Free A Wizard's Tears by Craig Gilbert Page B

had several pupils under her guidance whom she taught basic healing. Ultimately she would pass on her role to a younger woman, when she was old enough herself to leave Elrohen for the spiritual journey to Untaba’s side. It was the way of it: her predecessor had taught her everything she knew, and so she would tell others of the way of the priesthood.
    Her reverie ended when she reached the edge of the gardens. Two vast trees marked the entrance – the branches of them entwined together to form an archway. Vergail was about to step through when a cough drew her attention.
    Leaning on the back of one of the trees, sat in a heap, was a man. Vergail’s nose flared as she smelt alcohol on his breath. Dressed in rags and tatters, the man was a vagabond and a drunk. He coughed again, a harsh, thick noise that brought up ugly green phlegm. It was obvious he was homeless and had earned a fever for his troubles.
    Vergail crouched down before the man, her eyes a vision of watery compassion. “Sir,” she began pointedly, “you have a fever. As high priestess of this city it is within my power to heal you. First, tell me, why are you living on the streets? There are many buildings that will give you solace and help, especially if you have had some tragedy. Why not go, they will give you a place to stay. I can give you directions-“
    Her calm voice was shattered by his angry snarl. He looked up at her then, a face filled with contempt. “You mock me, priestess !” he said the last word as if he choked on poison. “Malana does not help those not of Untaba’s faith!”
    Vergail stood, her eyes hardening, the compassion ebbing from her. “Untaba shines his guidance down-“
“I curse Untaba’s very name!” The man spat on the ground, emphasizing his point. “Where was your god, when my family burned alive? Where was he, when all my life, all my possessions, all my love, was swallowed, engulfed by a burning blaze? You pray, you teach his infinite wisdom, yet he took away those that I loved, in a blink of an eye.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” stated Vergail coldly. “It must have been their time to leave this world. Yet you should reconsider your views and renew your faith. The way of Untaba is just.”
The man chuckled insanely, and took another swig of a fiery brew held in a bottle by his side. “You, and this city, are blinded by this faith. So much love for this god, yet we get nothing in return. This faith has addled our brains and our senses, and made us ignorant and obnoxious to other people’s beliefs. Tell me, priestess; would you use your skills to heal my ailments?”
“No,” Vergail said harshly. “I will not use Untaba’s light on a non-believer.”
“There you go, you see?” the man scoffed. “I am not a bad person. I wouldn’t hurt anyone – I would do anything for anybody. Yet you, high priestess of Malana, are beneath me because of your short-sightedness. One day, your ignorance will come back on you and shatter this life of yours!”
Vergail said nothing, merely voicing her anger by turning and walking into the gardens away from the man. She would not be told such blasphemy! The man was lucky she did not call the mages onto him for it. His ramblings and coughing disappeared as she strode deeper, surrounding herself in lush green grass and gorgeous flower fragrances. Soon, she had forgotten him completely.
She walked through into a clearing amid the colours and delights of the gardens. In the centre of this clearing stood a stone, a towering, curved monolith – pale white, with grey markings etched onto its surface. Around the edge of the clearing were smaller, but similar stones, eight in all, with a symbol on each of their pristine white surfaces. At midday on the longest day of the year, the centre stone stood directly under the sun. Carved by the mages long ago, this clearing was a conduit for their power, and, so some claimed, a portal into another realm.
Stood before the great stone,