Jareen was startled from sleep by a knock at the door of the hut. She stepped onto the packed clay floor and picked up her robe from the chair, wrapping herself and tying it in the middle with a sash. The knock came again before she was done, but she heard the door open. Coir did not sleep soundly these days. She heard his voice whispering. It was clearly not a quth disturbing them—the quth would not have knocked in that manner, and she had never known them to approach their dwelling.

Pushing aside the sheet that served as a divider in the hut, she saw the figure of a vien at the door. He was speaking with Coir in a hurried tone. She could hear the anxiety in his voice.

"What is it?" she asked, approaching. Coir glanced at her over his shoulder.

"He says the Malady is upon him," Coir said.

Well, that didn't take long, she thought, but what she said was:

"Let him in."

Coir nodded and moved aside. The tall vien strode in, glancing behind as if he feared he was watched.

"Daughter of Vah," he said when the door was closed. "I am afflicted." To Jareen's surprise, he knelt down in front of her, placing both hands upon his chest and lowering his head. "If you are able, please help me."

Coir stood with his arms folded. He raised his eyebrows at Jareen and pursed his lips, as if to say: "well?"

Clearly, some word had gotten out.

"Come," she said. The vien rose and followed her, and she motioned for him to sit down in her chair at the back of the hut.

"Remove your foot wraps," she said. She watched as the vien untied the sandal thongs from around his calves, unwrapped the cloth, and exposed his feet. The signs of the Malady were clear on the toes of both feet, but it was likely no more than a few days since the veins had started to swell.

"Show me your hands," she said. He held them up, flipping them backwards and forwards. There was no sign of discoloration near the fingernails.

"Can you help me, Daughter of Vah?" he asked.

Jareen sighed.

"I don't know." She turned away, moving to the little table where she kept her bottles. Carefully she poured out drops of tincture onto a wooden spoon. He was a tall adult vien, and it would take a sizable dose. If she were to make this attempt, she could not risk him seeing anything of how it was done. She turned to him, holding the spoon.

"Take this," she said, handing it to him. He took it, staring at the colorless liquid pooled in the bowl of the spoon.

"Is it so simple?" he asked. "A little taste of some potion?"

"What matter if it is simple?" Jareen asked. "It will help or it won't."

"There are others," he said. "So many have gone into the Mingling. If it is but a taste, could this not be sent to all the enclaves? Daughter of Vah, could you not reveal its secret? You would be honored among all the people."

Jareen hesitated. Coir still watched with folded arms.

"It is not so simple," she said. She saw the doubt and distrust flicker across the vien's face before he hid it.

"What cost would we not pay for our lives and the lives of those we love?"

What could she say? If the Canaen thought it was merely a potion, they would come and demand the recipe. Even if they managed not to kill themselves with the tincture, it would not heal the Malady. She stood motionless, her muscles tensed.

"Have you heard of Vah?" Coir asked the vien. Jareen was surprised at his interjection, but not as surprised as the vien, who frowned at the human. In his old age, Coir's tones were dry and strained when he spoke Vienwé, though they had never been perfect. Despite the flaws, he could still be understood.

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"All have heard of Vah," the vien said, trying to conceal his distaste for the human and doing a poor job.

"Lovniele is a daughter of Vah, as your own eyes can see. If you have heard of Vah, then you know that he could not grasp the Current, but the Current could also not grasp him."

"Coir!" Jareen said. What was he doing? He could not reveal the truth! Coir ignored her.

"You know that the prophet strove to free the people from bondage and lead them to Vah'tane, for deep within the Wellspring he was granted a vision."

"So say the stories of the simple seer," the vien replied, glancing at Jareen. If there was more light, he would have seen what a full flush looked like in the complexion of an Insensitive.

"Findel and Isecan chose war," Coir continued, "and their children still wage it. Yet Vah sought healing, and his children still heal. This Daughter of Vah carries the gift of her father. No hand of Findel or Isecan can bring that healing, with or without a potion."

"Are these not old tales?"

"Taste, and see if they are," Coir answered.

The vien stared at Jareen's face, and she watched as skepticism slowly gave way to something else. His lips parted, and his eyes widened. Slowly, he put the spoon in his mouth and swallowed.

"You will grow tired," Jareen said. "Lie down in the hammock and rest your eyes."

The vien obeyed.

"Thank you, Daughter of Vah," he said as he laid down.

It did not take long. Soon, his breathing was slow and steady. Jareen waited longer, just to be sure, before she went to the vien and lifted his heavy hand, raising it over his face. She let it drop. The limp hand landed hard on the vien's face. He turned his head, muttered, and settled again.

Confident that he could not listen, Jareen turned to Coir.

"What was that?" she asked. "Now they know it's because I'm an Insensitive! I thought the idea was to protect us."

"It is," Coir said. "Thousands of years later, they still treat the children of Vah with respect."

"They treat us with pity," Jareen snapped.

"Not just pity. You are as much a symbol of the Wellspring as they are. More even. You remind them of their past every moment you walk among them. You remind them of what lies beyond the edge of their understanding."

"How does any of this help us? You're the one who wanted me to be careful! What if they come and take me into the enclave? What if they insist on watching?"

"That is less of a danger than if they insisted on knowing the recipe of your tincture."

"At least they would find it didn't heal them, and think it all a falsehood."

"Until the next one you heal." Coir said. "And then they will know it wasn't your tincture. Will you let them die without trying to help?"

Jareen didn't know what to say. Of course she wanted to help. She just didn't know how to go about it. Certainly, she couldn't turn them away to die.

"Let the healing be mystical," he said. "Say it comes from power, from something they cannot understand anymore than you can understand the Current. You can say their meddling negates it."

"Didn't you warn me what would happen if they found out the truth?"

"Let them know the meaning of the truth, instead." He tugged on his scraggly beard in frustration. "If I thought you could stop yourself, there would be no need for this."

"It's blood, not some story."

"It's both! Just because there is a physical process does not mean there's nothing else. Hide the blood beneath the story."

"I will not lie and prey upon their superstitions. Stories have kept them at war for millennia."

"You need not lie. You need only select what bits of truth to tell. Do you not understand what you are? What Vah was?"

"I am in no mood for ancient lore." Jareen turned away. She had to get this done while the vien remained unconscious. She worked quickly. Her hands held the skill and confidence of many decades. She prepared a thorn and the bladder.

Over the years, Coir had tried to talk to her about Vah. Sometimes, she had half-listened. She knew the general stories told among the Vien. Findel and Isecan had fought. Her own people's version of that tale differed from the version told by the Canaen. She had heard Vireel tell it to Faro. Yet when it came to Vah, the stories told in Findeluvié and Isecan more or less agreed.

Vah was Insensitive, and after Isecan was slain by Findel, he claimed to have seen a vision deep within the Wellspring. For many years, he wandered from Findeluvié to Isecan and back, preaching his vision, even as his body aged and grew frail. At last, he led his few followers into the Mingling to seek some gate to a city of peace. Most believed the Mingling devoured them, whether its beasts or its thorns or both.

Coir watched in silence as she drew her blood and prepared to give it to the unconscious vien. She didn't like an audience. In her years as a Voiceless Sister, she had grown used to being watched, either by her novices or the families of the Departing, but this task felt more private; it was her own blood. After the task was done, she held pressure on the puncture in the vien's foot until she was sure it had clotted. It wasn't until she pulled her thumb away that Coir spoke again:

"Whether you like it or not, Jareen, the legacy of Vah has given you this gift. It is power." With that, he turned and left the hut, no doubt to find company among the quth.

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