The village.

Swaying softly left to right, and back again with the gentlest of steps. One close to the other, their arms hooked and their hands holding a firm softness. Most have closed their eyes, putting their faith in the gentle dancing, the waving motion. Nothing but a single bandoneon, singing the rhythm with minimal effort. There are tears in its music, but it’s never crying. The soft tones are accompanied by the shuffling of many feet, as one, on the dusty wooden floor. It’s the brushing of the waves over the sand, on a soft summer’s evening. Nothing more.

They all look so peaceful now, even the drunks and the brawlers. The occasional miss-step is always recovered in the living motion of the dance. They form a chain, more alive than that even, more feeling and breathing: they form a snake. The inn is the snake’s nest, and she is curling up endlessly, harmlessly. For now. It all takes but one fright, one alarming sound, to stir the snake and make her lash out again. Hissing and spitting venom.

That one sound was the door, slammed by the winter’s wind helped by just a tad of clumsiness. The little figure stood there baffled for a moment, knowing he had woken the snake. The first voice heard, deep and drunk, was that of Jack. With just a little disappointment but as always with high authority, he said: ‘Sod it.’ Upon which he emptied the closest pint of beer his big hands could grasp. As always he spit it out and shouted: ‘Where’s my whiskey?’
This was seen as the starting shot for all kinds of noises and misbehaviour. This man was big as a bear but could hardly stand up straight, ever. But, due to some unnatural mixing in his blood or muscles, he could not fall down either. Nothing you could do to him would knock him of his feet. Except maybe the whiskey he never stopped pouring down his throat. In the end, that would get him. But even than he didn’t seem bothered by all the feeble attempts to kick him while he was down. Not that people hated him, most respected him and even liked him. The others simply avoided him.
It wasn’t that he started fights for a reason; it was more a case of never going out of his way for anything. In this village, if you knock someone’s table over, they are bound to hit you on the head with the remaining chairs. The fact that you would, or in his case: would not, fall over after this, is entirely beside the matter. In reaction to that, people adopted the manner of hitting Jack with everything they got. Not just the men, the women too, and they weren’t the ladylike slapping kind either, not at this hour.

So Jack threw down another’s beer, and while spitting it out he didn’t really mind if people were near him either. The first punches landed, to little or no effect, but of course others joined in and the noise in the pub became it’s usual unbearable self.
The little man at the door was actually relieved that a fight had started. It took him of the hook for disturbing the gentle dance of the snake. He tried to get to the side of the bar, where a few figures were in fact talking to each other instead of shouting. They kept their voices down, knowing they best not draw too much attention to their conversation.
‘Hey Biggy,’ one of them greeted the little man with a smile. He could take the jests over his posture, as long as it was in a friendly manner. He was a nervous little fellow, which probably caused his clumsiness. More than once he had poisoned people or gave them annoying diseases, simply by messing up his potions and pottery. The cure was never far from the curse with him. As a physician, he believed in learning about the cause of the illness more than merely guessing at a possible remedy. His pharmacy was filled with all types of experiments and analyses of every type of disease or poison he ever encountered. This made his pharmacy actually one of the most dangerous places to visit, especially when already in a sickened state. If this little man made a profession out of poisoning people, he would have no match. As a doctor however, he was rather disastrous.
‘So how is she, Biggy?’ the woman in the company inquired, unclear if she was worried about this patient’s health before or after Biggy visited her. ‘Still can’t figure out what poison or illness got to her, but whatever it is, it must be extremely fascinating.’ He answered with almost a sense of excitement on his face. ‘But of course I hope she’ll get well soon… obviously.’ He added the line almost because he had to, but in the end he genuinely cared about his patients. The causes of their illnesses simply triggered his sharp mind more, that was all. In the end, he was a curious little man, with a remarkably clever mind and luckily an incredibly big heart for his posture.

Their conversation was disturbed by one of the fishermen, drunk as drunk can be, who stumbled into the conversation with a tale to tell. And it wasn’t about his wife or what he saw when he came home this time. In fact: it was something he saw when he left his shack near the water. ‘I’m telling you I saw it sober, even if I’m drunk now! ‘t Was a cat I tell you. A gigantesque… didn’t think I could pull that word of, did you… a gigantresque cat. And I mean a big one, not a like your little kittens at home. No no, a cat as big as a lion, and black as the night, prowling around the village.’
The woman was the first to laugh uneasily, and Biggy bought the fisherman a drink. ‘Well well, a cat you say, as big as… me?’ The fisher looked down at him, wanted to reply, but checked his beer first as he didn’t trust anything that had passed through that little pharmacist’s hands. ‘You can laugh, but I know what I saw, and it was bigger than you! A cat, bigger than you.’ Biggy simply smiled as to say: which cat isn’t? The rest of the small company joined in for a few cat jokes, the usual snares about Biggy’s short height, and than tried to dissolve the issue in drunken silliness.
The fisherman had a few drinks with the lot, but wasn’t satisfied with the fact his tale found no audience with them. In the end, he hooked up with one of the other drunks stumbling past, and together they swayed of, waving his arms in the air and forming little ears on his head with his hands. The company there at the side of the bar fell quiet at that point.
Again it was the woman breaking the silence. ‘It seems like Ileya has arrived. We better go meet her than, if she comes all the way here.’ One of the men shook his head: ‘It’s not a good sign her coming here. Not good at all.’ ‘And can’t she be more careful, she mustn’t be seen.’ ‘You tell her than, be my guest. Mind the claws when you do…’

A handful of people going to the house near the forest’s edge. Hardly recognisable, except for that little figure who could never shake that uneasy smell of potions and powders. Shaandra knew that smell very well, and it pleased her. It was her teacher she saw running there, the good hearted pharmacist who she took lessons from. No one gave any thought to Shaandra taking lessons from Biggy. As a priest she had the right to learn everything the pharmacist knew about healing people. Her domain was the spiritual health, his the physical. Nothing wrong with learning both for more beneficial effect. Of course he focused mostly on the causes of illnesses, the poisons and diseases, where Shaandra surely was mostly interested in the well being of her patients... surely.
Shaandra was an eager student. Nothing could interest her more than the ways people could suffer. All for the greater goal of relieving that suffering of course, both spiritually and physically.
She was all too eager, but the little pharmacist never got suspicious over her endless devotion. Every day her hunger for his knowledge grew, touching upon the most lethal poisons and most painful diseases.
She knew that small figure going there very well, therefore she didn’t need much help identifying the others too, once she noticed Biggy with them. It was a secret little gang of conspirators, never to be trusted in her eyes. From outside her study she saw them, immediately it was clear to her they were up to something. She was certain they didn’t see her. Shaandra was an inconspicuous figure, it was as if she moved in the shadows always. But maybe that should have been taken as a hint to her true nature…

The house was rather big, but since it was at the forest’s edge, it seemed desolate none the less. Close to the cover of the trees, and actually quite close to the water as well, if you wanted to avoid the fishermen’s shacks. The few people attending the house were quiet as ghosts, always busy but hardly ever seen.
The small company went to the first floor, Biggy going ahead and again hitting the corner of the cupboard upstairs. One of the maids managed to rescue the bowl with water in time, letting out a soft sigh at the little man. The maid said no one had come yet, but they insisted on seeing the patient. The door was still locked yet inside they heard a gentle voice talking, just out of hearing reach of the maid. As the servant opened the door, a swift brushing was heard, and nothing more than an open window with waving curtains was to be seen. In the bed a woman was still sweating the uneasy sleep of the alarmingly ill. She looked older than she was, but still had striking features, even this pale and feaverish. No one actually knew who she was, but one of the children who brought her to the village in an old wagon held a ring that he only wanted to give to a doctor named 'Biggy'.
They all entered slowly and gathered around the bed. The maid wanted to close the window for the wind, but Biggy told her to leave it open. The maid clearly had no faith in the judgement of the pharmacist but she obeyed just the same. As she left the room and closed the door behind her, a shadow formed from barely outside the window. So big it was hard to imagine they didn’t see it beforehand. It formed a very big but slender cat, pitch dark as the night. No one was frightened or even surprised. A little uneasiness at best, given it was still a very extraordinary phenomenon to witness. The cat leaped into the room, hardly making a sound upon touching the floor.

’I can’t find it.’ Biggy said to the cat. Her voice was soft and gentle, the very voice they heard the moment before opening the door. ‘Ileya knows you can’t.’ The cat lifted itself at the side of the bed and in a moment’s time she transformed into a bewildering woman. Her eyes were old but fierce, still they held more kindness than people cared to see in such a wild creature.
‘You can not help her.’ She spoke soft and clear. One of the others asked her if she could help her than? The wild woman looked at him from aside, not sure if the question was worth an answer. She answered, as always referring to herself in the third person, as if she only recently learned to speak. ‘Has Ileya ever come when she could not help?’ This was a harsh but true fact: she never visited lost causes, compassion was not what she was about.
The woman in the company wondered how Ileya could help her than. Were there herbs or natural remedies Biggy had no knowledge of? ‘Yes there are.’ Ileya replied, ‘but those won’t help here.’ Biggy simply nodded. ‘I know my shortcomings.’ he added. Ileya smiled at him, it was weird to see her capable of smiling, or even having a sense of humour. Biggy winked at her, the two of them went way back. Ileya was he strangest friend he had indeed, but also the most useful one when push came to shove.
‘The woman is cursed.’ Ileya told them, ‘Ileya can not heal curses, they are unnatural.’ Surely Biggy can handle curses the others uttered. Biggy shook his head: ‘I couldn’t even find it was a curse, let alone cure it.’ Ileya put her hand on the sick woman’s head, closing her eyes and following her uneasy breathing.
‘She will die. She must live.’ No one had a reply to that. Ileya opened her eyes. ‘You say there are two children here. Who does the second child belong to?’ What did she mean by that? The woman was brought in by her two children who refused to leave her side, but in the end they both collapsed from exhaustion. ‘Which child fell asleep the first?’ Ileya asked. They looked at each other, how could this matter.
‘The boy.’ Biggy said, I put him in the bed as the girl protested still. ‘Than the girl is her own child, and the boy is not from her blood but they were raised together as brother and sister. This woman gave birth to one child only, not more.’ It seemed an all too easy conclusion, but one did not argue with Ileya over facts of nature.
'The boy asked for me Ileya, and he gave me this ring.' Biggy handed over the ring from his pocket. Ileya examined the ring, but there never was any doubt about the authenticity. 'Scaramance...' Biggy nodded. 'That man would not leave a trail this obvious even if you tortured him.' Ileya looked at the others with a dangerous fierceness in her eyes: 'Protect these children with your lives. The boy is the son of Scaramance, and this woman's girl will prove to be even more important.'
'Scaramance having a son, imagine that.' Biggy smiled.
‘When the girl is awake Ileya will ask her blood to compare the taste with the mother’s cursed blood. For now they all must sleep and you must leave till the sun is up in the East. Next moment Ileya leaped out of the window. Only than Biggy noticed the small wound in the woman’s arm under the sheets. A little scratch from a claw.

Jack stumbled out of the door, followed by a beerbelly guy swearing and cursing with his last breath. He threw his weight at Jack in a final attempt to stop him from moving away. The impact almost hit him over, but not quite. Jack put his arm around the other guy and took him for a walk in the moonlight. The man still struggled but Jack kept walking his typical walk, swaying left to right.
‘Having fun?’ A smile appeared on Jack’s face as he dropped the guy he was holding. ‘Aye, having myself a walk in the moonlight.’ Ileya looked at the giant of a man, but in a strange way her own fierceness matched his perfectly. ‘You need a real battle, sitting at home does not fit you.’
Jack took out his last bottle of whiskey and stepped past Ileya inviting her to walk along. ‘You’re right lass, and I fear battles will come soon enough.’ They discussed the uproars abroad, the rising of the savage armies that Jack had fought so many times before. ‘This time it aren’t the green skins though, the battle will be started from our side.’ It was remarkable how this man could drink so much, fight so hard, and still be capable of holding a conversation on the politics of the lands. Ileya spoke in her own way, third person and all, but she seemed aware of all the hidden agenda’s every ruler had.
At the first fisherman shack, they paused a moment. Jack looked at her and simply stopped talking. Ileya smiled for the second time that night. ‘Ileya didn’t come here to talk about needs and greeds of powerful men.’ Jack nodded.
‘Ileya has to know where Littlefather is.’
‘I can’t tell you lass, sorry.’
‘A woman is dying.’
‘Where Littlefather is, hundreds are dying.’
’Than why is Jack here drinking and not there?’
‘I will go when he calls me.’
‘How will he call you?’
Jack didn’t answer. He hesitated, weighing his words. He was not the man to break a promise, but he tried to find a way to help Ileya nonetheless. Without actually saying where Littlefather was, he knew that telling how he would call him, was giving the secret away anyhow. Ileya sure knew how to pick the right question.
‘The dragonfires in the south.’
Ileya stood there, silent. She understood what Jack had revealed to her. The dragonfires of the south weren’t used for hundreds of years. This meant Littlefather had entered the lower realms. Last time one had done this, literally thousands of people died in the onslaught that followed. This was above and beyond any of the small politics these northern countries cared to suffer.
If Littlefather was preparing war down there, he must have real good cause to do so. This alone set the turning of the world in a different perspective. It was indeed something that should not be known to any but the chosen ones Littlefather handpicked for his armies. The fact that Jack was not called yet, also meant things were stirring up but not burning yet. If and when those dragonfires of the south would burn, people better pray it is indeed for dragons, and not for the much graver danger they were actually intended for…

‘Thank you Jack.’ Ileya stepped to the water, her face clearly showing concern.
‘You won’t find him lass. Down south is beyond your trees and creeks.’
‘I know Ileya can not find Littlefather. But Kildur can.’
Jack sighed: ‘I should have guessed. Say hello to the old dwarf from me.’
‘Ileya will not go to Kildur herself.’
‘Than send Aurohra.’
‘Ileya can not go because Aurohra has left the cove and Ileya lost track of her.’
‘You’re kidding.’
‘Ileya is never kidding. Aurohra went looking for her father, and her anger is great.'
'Damn, wouldn't want to be her father than.'
'Aurohra needs to be found, before she finds her father. Ileya can not leave before Aurohra is back. But still the woman and the children need to go to Kildur, so he can take them to Littlefather.'
'And you're certain Littlefather will stop fighting over the faith of this world and the next, just to heal this one woman.'
'Littlefather will heal her.'
'Why?'
'The queen.'
'What has all of this to do with the queen?'
'Everything.'
'Never mind I asked, I don't really want to hear.'
'You will have your part in it Jack, before it all is over.'
‘Well, than I hope that dying woman is worth it, because you are getting us into a crapload of trouble at once.’
‘She is not worth it, not more than any other single person dying. Not while Littlefather holds the lives of thousands.’
Jack looked at her, waiting for more.
‘Her little daughter is worth it.’
Jack emptied his last bottle of whiskey, turned around and went back to the inn. Behind him he heard a soft plunging followed by swift swimming motion.
‘Must be one hell of a daughter than…’