Dark Moon Defender (Twelve Houses) by Sharon Shinn Page B

heart. Above her, through the layers of wood and stone, she could sense the arched bowl of the Dark Watcher’s hands, cupped over the world to keep it safe. She could almost hear the goddess’s rhythmic chanting as she counted each of the souls under her protection. Here’s one . . . and another . . . and another . . . and one more. . . .
     
     
    She could tell the exact moment the goddess recognized her, heard Ellynor’s call for help, and kindly responded. She felt the power blossom through her, like heat, like excitement, prickling along her veins. Her hands grew warm, her head felt dizzy, and the moonstone on her bracelet flared with fire. Behind her eyelids she had the impression the room itself grew darker, as the Black Mother flowed in, past the closed shutters, down the banked chimney, and pooled around the patient and the supplicant.
     
     
    The old woman coughed and stirred under Ellynor’s hands. Her breathing grew easier, if only a little. She moved her head on the pillow, shifted her lax arms, then gave a sigh of relief. Ellynor guessed that some squeeze of pain had been lifted from her chest—a small blessing, even if that was to be the only one.
     
     
    “Thank you, Great Mother,” Ellynor whispered. “You never fail me.”
     
     
    She opened her eyes, taking a moment to clear her head and let the sense of light seep back into the room. The goddess had done her part; now it was Ellynor’s turn. She stood and moved rather briskly around the bed, checking to see what medicines had been gathered to ease the old woman’s way. Ah—here were some curative herbs, here was water, and something that smelled like a healing concoction. She would guess none of these had been administered within the last day or two, since the patient’s case had seemed hopeless. Now, she thought, the old woman would swallow whatever she was offered.
     
     
    And so she did. In the next two hours, Ellynor induced her to take a glass of water as well as some powdered herbs, and she had the satisfaction of seeing a little color return to the wan cheeks. The old woman did not speak and barely woke, but she turned on her side and moved her hands as if to check for something that was not there. Ellynor caught the restless fingers and held them in hers.
     
     
    “Take a little more strength from my body—I have plenty,” she said in a low voice. Almost as if she heard and understood, the woman’s grip tightened. Then with another sigh, she released Ellynor’s hand and seemed to fall into an even deeper slumber.
     
     
    The woman was still sleeping three hours later when Ellynor sent the servant to wake Astira so she could seek her own bed. She didn’t tell Astira what she had done, merely said, “You might try giving her some water every half hour or so. She took some when I offered it, and it seemed to make her easier.”
     
     
    “I pray she doesn’t die while I’m alone with her!”
     
     
    “I don’t think she will. I’m off to get some sleep.”
     
     
    “I hope they let both of us sleep in tomorrow morning.”
     
     
    Ellynor laughed softly and left. Once in her own room, she was so tired that for a moment she could not remember which side of the bed was hers and which was Astira’s. It was always that way, when the Black Mother used her to heal someone else. It was as if all the energy was stripped from her body, washed into someone else’s veins. Too tired to even scrub her face or change out of her clothes, Ellynor climbed into bed and fell instantly asleep.
     
     
     
     

WHEN Ellynor went down to the dining hall the next morning—so late it could hardly be called morning any longer—she found a half dozen strangers in the room, along with Astira, the Lestra, and Jenetta Gisseltess. Everyone seemed excited, though they spoke in low voices and continually looked toward the door as if they were expecting fresh news to walk across the threshold. Ellynor gathered food from the sideboard and sat next