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“You heard everything I said to Thresnine about you,” Sam almost shouted at Dean. It was an accusation rather than a question.
“Well, most of it, yes,” he answered sheepishly.
“And it never occurred to you to let me know?” This time Dean wisely did not answer. “You really try my patience sometimes,” she continued through gritted teeth. “You never used to be so deceitful. I am going to bed.” She left the library, Dean staring at her retreating back. She calmed down before she reached her room and almost returned, but was too overcome with conflicting emotions. She felt concerned that Dean had eavesdropped on a very personal conversation, embarrassed that she had overreacted publicly and ashamed that she had angered so easily and had taken it out on Dean, again.
Dean moved to follow her, but was stopped by Hawk. “Leave her be. Her lack of proper sleep and her pregnancy are probably affecting her moods. Let her calm down before you speak to her.”
Further conversation was forestalled by a knock at the door. “I thought I had heard of the Last Retreat,” Feleen said as she walked into the room. “I have been searching through our histories and I have found it,” she announced triumphantly. “A long time ago, it was the codename for our headquarters.”
Sam was instantly forgotten as everyone excitedly spoke at once, asking for more details. Tor called for silence, signalling that Feleen should continue once the noise had died down. She explained that the leader of the Shandar, many centuries before, was a monk. Below the monastery where he lived was a hidden chamber where secret meetings were held and all of the private documents, many of which were now in Feleen’s possession, were stored. Why it was called The Last Retreat, she did not know. When the Shandar had been forced to relocate, they chose a different name for their new headquarters.
“Why did they move?” Hawk asked, genuinely interested. He knew a lot of the history behind the secret organisation he used to be a member of, but had never heard anything about a monastery.
“The monastery was closed to the public. The old documents we have today are only part of what was originally stored there. They were smuggled out by a junior member of the society before the gates were sealed.”
Tor heard the tension in her voice and it filled him with concern. “Where exactly was this monastery?” he asked, knowing he would not like the answer.
“Orion.”
“Frack,” Modo swore while Tor gritted his teeth. He had been right; he did not like the answer.
“Where is Orion?” Quartilla asked. She had never heard of the city.
“Nobody knows anymore,” Nosmas told her. “The city was sealed off so long ago there are no longer any records that say where it used to be.”
“Sealed off?” Ria asked. “Why?”
“Plague,” Nosmas continued. “A particularly nasty one started in Orion and the King of whichever country Orion was part of at the time decided to order the city gates closed.”
“That is horrible,” Dal said, revulsion written all over her face. “What happened to all of the people who were trapped inside?”
“Nobody knows. The gates were never opened again. The plague was very fast spreading so most of the city’s population would probably have caught it. Unfortunately not all of those who became infected died.”
“What do you mean ‘unfortunately’?” Oak asked.
“That particular plague was different to most. It affected a different part of the body in each victim, leaving them grotesquely deformed. Some were left blind or deaf, others were crippled. All became hideous to look at.”
Dal paled, regretting her enquiry about the city’s residents. The temporary silence was broken by Seth.
“So to summarise, we have to find a place that no longer exists and nobody knows where it used to be, then we have to enter the city, despite the fact that we will probably be exposed to a disfiguring disease that may kill us. Have I missed anything?” he asked sarcastically.
“We do not all have to go,” Tor said, unable to hide his amusement at his young friend’s comments. “The way the clue is worded, only Sam or Dean will have to go into the city.”
“Great. That makes me feel a lot better,” Dean groaned.
“Do not let it worry you,” Brodin said. “There is a lot for us to do and work out before we get that far. It sounds like we will need to spend tomorrow doing more research, so I suggest we retire for the night and try to get some sleep.”
“I will make a start if you wish, as soon as I have finished hunting,” Hawk volunteered and left the room. The library was empty when he returned, so he selected a book from the shelf and started to flick through its pages.
Sam was asleep when Dean finally turned in for the night. He had debated whether or not to find a different room to sleep in, but eventually decided that he should not let her mood swings prevent him from being with her. Besides, if she had another nightmare he wanted to be close by to comfort her. He removed his shoes and laid down on the bed next to her, pulling a spare blanket from the bottom over him. She seemed to be sleeping peacefully, so he gently placed his arm around her and closed his eyes.
A short time later, Sam began to dream again. She was with her friends, walking along a busy street. She had no idea where she was or where she was going, so she just followed Oak and Modo, who were walking in front of her. Suddenly something caught her foot and she fell to the ground, banging her knee hard. Dean, who was walking next to her, did not stop to help her up. Patrick stepped around her without asking if she was alright. A stranger in a cloak, with the hood pulled up so that his face was shaded, knelt down beside her and asked if he could be of assistance. He took hold of her arm and helped her back onto her feet. She thanked the man and began to walk away. When she looked back, the stranger had disappeared into the crowd, leaving her with an odd feeling that she had seen him before somewhere.
Then everything changed and she found herself swimming across a wide river. The water was not fast flowing, but it was still tiring and her arms and legs were beginning to ache. Dean, who had always been a good swimmer, passed her with strong powerful strokes. She called out to him, but he did not respond. Then she felt something grab hold of her leg, pulling her down. She looked about her frantically, seeing Nosmas, Tor and Cirren all nearby. She screamed for help. All three of them looked across at her, watched as she was dragged under the water and struggled to resurface, then looked away. The next thing she knew, a stranger was beside her, holding a knife between his teeth. She never got a proper look at him before he took the knife in one hand and dived under the water. Moments later the tugging on her leg stopped and she was able to swim away. The stranger resurfaced and swam to the riverbank from which she had come. He did not turn to look at her so she never got to see his face.
Then the scene changed again. She was standing at the edge of a cliff. Looking down, she could see all of her companions walking single file down a steep narrow path. Seth, who was the last in line, looked back over his shoulder and called to her. “Come on. It is perfectly safe.”
She was about to follow when she noticed a stranger standing beside her. He was wearing a thick black cloak with the hood pulled up over his head. All she could see of his face was his chin. “This path is much safer,” he told her, gesturing to his left. There was something compelling about his voice and she found herself wanting to trust him. It should have been easy for her to decide which way to go, but she was tempted to go with the stranger instead of her friends.
Seth called once more and she turned to the man, thanking him for his suggestion before following the path her friends were on. Rushing to catch up to them, she slipped and fell over the edge. The last thing she heard before hitting the ground was the stranger shouting that she should have chosen the other path.
The next thing she knew she was in labour. Sweat poured down her face and she screamed as she experienced another contraction. She was lying on a bed with Dean beside her, holding her hand. He looked very pale, his eyes full of concern. A woman was leaning over her, her hands pressing down on her bare stomach.
“What is wrong?” Dean asked her. Sam could hear the panic in his voice.
“The baby is the wrong way round,” she informed him. “It cannot be born. We will have to cut her open.”
“There must be something else you can do,” Dal’s voice sounded from somewhere inside the room.
The woman shook her head. “I have helped to deliver hundreds of babies,” she stated. “Experience has shown that every time the child does not have its head engaged, both mother and baby end up dead. By cutting the child free, it will have some chance of survival.”
“And what about Sam?” Dean demanded angrily.
“There is no hope for her I am afraid.”
“Do it,” Sam said. She was so exhausted she did not have the energy to speak above a whisper, forcing Dean to lean in close to be able to hear her.
“No,” he said vehemently. “I will not let her kill you in order to save the child.”
“Please,” Sam begged.
“No.” Dean shook his head emphatically. “There must be another way.”
“There is,” a voice said. Sam felt she recognised it, but could not put a face to it.
“Who are you?” Tor’s voice demanded gruffly.
“You should not listen to him,” the woman, who Sam assumed was a local witch or midwife, said sharply. “His medicines and administrations kill more patients than they cure.”
The man grunted. “Seeing as I have saved people this woman has claimed to be incurable, I think her opinion is a little bias.”
“You still have not answered my question,” Tor said.
“I am a healer. I live in the mountains and visit the local villages. My methods differ from that of the witches and ‘wise women’, as they call themselves, so they distrust me, but I assure you I can help the young woman.”
“How?” Dean demanded.
“I can turn the baby.”
“That is impossible,” the witch scoffed.
“Nosmas,” Tor called out. Sam heard a door open and footsteps enter the room. The wizard had heard the healer’s claims and was not convinced.
“I have heard of this being attempted, but it has never been successful, to the best of my knowledge. Mother and child have always died in the attempt. All it does is prolong the pain and suffering.”
Tor looked from Nosmas, to the witch, then to the healer, indecision clearly written across his face. Sam screamed as pain coursed through her body again. “We are running out of time,” the witch warned. “If we are to save the child we must do it now.”
Tor continued to stare at the healer. Eventually he spoke. “I am sorry, but I have to trust the word of my friend.” He nodded his head towards Nosmas. “We all love Sam very much and have to do what is best for her and the child she is carrying.” He then turned to the witch. “What do you need?”
Finding strength from somewhere, Sam cried out. “No. Let him try.”
“Is that wise?” Dean asked her, wiping a damp cloth across her forehead.
“I trust him,” she replied.
The scene faded and she settled into a dreamless sleep.
When Sam awoke, just before dawn, she had no recollection of her dreams. Dean was already awake beside her. “How did you sleep?” he asked.
“Good,” she replied. “No nightmares.” She paused before continuing. “Look, about last night.”
He held his finger against her lips, silencing her. “Let’s just forget about it shall we?” Gratefully she nodded her head. He kissed her forehead then began to pull away. A strong urge to be close to him overcame her and she pulled him back so she could kiss him in a way she hadn’t kissed him in a long while.
Falcon and Eaglet left early that morning. They had fulfilled their mission and were eager to return home. Falcon would have liked to have witnessed Patrick’s remarkable recovery, but he had pressing business and could not justify delaying their return journey by another day. They said their goodbyes to Hawk before he retired to his coffin and rode through the castle gates at first light.
Just before they departed, Sam took Eaglet aside and asked a favour. She wanted a message delivered to the elven city. She had promised Nisse that she would keep in touch and wanted to let him know that Brin’s child was still well and growing at what she presumed was the normal rate. Eaglet told her she would find someone to discreetly deliver her message, assuring her that Brin would not find out.
There was no sign of Patrick awakening, so after breakfast everyone returned to the library to look for any mention of the city of Orion. They soon discovered that a large portion of the books were not written in languages that the others could understand, so these were passed on to Sam and Dean. By mid-afternoon, everyone was stiff and sore from sitting for too long and nobody had found anything of any use. They decided to give themselves the rest of the afternoon off and spend a few hours exploring the grounds. The gardens surrounding the castle were very well looked after, with plants and flowers planted so that the multitude of colours that could be seen perfectly complimented each other.
Dean took Sam’s hand as they walked. It was a warm sunny afternoon with a gentle breeze bathing them in pleasant fragrances. He marvelled at how wonderful everything looked. Having been blind for most of his life, he appreciated beauty more than most people. Dean talked, and Sam listened. He spoke of the amazing things he had seen since regaining his vision; things he had only ever dreamed of.
Something had been bothering Sam for a while and she decided that this was the ideal time to bring it up. They were seated on a stone bench, looking at a small fountain, quietly enjoying just being close to each other.
“Are you disappointed?” she asked. The question took Dean by surprise.
“In what?” he asked.
“In me. I am not exactly pretty.” She turned to face him, her eyes staring into his. “The first time you saw my face, didn’t you feel that you had always imagined me to look better.”
Dean laughed. “This has been bothering you since you first found out I could see, hasn’t it?” She nodded her head, too embarrassed to speak. Still smiling, he stood up and held his hand out to her. “Come with me.”
He led her back into the castle and up to the room they had been sharing. On one wall was a full length mirror and it was to this he headed. He placed her in front of it and stood behind, his hands on her shoulders. “Look at yourself and tell me what you see.”
She did as instructed. “I’m Miss Average,” she replied. “Easily forgotten. Plain face, unremarkable hair, lips too thin, eyes too small.”
“Now let me tell you what I see. I see a friendly face that, thanks to the pregnancy, glows. I see shining hair that has always been the softest I have ever touched. I see eyes that sparkle and a mouth that is so kissable I sometimes find it impossible to resist. You are better than I could ever have imagined. How could I possibly be disappointed?” He folded his arms around her and kissed her neck. “Also,” he added, “from touch alone I had a pretty good idea of what you looked like.” Sam was too overcome with emotion to speak.
They spent the evening playing card and dice games. Seth and Modo retired early for the night, frustrated at constantly losing to Ria. “How do you keep winning?” Oak asked her once they had left the room.
“Simple,” Ria said with a smile. “I cheat.”
“But how? I have been watching the game closely all evening and saw nothing.”
Ria laughed lightly. “Distraction mainly. You all know that Modo is a cheat. He was cheating at a card game when Tor first met him. You, like everyone else, were spending so much time watching Modo that you did not notice what I was doing. Of course, I also made sure I did not win any of the big hands.”
Oak wasn’t happy with this answer. She was right, he had been paying closer attention to Modo than anyone else, but he had been watching her a lot as well and had seen her do nothing suspicious. No matter how much he badgered her, she refused to tell him her technique, until eventually he gave up and went to his bed to sulk. The others slowly drifted off until Hawk was left alone. They would resume their habit of sleeping during the day and travelling at night once they were back on the road, but for now they all needed to get some rest as they would hopefully be leaving early the next morning.
––––––––
It was still dark when Patrick realised that he could smell coffee. He tentatively opened his eyes, but could see nothing. He closed them again and waited; his sight would soon return. When he tried again a few minutes later, the moonlight revealed a steaming cup beside his bed. Either Feleen had good timing or she had been replacing it at regular intervals during the night. He sat up, picked it up very carefully, as his sense of touch had not fully returned, and took a sip. He could not taste it. He swore quietly and put the cup back down. Why did his sense of taste always take so long to return? he wondered, as he had done many times in the past.
He swung his legs off the bed and stood up, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. This time he swore loudly, his hands automatically going to the bloody hole in his shirt that the knife had caused. He practically ripped the garment from his body, throwing it to the floor in disgust. He grabbed another one from the wardrobe and was still buttoning it as he left his room in search of his housekeeper, picking the ruined shirt off the floor as he passed it.
He found her in the kitchen, chatting with Mrs Willard as she kneaded some dough. “What is this?” he yelled, throwing the shirt at Feleen before saying a gruff ‘good morning’ to the cook.
“It appears to be a shirt,” Feleen replied, smiling sweetly.
“I know it is a bloody shirt. I was wearing it when you killed me. Why, pray tell, does it have a slice in it that looks like it was made by a knife? I am pretty sure poison does not cause that to happen.”
“You know,” Feleen replied, not even trying to keep the sarcasm out of her voice, “I think you are right.”
“What happened?” he shouted, slamming his fist on the table.
“Falcon did not trust that the poison had actually killed you so I had to prove it to him.” While Feleen spoke, Mrs Willard poured a fresh cup of coffee and slid it across the table to Patrick, who sank down into a nearby chair.
“Did it not occur to you to remove my shirt first?” he asked, a little more calmly.
“Obviously not,” a voice said from behind them. All three turned to see Hawk walking into the kitchen. “I heard voices, so I thought I would investigate,” he explained.
“Take a seat,” Patrick said amicably. “Did I miss much while I was dead?”
Hawk sat down, refusing Mrs Willard’s offer of coffee. “A little. Feleen told us where The Last Retreat is.”
“Good. Where?”
“Orion.”
Patrick, who had just taken a mouthful of coffee, choked. “Orion? The plague city?” Hawk nodded. “Great. I wish I had stayed dead.”