the refectory with the other acolytes and get something to eat. The Great Father will not be responding until after he has eaten.’
‘Thank you, minister,’ replied Asphodel, again bowing her head.
The protocol and hierarchy were very strict in the various religions of Vimar, and Asphodel, being of the most junior rank, that of novice, equating to apprentice in most other callings, was outranked by just about everyone she met in the church. The highest ranked cleric of each god was known as the Most High, but each church and temple had its ruler known as the Great Father or Mother who were answerable only to the Most High of their specific Church.
The minister called over a novice and asked if she was about to go to the refectory. The girl replied in the affirmative, and was given instructions to show Asphodel the way.
The girl introduced herself as Chejorie, a new acolyte, and she chatted on as she led the way to the refectory. They passed through a door to the right and along a corridor to a large door at the end where there was issuing a smell of cooking. Asphodel realised that she was very hungry, and she relished having a meal.
After eating the food served in the refectory, and listening to Chejorie’s chatter, Asphodel made her way back to the main temple. She sat down again to wait. Again time passed and eventually a door opened near to the statue of Sylissa, which was situated at the opposite side of the great rotunda from the big main doors. A procession of initiates then made their way in single file around the temple. They were singing a sunset hymn, which made Asphodel realise that much of the day had passed. The singing was beautiful. There were at least eight parts, Asphodel realised, and instead of each part being grouped together, as in a conventional choir, they were spread around. This gave a very beautiful and melodious sound as each group of eight people made a chord and this chord was spread all around the temple. She was entranced. People were sitting in the seats of the temple now. Some were initiates and acolytes of Sylissa, but many were ordinary townsfolk, come to pray for sick relatives and friends or to give thanks for a recovery.
The officiating cleric entered through the same door as the choir, and began to conduct the service. It was a beautiful service, Asphodel thought. The choir sang all the rest of the service in praise of Sylissa with as much feeling and beauty as the hymn at the beginning, and everyone in the congregation joined in for their parts.
Eventually the sunset ceremony was over, and the Minister on duty came over to her.
‘It’s obvious the Great Father won’t be seeing you today,’ she told Asphodel. ‘You’d better stay in the guestrooms tonight. If your letter needs a reply, I expect the Great Father will send a message tomorrow. Follow me, please.’
She began to walk away to the door that Asphodel had gone through with Chejorie earlier, and this time opened the second door on the right. ‘You can rest here tonight. You’ll find an evening meal will be served in the refectory in about an hour, and breakfast at the second hour in the morning after the dawn service. I expect you’ll want to attend that. It commences at the twenty fourth hour of the day.’
She stood back to allow Asphodel to enter, and then closed the door behind her.
‘Well, that sounded more like a command,’ muttered Asphodel. ‘I’ll get a wash and then go and eat. If I am to be up before dawn, I’d better get an early night.’
The water for washing was cold, and the bed was harder than the ground she had been sleeping on recently. She sighed, put on a clean robe and went out for some food, which was just about sufficient for her hunger, but not for her palate as it was very basic. Asphodel went to bed feeling unsatisfied at her first experience of the Temple of Sylissa in Hambara.

The next morning, Asphodel awoke feeling stiff. A bell was being rung somewhere nearby to wake the faithful for the dawn prayers. She washed in cold water again, and dressed before making her way to the temple. The service began with the same polyphonic choir, this time singing a hymn to the dawn. Then the rest of the service commenced. It continued with praises and thanks to Sylissa, and the officiating cleric, a deacon this morning, spoke at length about how all should be striving to eliminate evil in both themselves and the world. He spoke of injury and disease as evils that had been brought upon the races of the world by their evil ways and how they were the punishment of the gods. He explained how the Most High wanted to eradicate all evil beings in order for the gods to lift their punishments on the peoples of the world.
His talk was long, Asphodel estimating an hour at least, and she wondered how anyone could manage to talk for so long about the need for the elimination of evil, and her mind wandered. She began wondering where the others were and what they were doing. Was Carthinal getting ready to take his tests? She realised that she had no idea when the tests were to begin. Would he have to wait in Hambara for a while or would they begin straight away, today? She thought that Basalt and Fero would be seeking work, and sent up a little prayer that they were both successful.
After the long sermon there were prayers to Sylissa asking her to help them to overcome their faults, and then fifteen minutes were set aside for the congregation to meditate on their own evil and to ask for forgiveness. By the time the service was over, Asphodel’s stomach was beginning to rumble, much to her embarrassment. The service had taken well over two hours. She left for the refectory where she was given a bowl of porridge and a glass of water. She sighed as she took it to a table and began to eat. Was this how Sylissa wanted her servants to live? Surely not! All these rules and abstinence, even having to eat poor quality food. It had not been like this at the temple in Bluehaven when she left, and she found herself wondering if this was the only temple where such abstemiousness was practiced.
After her breakfast, such as it was, she returned to the temple to wait, again admiring its beauty. Just before the sixth hour, a novice approached her with a message to follow him. She was taken along a corridor off the first one she had gone down, with the refectory at the end and the guest rooms, until they came to a door on the left. A Temple guard dressed in white, the colour of Sylissa, guarded it.
The novice knocked and a harsh male voice called, ‘Come in.’
Asphodel opened the door, and at once saw a rather large man in front of her with gold-edged white robes. The Great Father. She immediately fell down onto her knees as she had been taught, and kept her eyes on the floor. All she could see was the carpet beneath her feet, which was a very rich one, in deep blue and gold. The voice spoke from somewhere above her head.
‘I have read Mother Caldo’s letter, child, and I find it most disquieting. She thinks that you would be better here and that I can do more with you than she can. I think that maybe she is right there. Firstly, I think that we should effect a means of teaching you discipline; a virtue that you seem to be sadly lacking if Mother Caldo’s letter is anything to go by. So I have decided that you will join with the Daughters of Sylissa. As you know, they are an order who devote their entire lives to the service of the goddess and others. They are an order who do not mix with outsiders, who have taken vows of chastity and obedience and who spend their days in quiet prayer and contemplation. They only have contact with the general public during their times on duty as healers in the infirmary.’
Asphodel stifled a cry at this. The life of the Daughters was not one that she had ever contemplated, knowing instinctively that she was not cut out for such a life.
The voice went on, ‘I do not think we will expect you to take the vows and become a full Daughter, unless, that is, you decide that you are called to them, but as long as you remain with them, you will abide by their rules. You will have no contact with anyone other than your fellow sisters except when you are healing. Of course, as far as the other Daughters are concerned, you are going to become a full member in due course. Only the Mother will know that it may only be temporary. Do you have anything to say, daughter?’
‘H-how long will I be with the Daughters, Great Father?’ Asphodel stuttered, appalled at the idea.
‘That depends on you, child,’ came the reply. ‘You must show that you have learned the discipline required of a true cleric, which includes obedience to your superiors. Now I will call for a novice to take you to the House of the Daughters.’
Asphodel felt faint. She could hardly believe what was happening. Not to have any contact with anyone except the Daughters for an unspecified length of time. She felt as though she had just been sent to jail, but worse was to come. When she arrived at the House of the Daughters, which was connected to the temple by a windowless corridor, she was horrified when she was taken into a room, told to sit down, and the Mother cut off all her long black hair. Her protests that she was not actually joining the Daughters permanently fell on deaf ears.
‘As long as you are within our walls, you are a Daughter. The Daughters all have their hair cut off. It’s a temptation sent by Allandrina, that evil goddess of deceit, to tempt men into lustful thoughts and deeds, and young women into the sin of pride and vanity. No, it’s better that the hair be removed. It’s obvious that you’ve already fallen into the sin of vanity by your objection to having your hair cut.’
And removed it was. Asphodel watched as her raven tresses fell down to the ground. Afterwards, she put her hand up to her head to feel her hair. It had been cut off to her ears. She almost asked for a mirror, but two things stopped her. Firstly she was not sure that she really wanted to know what she looked like, and secondly, she thought that Mother would accuse her of the “sin of vanity” once more.
After that, she was shown to a cell in another part of the building. If she thought the guestroom was primitive, it was luxury compared with what she now had. There was a narrow bed with a blanket over it, but no pillow and only a very thin mattress, which would do nothing to soften the hardness of the bed. There was a small shrine to Sylissa in the corner of the room, with a statue and a triskel, and a tallow candle in a candlestick. There was no cupboard for any personal items, nor any chair or chest: just a bed and the shrine.
‘I’ve been given permission to speak to you,’ murmured the novice who showed her to the cell, ‘So that you’ll know exactly what to do. The wash place is at the end of the corridor. You’ll wash at night, before retiring and in the morning on rising. No other time is permitted.’
‘Is there no bath house?’ asked Asphodel. ‘I do like to bathe sometime to get properly clean.’
The girl looked shocked. ‘No! Bathing is strictly forbidden. It’s a luxury, and we eschew all luxuries as they can lead to the sin of avarice. We always wash in cold water too for the same reasons. We’re not allowed to converse with one another except for one hour after the evening meal. We attend all services in the temple. On alternate days, we work in the infirmary, and the days we’re not there, we spend in meditation and prayer. We’ve been instructed by the Most High to pray for the eradication of evil from the world, and for the help of Sylissa in doing so. I think that’s all that you need to know. If there are any other things you want to ask, you can ask me now, or after the evening meal.’
She paused and then remembered something else. ‘Oh, yes. We are allowed no personal property except our robes and triskel, and a cloak for if we have to go out to attend a sick person outside the temple. Any other property you have you must hand over to Mother.’
Asphodel told the girl that she thought that she had explained well, and that if there were nothing else she would like now to go into her cell and meditate. The novice then smiled and left. Asphodel entered the room and sat down on the hard bed. Tears pricked at her eyes. Her head felt wrong without the weight of her hair, and she felt ugly. She rose and closed the door. She would not let them know how she felt. She felt violated. Her hair had been taken away without her volition, and she had had all contact with the outside world removed from her, and her few meagre possessions were forfeit. How would she find out about her friends? They would think that she did not care about them. She wanted to know if Carthinal had passed his tests, if he had survived them even. What about the others? Bas and Fero? If they got jobs that took them out of the city, she would not know, and may never see them again. The tears began to flow, and she turned onto her stomach and allowed them to continue. She cried until she felt wrung out, then, still sobbing, she turned to the shrine and the statue of Sylissa. She spread her hands and prayed.
‘Why are you letting them do this to me? Deep down inside me I know this is not right. Most of what is happening here doesn’t feel right. Even praying for the eradication of evil doesn’t feel right. Surely you and the other gods put evil here as well as good for a purpose? We don’t know why you did so, but I feel inside that it’s necessary. I know the Most High is the leader of your clergy, but could he not be wrong in this? Or is it blasphemy to think that he could be fallible? Give me the strength to get through this ordeal. I’ll do my best to do as they wish so that I can once again go out into the world and heal as I wish to do.’
The rest of the day was spent in attending services and meditation and prayer. The Daughters were allowed to do their meditation in their cells, or in the gardens in the centre of the House. Asphodel decided to go into the gardens, as it was the nearest she could get to the open air and a feeling of freedom. Elves loved the natural world and felt stifled if they could not get outside into the woods and open country. The gardens were beautiful even this early in the season, with some early spring flowers already beginning to bloom in the sheltered garden surrounded by high walls and covered walkways. There were also flowering trees putting out their blossoms and the scent of spring was in the air, but even so, Asphodel found the atmosphere oppressing, so after a while she went back to her little cell. 
After the evening meal, many of the Daughters wanted to talk with her as they were allowed speech at this time, but she pleaded tiredness and went to her room where she sobbed herself to sleep.
The next morning, after another long dawn service in the temple, she was told by Archdeacon Jenoria, the Mother of the Daughters of Sylissa, to report to the infirmary for duty. She was accompanied in silence by several other Daughters of different ranks all going on duty, with bent heads in a gesture of humility and submission. Asphodel did so as well, but found that she kept glancing around her and it was almost impossible to keep her head in the bowed position. Eventually they reached the infirmary. It was a light and airy place. The floor was made of white marble, and the walls were also painted white. The whole room gave a feeling of cleanliness and efficiency. The acolytes were all given a number of tasks, or simple healing to do. Asphodel was told to clean a nasty cut on a child’s knee, and to bind it up to keep it clean.
While she was doing this, a vicar on duty came and spoke to Asphodel. ‘Sister,’ she said, ‘The Great Father told me that Mother Caldo said that she thought that you may be ready to finish your noviciate and become a curate. I’ve been asked to watch you and to ascertain whether this is in fact true. If you are indeed ready to become a curate, then Sylissa will grant you the power to increase your healing. I’ll watch you as you work if you don’t mind.’
‘Of course not, Vicar,’ replied Asphodel, her head bowed in the presence of a superior. ‘Thank you.’
During the course of the morning, Asphodel had to do some simple binding of wounds, but little actual healing. She did do a simple healing on one small boy with a head wound, got from falling out of a tree he was trying to climb, as he was obviously in pain, but there were no serious injuries to deal with. Vicar Helzel, she told Asphodel that was her name, said that typically as she wanted to assess the girl’s progress, there seemed to be less healing necessary than usual. In the afternoon, however, all seemed to change. A woman came in with bad a knife cut on her hand where a knife had slipped while she was gutting fish. She was in danger of losing the use of her fingers, and Asphodel was asked to see what she could do. Firstly, she gently removed the pad that someone had placed on the injury, and wiped away all the excess blood. Then she cleaned the wound as best she could, and prayed to Sylissa for healing. She felt the strength of the goddess entering her and then passing to the woman until the bleeding stopped, but the ligaments concerned were still in danger of not knitting properly, so she prayed once more to Sylissa for her strength. This seemed to be sufficient to ensure that with further natural healing the woman would keep the use of her fingers.
Shortly after this, a man came rushing in carrying a boy. He was in a panic. The boy had been bitten by a poisonous snake in the grass outside the city. The man, the boy’s father, had carried him to the temple as quickly as possible. Asphodel was told to try to help him.
She prayed for the goddess to slow the poison. She knew that she would only be able to carry sufficient power from the goddess to slow the passage of the poison, that she was nowhere near strong enough to break it down and render it harmless. The goddess granted her power through Asphodel, and she felt the strength going out of her once more. After that, a more experienced healer would take over, but the immediate panic was ended.
If she was truly of an ability to become a curate, then she should still have the strength to perform some further healing. She felt as though this was possible, for although she felt tired, she did not feel as drained as she did when she had used up all her strength. The next hour was quite simple, prescribing herbs for a cough, cleaning grazes on children’s knees and the like, but nothing requiring any serious healing work. Then a young girl came limping in on the arm of a young man. The girl’s ankle was swelling very badly and she could hardly bear to put it down.
‘She slipped down the stairs coming out of the temple of Parador.’ explained the young man as Asphodel gently felt he ankle.
‘Can you move your toes?’ she asked the girl.
‘Yes, I think so,’ she replied, trying.
‘Well, I don’t think it is broken, just a bad sprain. I’ll do a simple healing on it, which will help with the pain and then give you a poultice. You must rest it after that until the swelling goes down. I’ll give you some more of the herbs so that you can make another poultice.’ 
This she did, and felt the strength go out of her as the healing took effect. She felt some elation as it meant that she had now performed one more healing than she would previously have been able to do. Vicar Helzel also noted this, and wrote it down in her little book.
Finally, Asphodel performed a final, simple healing on a man with a bruised head, and at last was feeling exhausted.
‘Well done, Sister,’ Vicar Helzel said. ‘I will inform the Great Father that in my opinion, Mother Caldo was correct and that you are indeed ready for promotion. Go now back to the House of the Daughters and get some food and rest.’
Asphodel bowed her head and replied, ‘Thank you, Vicar Helzel,’ and gratefully left. She realised on her way back to the House that she had been happy during that day. This was what she wanted to do—heal people, not spend all day praying and meditating. Not that she felt that to be a waste of time, she prayed regularly to Sylissa and occasionally to the other gods, and on occasion she meditated, but a life of doing nothing but that was, she felt, not for her. Oh well, she would be healing every other day, so she would be happy half the time, which was more than could be said for some people. Also, it was not going to be forever, just until the Great Father decided to allow her out again. She decided that she must be seen to be submissive and obedient so that her time with the Daughters would be short.

Hooray

I've just finished The Never-Dying Man, Book 2 of The Wolves of Vimar. I've run the spelling and grammar check, but now I need to do the reading through to check for any discrepancies. Still, I'm getting there. The end is in sight!