The Life Tree was dying.  A great, black cloud had enveloped the branches and a dark, ichorous sludge came up from below to poison the roots.  Saera was trying to run to it, but her robes tangled about her legs.  Dead leaves, sticky with poison and glowing a sickly yellow, clogged the aisle and pulled at her.  Exhaustion was weighing her down as surely as the sky-blue robes weaving about her ankles like a malicious cat.  Loose strands of hair blinding her like streaks of blood.  She could hear Maia sobbing and moaning, helpless to reach Her.  What could she do if she did?  She was only Saera.  One child alone against an alien terror.

Saera woke with a cry strangled in her throat.  Her white robes clung to her with sweat, twisting about her thrashing legs.  A weak voice was calling her name and she sat up, trying to understand where she was.  The House of Healing... Mother Ama!

Fighting her way clear of tangled robes and bedding, Saera rose from the cot and crossed the room.  "I'm here, Grandmother." 

"Yuh....you.." The woman who was once the most powerful voice of her world struggled in frustration to articulate a few, brief words, "...duh-ruh...eam?"

"It was just a nightmare, one I've had before, that's all."  Saera tried to shrug it off, not wanting to distress the former High Priestess, pretending not to notice the difficulty with which the question was spoken, or the sagging of mouth and eye.

While physically debilitated, her mind was as sharp as ever.  Mother Ama fixed her granddaughter with that familiar, piercing, blue gaze.  Though the lid drooped over the right eye, it was still steady and no-less effective.  "NOT no-thing!"  Little more than a bare whisper, yet spoken with unmistakable force, "Time Mai-ya to ghe...give study fuhr yoou.  Go, tell duhream....NOW." 

"I will go to Her when you are well, grandmother.  It will wait." 

Trembling and exhausted, Mother Ama sank back into the pillow, her left hand gripping Saera's with surprising force.  She spoke once more, so weak she could do little more than mouth the syllables, "No, now."  Releasing the girls hand with a sigh as she drifted into sleep, "go....".

Reluctantly, Saera rose from where she kneeled by the bed and turned towards the door to find Sherrel standing there.

The younger girl echoed the priestess' last whisper, "Go." and took a seat next to the bed.  "I'll stay with her, she will probably sleep for a few hours."

Saera opened her mouth to protest but was firmly forestalled by an upraised hand.  "She'll rest easier if you do as she wishes.  If there is any major change, I'll send for you." 

Loathe to leave, Saera knew Sherrel was right.  Nodding once in assent, she turned and headed for the Temple - and the destiny she had been born for. 

Moving down the hallway towards the main room, Saera could hear a kind of rustling, rumbling, whisper that grew louder with each step.  Remembering the storm that had preceded her grandmothers attack, a chill ran up her spine.  She opened the door with a sense of foreboding and discovered a disturbance of a different kind. 

Milling about the Healers yard were about thirty priestesses.  Shifting into clusters; then separating and re-forming within the confining walls of the Temple, dining hall and brewery.  They swirled this way and that through the small area, alabaster leaves caught in a current that piled them against the steps of the House of Healing, only to flutter away again with the next gust of wind.  Sister Kiera was standing before the steps refusing them entrance and they weren't the least bit happy about it. A tide crashing against an outcrop of stone, voices pounding against her in an attempt to erode her resolve to keep them from the door.  The Healer stood fast, arms crossed and mouth drawn tight against their persistent onslaught. 

As soon as they caught sight of Saera, their attention shifted to her.  There was a sudden quiet, a great intake of breath, a pause.  Then the storm hit her full on in the form of more than a score of agitated women pelting her with questions like hail stones.

"Where is the High Priestess?"  was demanded by several in chorus, while others were shouting things like, "Is she alive?"  " Will she recover?"  and  "When will she speak to us?"

A large woman with broad shoulders and a square face pushed her way to the fore of the crowd.  Silence again. Complete, prolonged, silence.  The hair rose on Saera's arms and the back of her neck.  She wanted to cringe away as if from an anticipated lightening strike.  She stood her ground, schooling her face into what she hoped was a calm demeanor.  Heart pounding and stumbling in panic, she lifted her chin, bracing for the assault.  A few in the crowd recognized her grandmother in her at that moment and nodded. 

The woman narrowed mud-brown eyes already too small for her face, so that they almost disappeared beneath her heavy brows, taking in her opponents defensive stance.  She also took notice of the slight trembling of her lips and how tightly her hands were gripped in her robes.  Her own square jaw set harder.  With a decisive nod, she spoke.  "Saera, there is some concern among us about Mother Ama's condition.",  She emphasized the High Priestess' name, refusing to commit the blasphemy of acknowledging Saera's status as her granddaughter.  "I understand you have been with her..." pausing to imply this should not be so, "and hoped you would tell us more than Sister Kiera has been willing to do!",  a curt nod towards the Healer whose face looked as if she were brewing a thunderstorm of her own. 

Saera searched her mind for the name of the woman before her...  Melan.  Anger was rising in her now and her fear scattered before it's fury.  Seeing her face, a few of the priestesses scattered, as well.  They knew that look all too well, although the last face they'd seen it on was that of the High Priestess.  Still others among them moved forward in anticipation, they, too, knew that look.  This was going to get ugly, and they weren't going to miss a moment. 

"Sister Melan"  Saera spoke sweetly, but her eyes, though green rather than blue, were penetrating.  "I have not seen you since you threw that book at my friend A'lisha..."  This had been a big scandal and Melan been suspended from teaching and forced to do cleaning duties in the stables for 6 months, "how have you been?  I assume you are back to teaching now, hopefully the books are staying on the tables and not flying through the air."  There were some gasps, and several snickers.  Yes, THIS was going to be interesting! 

The hostility on Sister Melans' face proved to Saera that she'd hit the mark.  Had she gone too far?  Maybe.  Did she care?  Not a bit.  The woman had already set herself up as Saera's enemy, there was nothing to be gained by courting her with kind words.  Besides, she was still angry at her for throwing that book at her best friend! 

Before she could retaliate, Saera went on;  "I'm sure my grandmother will be sooo pleased to know you were asking after her.  I'll be certain to tell her as soon as I return."  Ready to put an end to this before the large woman could recover,  "Grandmother and I..."  again she emphasized her relationship to the High Priestess, she would NOT be made to feel ashamed of it! " ...have a great many arrangements to make."  Let them wonder a little longer. 

They would know soon enough that Mother Ama would not be naming her granddaughter as High Priestess. Some may know already, if Sherrel had had a chance to speak to anyone about it.  Apparently, Sister Melan had not heard that bit of news.  She brushed past Melan as if she had already dismissed her from her mind, stepping aside deftly when Melan tried to block her;  "For now, however, you will excuse me."  She made it a statement, a demand, rather than a request.  "I have an urgent appointment with Maia and I WILL NOT keep The Goddess waiting any longer!"  the crowd parted before her in respect as she proceeded to the Temple.  Sister Melan watched her go, a cold, hard rage settling about her.  Saera didn't have to look back to see it.  She knew the battle was on.  She also knew she had already won. 

What Sister Melan was really after was Mother Ama's position.  If the High Priestess could no longer perform her duties, then she must appoint her replacement.  If she died or was otherwise unable to make the appointment, the senior priestesses would elect one among themselves.  Their biggest fear was that her grandmother would appoint HER.  Women with small minds like Melans hated one thing more than anything else; anyone they couldn't control. 

They may not yet know that Saera would never be a candidate to replace Mother Ama, but they now knew that she would not be controlled by them.  She had made enemies of more than one priestess today.  So be it.  She was not going to let them trouble her grandmother with their petty machinations, nor would Sister Kiera. 

Now there was a woman Saera could and would recommend, if her advice was sought on the matter!  She resolved to do so.  At the moment it was time to put aside all of that and focus on her own destiny.  To save two worlds...somehow.  Remembering her dream, she shuddered as she entered the Temple. 

The aisle was clear, no putrid yellow leaves entangled her legs as she approached the altar.  The candles burned bright and clear, old tapers had just been replaced with new.  A rich glow illuminated the underside of the Life Tree's branches.  A brighter light came from the Tree itself.  Maia was waiting. 

Sherrel sat beside Mother Ama's bed.  Knowing it could be hours before Saera returned, she busied herself with the sewing she carried in her deep pockets.  Concentrating on the small stitches, the flow of the thread through the fine linen, helped to calm her mind and soul.   Like the soft clicking of prayer sticks or the slow breathing of meditation.  She was so deeply engrossed in it, the sudden whisper that broke the silence almost made her jump and drop the cloth.

"Saera....gone to Maia?"  the Priestess' voice came a little stronger now, though not without effort.  Even so, it was soft and halting.  "Yes, Mother, as you bid her."  Sherrel reassured her.  Laying her sewing in her lap and reaching for the cup of juice sitting by the bed, she tilted it to the pale lips. 

Mother Ama drank, the younger woman supporting her with an arm behind her head and shoulders.  A straw lay on the table next to the bed, but Sherrel knew patients with paralysis on one side of the mouth often drank easier from the cup.  After a few sips she let the older woman lay back against the pillows.

"What, thah?"  Mouth twisting at the broken sentence, she tried again, articulating carefully,  "What iss tha-t?" She indicated the fabric in Sherrels' hands.

"Oh, just a bit of sewing.  A small pillow. I'm making a border around this piece for the front of it.  I'm going to make a design in the center, although I'm not sure what it will be, yet."  She held out the square of linen she was stitching for the Priestess to see.  Mother Ama could see that it was fine work, surprisingly so.  In fact, it was as good as anything she'd ever seen.

With effort, she lifted her hands before her, viewing the crumpled right hand for the first time.  When she tried to move it, all she got was a slight aflutter from the smallest finger.  Little more than a twitch.  Dropping it to the bed, she sighed.  "I wa..was very guhd at thah, no more."

"Oh, that." Sherrel dismissed the hand with a flick of her own fingers, "that will get better.  You're already talking better!  It will just take a little time and some work on your part."  Reaching for the offending hand, she gently pulled it open and began to massage it.  "We'll have you sewing as well as ever in no time!"  The girl knew she was perhaps exaggerating slightly, but not much.  A woman with this one's strength of will had a good chance of making a remarkable recovery.  The important thing as that she not be allowed to give up.  She smiled down at her patient, a dimple suddenly appearing like the first star in the night sky.

"Your name... Sherrel?"  She surprised the girl, who never would have guessed she even knew her name.  Why would THE High Priestess remember someone like her?  The startled look on Sherrels' face drew a dry chuckle from her.  "Yes, I know who yuh arre.  I wass the one who found yuh on that choosing."  Her voice grew more confident with each word.  "I remember all my girls."

Clearly, it was something the girl had never been told, that Mother Ama herself had chosen her.  The information made Sherrel self-conscious and uneasy, somehow.  As if she suddenly had more to live up to than just being herself and a good healer. 

The priestess studied this enigma of a girl.  Calm, wise beyond her years.  Saera would need a friend.  One who could counsel her, listen and keep things to herself.  She had a fuzzy memory of Sherrel telling Saera to go to Maia, as she had asked.  Firmly, but kindly.  Yes, this was someone she could trust to help Saera.  And, her grandaughter was going to need all the help she could get soon.  Coming to a swift decision, she spoke again.

"I would like.. tell yuh a-bout Saeras 'nishashun....."  Haltingly, she told Sherrel the story of how her grandaughter came to be the Chosen One, and what it meant to their world. 
 
 

David sat miserably in a small holding cell at juvi-hall, waiting for the social worker who was supposed to evaluate him before he went before the judge.  He had no idea what they would do with him.  Put him in a detention center?  A work-farm?  He had no idea.  He'd never been in this much trouble before.  Petty shit, a slap on the wrist, home again with 6 months probation tops.  Once he'd had to do some community service.  Some liberal juvi-judge who thought it would be good for him to mop floors at a nursing home for a couple months.  Right.

This, he knew, was going to be no walk in the park.  He would be lucky to get a few months in a detention center.  No WAY  was he going to some boot camp where they treated you like prisoners of war or something!  He'd find some way to cut loose and run away before he'd put up with that crap.  David Rainwater wasn't gonna lick boots for some cop on a power trip.  Yeah, right...even in his own head it sounded lame.  He'd take what they gave him and that would be that.  Be the doormat his dad was to the whole stinkin' world.  Well, except when he was drunk.  Then David became  His  doormat.  Until last night.

David sometimes thought their last name should be Firewater instead of Rainwater. His dad sure acted like the typical drunk redskin of every story you'd ever heard when he'd had a couple.  Couple of beers, couple of whiskeys, couple of gins....whatever.  Didn't really matter to Donnie Rainwater, as long as it was booze.  He drank beers to "relax" after work and passed out in front of the TV set.  When he was mad he'd go for the harder stuff.  That was when he got to whinin' and cryin'....and then got mean.  Last night he got meaner than usual.

He never knew what to expect when he got home from his after-school job at the produce market.  It was only a couple of hours, 3-4 days a week, sweeping up and carrying the baskets of fruit and vegetables in from the sidewalk at closing.  Stuff any moron could do.  He was the moron who did it at Perrys when the 'other'  moron, Snake, wasn't doing it. 

It was payday and Snake had walked home with him after dropping by the store for the fifteen-bucks cash they each got paid for the week.  They had swung by David's apartment to drop off his school books so they could grab a burger.  As soon as the door swung inward they both stopped dead.  David ducked.  Snake wasn't fast enough and caught an ashtray with the middle of his face.  Holding a bleeding nose he reeled back, stumbling a few feet down the hallway to safety.

Donnie was in the middle of the living/dining/kitchen area, throwing anything he could heft against various walls.  He was loudly cursing in a creative mixture of English and his Native American tongue, spit spraying with every expletive. 

"Dad! What the hell are you doing?!" 

David had to yell at the top of his lungs to penetrate his fathers verbal tirade, punctuated by the sound of a stereo speaker knocking a hole in the wall above the sofa.  Voice breaking at the strain to his fourteen-year-old vocal chords. His father turned in a cloud of crow-feather hair, eyes incoherent with anger.  His eyes were so bloodshot that their amber irises glowed.  Pupils dilated to bottomless pits, surrounded by the fires of hell.

"That bastard Murdock fired me!"  Hoarse from screaming, he took a swig from the Old Overholt bottle sitting on the kitchen bar.  How it had escaped destruction from flying debris was anyone's guess.  "I had a couple beers during my lunch hour, dozed off for 30 minutes.  Wake up to find him kicking me and throwing my tools at me.  Told me to pack it up and keep my 'drunk injun' ass away from his job site!"  Finding the bottom of the bottle, he threw it at the furthest wall, listening to it crash with a satisfying ring.  It showered and slithered into the sink below it. 

"I still had ten minutes left on my lunch hour.  It's not like I was drinkin' and nappin' on his time!"  His bare chest heaved, bleeding where bits of destruction had ricocheted back from the walls.

David surveyed the room....saw that his aquarium had ended up splintered all over the sofa.  His fish! Tears swam to the surface.  He'd bought the aquarium at a pawn shop with his first two month's pay, had chosen each fish carefully for it's beauty and personality.  Some he'd had to save for. 

Picking his way through the carnage, he found his collection of Japanese Ryukin trailed through the living room from where the aquarium stand still stood near the door.  All dead.  His father had evidently smashed the aquarium, then thrown it across the room when enough water had drained out to lift it.  Still, it would have been weighty.  Unfortunately, his father's wiry strength combined with years as a framing carpenter had been sufficient to complete the total ruin of what his son had spent over a year lovingly creating.  Not to mention nearly three-hundred dollars.\

For the first time in his life, David exploded in a fury that came near to matching his father's.  Black hair whipped across his face, stinging his eyes.  Snake peeked back around the door frame, wads of tissue stuffed in his nostrils and shirt soaked red, just in time to see his friends clenched fist connect with Donnie's jaw.

Donnie's eyes rolled back in his head as his head jerked back.  Already off-balance and heavily inebriated, he dropped like a brick.  He landed in a heap amidst the ruin of the living room....and began to snore. 

Snake gasped once, snorted, then began to laugh harder and harder...holding his nose and giving little moans of pain at intervals.  David stared down where his father lay passed out at his feet, glanced at his friend, looked back at his father.  Kicking Donnies limp leg only induced him to deeper, more jagged, snoring.  David giggled, looking at Snake.  He suddenly found his own knees collapsing as he sank to the mess on the wet couch and laughed until tears ran.  Feeling the shards of glass shift beneath him on the couch, he looked down at the floor and spotted his favorite fish, Spotted Dragon.  The laughter shifted to sobs as the tears continued to flow. 

Uncomfortable at seeing his friend crying, Snake shifted his vision and looked around the room, taking in the scene.  Everything was trashed.  Most of the furniture toppled, the TV and stereo in a twisted heap.  Window shattered.  The carpet was soaked.  Glass everywhere.  Yeah, David's old man had done a stellar job of destroying everything he'd worked for and could no longer afford to replace, now that he'd been fired.  "Good move, dumb ass". 

Seeing the dead fish scattered through the wreckage, he realized why David was crying. "Aw, man! Your fish," Stepping a foot or two into the room, sodden carpet squelching under his shoes, "Are they all dead?"

David lifted the bottom of his T-shirt to wipe his eyes and nose, nodded morosely, then stood slowly on shaky legs.  Taking a deep breath and looking around him, he turned and walked slowly for the bedroom.  A few moments later he returned in a clean shirt, a lumpy duffel bag under one arm and his denim and sheepskin jacket hanging over the other.  "C'mon, we'd better get out of here before he wakes up,"  kicking his fathers leg one last time on his way to the door, "unless you just really 'want'  to watch him kill me." He shouldered past Snake and out the door.

"Hang on a sec, man." David turned back to him, a question on his face. "Don't you think we'd better turn him on his side?  You know, so if he pukes he won't choke to death."

Rolling his eyes, David dropped his bag and jacket in the hall. Stomping back into the apartment,  he leaned down and turned his fathers limp body. "There, happy?"  Back out the door, he slipped into the jacket and shouldered the bag. "Now, lets get going."  Snake pulled the door shut behind him and hurried to catch up.

They ended up at a mobile home belonging to Snakes cousin, Jacob.  Jake had agreed to let David crash there till he figured out what to do, where he was gonna stay.  Getting out had been his only plan, he'd had no clear ideas beyond that.  It was trashed. Broken-down vehicles rusting in the yard, dirty clothes heaped on the floors and furniture, dishes and food rotting in the sink. 

David didn't care.  There was an empty room with a twin bed he could sleep in for a week or so, that was all that mattered at the moment.  He dropped his bag on the floor, pushed a stack of magazines off it onto the floor and fell asleep fully clothed.

Six hours later, he was awakened by all hell breaking loose.  Doors crashing in, windows breaking, yelling.   The bedroom door flew back against the wall as David rolled sleepily over.  A shadow appeared in the doorway, "Police!  Get on the floor with your hands in front of you!"

He didn't think they were going to believe he knew nothing about the shed out back where Jacob and his buddies had been cooking up home-made methamphetamines.  He had a record, he was a juvenile run-away...why would they believe him?  He wouldn't drag Snake into it, even though he could corroborate David's story.  He was sure his friend had no idea what kind of mischief his cousin had been up to, wouldn't have taken him there if he'd known.  He hoped not, anyway.  Thinking he had would have been more than he could take, a betrayal like that on top of everything else.  No, he was on his own with this one, with no real hope of getting out of it.

For now, he just wished the social worker would show up and do her little song-and-dance so they could get on with it.  The only thing he knew for sure was that he didn't want to go back to his dad's.  He'd ask them to put him in a foster home or something. It didn't matter.  Anywhere but there.

Finally, a rattle and clank as the door was unlocked, quiet squeak of the hinges.  A woman walked in, turned to the guard and said something, then turned back towards David. "Hello David," she sat down on the far end of the metal bed, perching on it's edge, " I'm Sophia Nardi."

David glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, took in her dark hair, black eyes, porcelain skin.  Probably Italian, then, about his dad's age.  Keeping her distance, good.  He leaned further towards the other end of the bed anyway and kept his head turned, nodding once to acknowledge her greeting.

"Looks like you're in quite a mess, David.  Care to tell me how it happened?"  She leaned forward slightly, trying to place herself in his field of vision.  He only shrugged.

"David, I'm here to help you.  I  'want'  to help you, believe it or not," standing and moving in front of him, "but I can't do much of anything unless you tell me why you were in that house and how much you knew." 

"I didn't know anything!"  David blurted, tears of anger and frustration burning in his eyes, "All I wanted was a place to crash for a few days, that's all!"  He shook, fighting not to break down and start sobbing like a frightened child.

"I see."  She returned to the end of the bed, so small and light it didn't even give when she resumed her seat on the edge, "We tried to contact your father.  He wasn't at home...but we did manage to track him down."

David snorted, "Probably at the nearest bar, right?"

"No...." she paused, then continued, "He was arrested last night for trying to start a fire at his former job-site," David turned his head and stared at her "as well as for public intoxication and assault. When the contractor showed up to speak to the police, your father hit him."

All David could do was shake his head.  It figured.  So they were both locked up, father and son, how fitting.  "Great, so now what?"

"So now, you have to get ready for your hearing.  I'll talk to the judge and the D.A. about your case, see what can be worked out.  The judge can appoint an attorney for you, if it's necessary.  Did they take samples yet to check for drugs?"

"Yeah," he shuddered at the memory, he HATED needles!   He turned to look at her, tears refusing to be held in check anymore, "What are they gonna do to me?"

The social worker reached into her soft-sided brief case and pulled out a plastic package of tissue.  Pulling a few free, she handed them to him silently.  "Mostly, that will depend on the tests, if you're clean.  I need you to tell me the whole story, though, why you were there."

Wiping his eyes and nose, David looked down at his feet with a sigh and shrugged.  He told her about coming home to find his father on a drunken rampage, knocking him flat and leaving, ending up at Jacob's for lack of anywhere else to go.  He explained that he barely knew Jacob, that he was just the cousin of "this guy I know" and had happened to have a spare bed at the moment.  Falling asleep and waking to find the police there.  He didn't even really find out why he was being arrested until they got to the juvi center.  By the time he finished, she was opening another package of tissues.  "They said they would tag my stuff and bring it here.  I hope they did, it's all I own now." 

"I'll check.  And don't worry.  If your tests come back clean...well, considering where your dad is and how he got there, it's obvious you're telling the truth.  Jacob took off through a window when the police got there, but they caught up with him.  I'm sure he can verify your story."  She rose to go, "It will be a couple of hours before your hearing comes up, try to get a little sleep till then, OK?" 

David nodded his head.  He stretched out on the bed as she left, feeling a little better.  She believed him!  He already knew his tests would be clean. Thanks to his dad, he never wanted to become dependent on any substance, so had never even tried pot.  If Jacob would tell them the truth about why David had been at his house, he should be fine.  I probably will end up in a foster home, he thought as he drifted off, but that will be better than home and definately better than prison...hopefully.
 
 

After a  tense breakfast - where David made a point to remain quiet and inconspicuous to avoid notice by some of the tougher residents of juvi-hall - he was called to a meeting with his social worker and an assistant attorney with the Atlanta Juvenile D.A.. 

The meeting had left him stunned and slightly off-balance.  He'd been defensive going in, convinced they were going to give him as much trouble as possible.  When the assistant J.D.A., Franklin Deering, had greeted him with a warm smile and a firm handshake, he relaxed slightly but remained on the alert.  The big man, almost as dark as his ink-black suit, had a straight-forward manner that put David at his ease. 

He invited David to call him Frank and waved him to a seat at the end of a long, narrow table.  Then he and Sophia Nardi took the first chairs on each side of him.  "Well, David, I have good news and bad news...how do you want it?"

"I guess I could use some good news."  David shrugged.  He perched uneasily on
the edge of the padded conference chair, both hands flat on the table, like an animal poised for flight.

"Okay.  The good news is that your friend, Snake, showed up to verify your story.  His cousin, Jacob, has also confirmed it."  David relaxed back into his chair in relief.  Frank leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees and hands dangling loosely between them.  He grinned, "I thought that  would make you feel better.  You're off the hook, kid, the drug charges have been dropped."  Pausing, he straightened, "You ready for the bad part now?"

David couldn't imagine anything that could be any worse than he'd just been through.  "Sure, I guess." he tensed and sat upright again.

Sophia caught Franks eye and put her hand on David's shoulder.  He turned to face her, the look of pity on her face filled him with dread.  "David," she said softly, "I'm afraid your father died early this morning."

He felt like she'd punched him in the stomach. Dizzy and feeling as if he couldn't breathe, David looked back and forth between the two for a long moment before he managed to croak out a single word, "How?"

Frank reached toward the center of the table where a pitcher of water sat, with glasses clustered around it like chicks around a hen.  Pouring water in one, he handed it to David,  making sure his shaking hands had hold of it before letting go.  "It was an aneurysm.  A blood vessel ruptured in his brain." he paused to make sure David was comprehending what he was telling him, when he saw a slight nod from the boy he continued,  "He went into a seizure in his cell, before they could get him to the hospital...he was gone."

Unable to do more than tremble and shake his head for several minutes, David tried to grasp the reality of the situation.  His father, dead.  Nevermind that Donnie Rainwater had not been the greatest of parents or that David had run away from him.  He was gone now and David was alone.

Sophia was speaking, "...want you to come stay with them."

"What? Who?"  David stared dumbly at her.

"Your grandparents, your father's parents.  We've contacted them and they want to take custody of you."  Sophia wanted to take his hand, but knew he would pull away from her.  She hoped his grandparents could reach through that shell and comfort him.  "Unless you have other relatives you'd rather go to?"

David stammered, "My grandparents?  They're dead....I don't have any relatives."
blinking in confusion, "My dad said...." his voice trailed off, mind trying to make sense
over what he'd been told.

Frank and Sophia exchanged glances.  Frank took a manila folder from the briefcase resting on the chair next to him and flipped through the papers within it.  Stopping on one, he ran his finger down the page, "Dave and Nola Rainwater, parents...They're listed as your fathers' next of kin to contact in case of emergency, on his processing forms from the county jail.  The forms he filled out last night when he was arrested."  He turned the file so David could see the form. "See, there's a phone number and
Texas address listed.  Sophia spoke to them an hour ago."

David took the folder, staring at the words written in his fathers handwriting.  His grandparents, alive.  Why had his father told him they were no longer living?  All this time, they were alive and he'd thought them dead.  He handed the folder back to Frank and turned to Sophia Nardi.  "You talked to them?"

"This morning, an hour ago" she nodded, "I've already arranged for a plane ticket and given them the arrival time so they can pick you up.  They're upset about your father, of course, but excited that you will be coming to live with them." She hesitated, then went on, "Your grandfather said he'd not seen you since you were a four.  He was afraid you wouldn't remember him."

"I don't, not really." David stared unseeing at the floor, "Just that he always wore moccasins, like a real Indian.  I told him I wanted to be a real Indian, like him." He blinked back tears, afraid if he let them go they wouldn't stop.  Raising his head, he looked from one to the other, "So, now what?"

"Now," said Frank, "I sign some papers so you can get your stuff."

"And then I," Sophia continued, "take you to pack the rest of your things and get you on the 1:00 flight to Texas."

Except for the exchange of directions as they made their way through the morning traffic, it had been a silent ride to the apartment.  Sophia knew David needed some time to get past the shock of his fathers death, the abrupt change in his circumstances.  He leaned his head against the passenger window of her Mazda, not really seeing the Atlanta streets they passed through.  He did rouse once and ask her to stop outside the small grocery where he worked, so he could tell them he was leaving and say good-bye to his friend, Snake.

"Man, that's a tough break." Snake slouched against the front of Perry's Grocery and ran his fingers through his hair, making it spike up in a dozen different directions.  He stared down at his sneakered feet, not sure what to say.

David slouched next to him and sighed. "Yeah.  I wanted to get away from him, but...not like this."  He smoothed his own jet hair, as if by doing so he could adjust his friends disarray.  Looking up at the waiting car, he straightened and reached for Snakes hand. "So, guess I probably won't see you again.  Texas is a long ways off."

Taking the offered hand, Snake grasped it. Palm-to-palm, fingers interlocked in a joined fist.  David patted him on the other shoulder with his free hand and then pulled him into a hug.  "Take care, man.  And stay away from your drug-dealing relatives."  Snake awkwardly returned the embrace, then broke free and dashed tears from his eyes with one sleeve. "You got it.  Give me a call sometime, k?"

David had already begun to back toward the car.  "You got it." he echoed.  He paused and swallowed, then abruptly rounded the front of the blue sedan and yanked the door open, dropping heavily into the seat and slamming the door.  "Let's go, then." he told the social worker sharply.

Snake watched the car pull away, lifting his hand in a wave just before it disappeared around the corner.  His arm dropped to his side and he turned, reaching out blindly for the broom he'd been sweeping the sidewalk with and reluctantly entering the store, head and shoulders drooping.

The smell assaulted them in the hallway as the apartment door swung open.   Dead fish, vomit, whiskey and over all the first hint of mildew.  Sophia flinched and hung back a moment, but David stepped in and quickly crossed to the bedroom door, feet squelching in the sodden carpet.  He went in and began gathering clothes into a
battered suitcase as she tiptoed towards the somewhat drier area of the kitchen linoleum.

He returned to the living room to see her surveying the wreckage in amazement.
Shrugging, he told her, "Guess we won't be getting the security deposit back."   He figured the downstairs neighbor had already called the super and complained about water dripping from the thin ceiling.  Well, he wouldn't be here to have to deal with it.  Taking the few surviving pictures from the walls, he hesitated over the remains of his aquarium.  Reaching down, he gingerly removed the oriental dragon ornament from the pile of gravel and carefully dried it on his shirttail.

He skirted the puddle of vomit in the center of the floor and returned to the bedroom, wrapping the pictures and the ornament in some clothes and placing them in the
open suitcase laying on the end of the bed, then closed it and carried it back to the living room. "Let's get out of here." he told Sophia, and headed for the hallway.

She squished along in his wake, pulling the door to and locking it.  "What the hell happened in there?" she asked, following him quickly down the stairs towards the fresh air of the sidewalk. 

"My Dad's last drunken rampage." David replied shortly as he stood at the back of the car, waiting for her to pop the trunk.  She reached in the drivers' side door and flipped the switch, climbing in as he slammed it closed again.  Pulling into the light stream of cars and accelerating away as soon as he had his seatbelt on, she understood well his reasons for running away the day before...and didn't blame him.

She tried to draw him out on the way to the Atlanta airport, with no success.  He finally did speak up while they had lunch in one of the many eateries within the sprawling complex, waiting for his flight.

"My Dad..." he hesitated, then went on, "He died of an aneurysm?"

"Yes, that's right." She sat her sub down and reached for her cola, waiting for him to continue.  She had been doing this job for 4 years and knew not to rush him.

David toyed with his chips for a moment, then looked up. "Could a blow to the
head cause that?"

Wondering why he'd asked that particular question, she answered, "Yes.  The weakness in the vessel wall was already there, but it was probably triggered by a blow he suffered to the head that night.  Why?"

All the blood drained from his face, making his lips stand out like a fresh bruise.  Alarmed, Sophia reached for his hand. "David! What is it?"

Speaking barely above a whisper, he stared at her. "I killed him."

"What? What do you mean?" She spoke more loudly than she meant to, and a couple at a nearby table stared at them. Taking a deep breath, she lowered her own voice.
"David, what are you talking about?"

"I hit him before I left, hard enough to knock him out."  He looked at her in anguish, "I killed my Dad."  He lowered his eyes and began to tremble.

Tightening her grasp on his hand, she gave a shaky laugh "David, as high as
his blood-alcohol was, that wouldn't have taken much more than a tap."  She took his other hand, "Look at me.  David, look at me."  He raised his eyes to her, desperation spilling from them.

"You did NOT kill your father!" she spoke firmly, "You hit him on the jaw, didn't you?" He nodded.

"A blow that could cause an aneurysm would have to be to the skull itself, and that came from his employer." David looked startled, then angry.

"You mean Murdock killed him?!" He almost shouted, their neighbors stared again in startled interest.

"David!" she hissed, "No! No one killed him.  Mr. Murdock hit him with a wrench, in self-defense." Releasing his hands, she sat up and tried to look normal, glaring at the man and woman seated next to them until they looked away. "There were paramedics on the scene, they checked him over.  He was conscious, not bleeding.  Said his head hurt, but that was to be expected."

Looking down, she saw a smear of mayonnaise on her sleeve where she'd sat her elbow down in her sandwich. She dabbed at it with a napkin and went on,  "They offered to take him to the hospital, he refused.  So, he was taken straight to the jail." Glancing up to see David listening intently, she continued,  "It wasn't until he went into a seizure early this morning that anyone realized there was anything wrong.  By then, it was too late."

David looked doubtful, but calmed down.  He finished his meal in silence, obviously considering whether or not she was telling him the truth.  He decided she must be,
or she would probably cancel his flight and haul him back to juvi to stand charges for his
fathers death.  He heard the call for his flight and stood nervously, taking a last drink of
his soda.

Sophia led him to the gate.  When they called for coach to board, he moved toward the forming line.  She stopped him, giving him a brief hug.   He was surprised by it, unable to do more than raise his arms uncertainly.  Stepping back from her, he smiled shyly.

"Thanks, for....everything." he looked down at his shoes, then up again as a thought struck him. "Arrangements will be made for my Dad?"

"The city will take care of it.  I have your grandparents address, I'll send you the
details."  He turned towards the boarding gate.

"David!" Looking back over his shoulder, he saw her smile and wave, "Have a good life, OK?"

Smiling back he answered her, "Thanks, I'll try." He handed his boarding pass to the attendant, who waved him  on.  Raising chin and squaring shoulders, he walked into the tunnel towards his new and unexpected future.
 
 

The weeks following her grandmothers collapse were exhausting for Saera.  She was relieved of her usual duties, which at this time had consisted of assisting in the weaving and dying of the fabrics used in the Temple holding, in order to help care for Mother Ama.  She also went daily to the Goddess for instruction.  Sleep was a luxury she found when and where she could.

The machinations of some of the priestesses vying for Mother Ama's favor became an annoyance to her and the healers.  It seemed everyone wanted to help, yet they would do nothing but pester the poor woman to name a successor.  Finally, Sister Kiera decreed that no one but Saera, Sherrel and A'lisha were allowed to assist the other healers in caring for the High Priestess.  An unpopular decision which she stoutly refused to budge on, to Saera's great relief.

Mother Ama's speech improved almost daily, with only a soft slur on some sounds, although the side of her face retained a slight droop.  Constant exercise of her hand
and arm helped her recover a great deal of function in them.  Her leg continued to be a
problem, even with assistance she could do little more than drag it along, which was
exhausting in the extreme.  Most of the time the girls pushed her in a special wheeled chair that had been devised between one of the healers and a blacksmith from a nearby village.  The girls sewed cushions for the seat, back and arms of the hard wooden chair to make it more comfortable.  The most distressing thing to her and Saera was the confusion she still felt at times, especially when she was tired. 

Sister Kiera held out little hope of further recovery and did not feel she was in great danger of another brainstorm.  So, after over six weeks of rest and special exercises, it was decided that she could leave the House of Healing.
 

"Keep your eyes closed, Grandmother." Saera instructed Mother Ama as she wheeled her over the rough ground, "We're almost there!"

With a soft, thump..thump..thump, the chair wheeled up an incline to a smoother, level, surface.  Amid whispers and giggles Mother Ama heard the click and squeak of a door opening and then felt one hard Bump! which startled her into opening her eyes.

She  looked around her in amazement as the three girls held their breath.  A large, airy room  opened out before her, filled with her own furniture.  Fireplaces were set in the walls at each end.  One for a sitting area, with her favorite chair before it, and the other with a spit and pot-hangers in a brightly lit kitchen.  A wide door stood in the center of the back wall, presumably leading to a sleeping area.

"Oh...my..." She turned and looked at the three girls waiting expectantly next to her, "It's lovely, girls.  You've done a wonderful job here." They all relaxed and beamed, then began talking excitedly.

"Lisha did the decorating, didn't she do well, Grandmother?"

"I tried to keep things where they were before, Mother Ama." A'lisha blushed, "So you could find them easily.

"We even had a ramp put in the front, for your chair," Sherrel pointed out the door behind them, "and we've left plenty of room between things for it and your walking frame." waving at the three-sided wooden frame used to assist in walking short distances, standing to one side of the doorway.

Saera ran to the closed door in the back wall, which slid handily into the wall.  She opened it to reveal a hallway with two doors to each side and another at the end. "There are two bedrooms! I'll be staying in one to help you..." adding shyly, "...if you need it."

Mother Ama peered down the hall, "What's at the end there?" referring to the third door.

"Oh!" Sherrel exclaimed, "That's the best part!"  Saera rolled the chair down the hallway as Sherrel ran to the door and slid it open with a flourish.

"An indoor privy!" she announced, moving into the room. "See this cabinet?" waving dramatically at a two-foot high box built against the back wall.  She approached it and lifted a lid on top, between two upright rails, to expose a varnished wooden seat with a hole in the center. "It goes into a big pipe that runs out to a privy-pit!" 

A spigot was set into the wall about 4 feet above the box, with a lift-valve on it. She lifted the handle of the valve, and a stream of water poured into the hole. "When you're done, you just wash it all away!"

"The rails are to help you sit down and get up without falling, grandmother." Saera pointed out from behind the chair.  She then swiveled the chair to the right "And there's a basin that works the same way!"  A slightly taller cabinet filled the corner, with a basin set into the top of it.  This had a small hole in the bottom and another spigot set in the wall above it.

Leaning forward in amazement, the Priestess flipped the lever up and watched the small stream of cold water flow into the varnished basin and down the hole. Smiling in delight she looked around and took in the bar on the wall next to it with three small towels hanging from it.  There was a knob on the front of the cabinet, she pulled it to reveal a shallow drawer containing scented soaps and a sponge for bathing.

"Isn't this wonderful!"  She took in the little room. A small window was set high in the back wall for ventilation, letting in bright sunlight.  A candle holder with a fresh beeswax candle stood on the wash-cabinet for use at night.  In the other corner were shelves with extra towels and a basket to put the wet ones in. "But what do you, ah... clean  yourself with?" she asked, with a wave at the privy cabinet.

Sherrel dramatically lifted a smaller lid on the privy cabinet to expose a box filled with sheets of paper.  "Terren, the paper-wright, has been experimenting with making this really thin paper" she pulled a square of paper from the box and handed it to Mother Ama, "See how soft it is?"

The Priestess rubbed it between her fingers, then against her cheek.  "Why, it is soft!"

"And it's so thin, it dissolves with the water, making it easy to wash away and not
over-filling the pit!" Saera pointed out, as proudly as if she'd invented the stuff herself.

"Thish is really wonderful girls, tis all truly amazing." Mother Ama smiled dreamily, "Do you think  I could go home, now?" she said in a small voice.

Hearing her grandmothers voice begin to slur and realizing her confusion, Saera looked to the other girls in dismay.  "You are home, dear." Tears spiked her eyelashes and she blinked.  She turned the wheeled chair around and rolled it gently down the hallway. "How about we get you some nice tea and you lay down for a rest, hmmm?" 

"That would be nice, Seren." the gray head nodded, "Make sure you don't brew
it too strong now, like you did lasht time."

A tear slipped loose and tickled down one side of Saera's nose, "I won't, don't worry." The door to the right was gently slid open by A'lisha, who then turned and went quietly to put the tea on while Saera and Sherrel eased the old woman into the bed.

"Do you think she'll ever get any better?" Saera's feet were curled under her, snuggled down into her grandmothers favorite chair, her tea growing cold between her hands.

Sherrel frowned into her own tea, "It's possible.  There are cases where people make full recoveries from brainstorms." Seeing her friends face lift towards her in hope, she hurried to add, "But to be honest, I don't think she will, or not much."  Hesitating, she continued, "Saera, there is also the possibility...you should know...she may
get worse." 

"I know." Her voice came out in a hoarse whisper.  Even though Sister Kiera had made her aware of the possibility, Saera had not yet admitted it to herself.  Now that
she did, her hands began to shake.

A'lisha kneeled before her, gently taking the cup from her hands and sitting it on a nearby table.  She took her friend in her arms, patting her back and making soothing sounds as the girl sobbed against her shoulder. "Go ahead, cry." She smoothed the brilliant fire of her hair, rocking slowly, "You need to cry, you  deserve to."

She was still unaware of the mystery surrounding her life-long friend, only knowing it had something to do with a special destiny chosen for her by The Goddess.  None of that mattered to her.  She felt deep sorrow for this girl, barely older than she was herself, who had so much on her young shoulders. And, fiercely protective of her.  Tightening her hold, she buried her face against the soft, white neck and cried herself.

After a few minutes, Saera's tears subsided, and she sat up.  Taking the handkerchief Sherrel handed to her she gurgled, "Thank you.", then blew her nose loudly. All three girls giggled. 

A'lisha rose from her knees, pulling a handkerchief from her pocket and applying it, a little more softly, to her own nose.  "Now look at your face," she teased Saera, "it's all splotchy, like a frost-nipped tomato!"

"Look at your own! Your nose is ripe!" Saera offered the crumpled square of cloth back to Sherrel, who waved it away with a wrinkled nose.

"Keep it! Yuk!" She rose and got fresh tea for the three of them, coming back and settling with an air of purpose.

"Saera, she has to choose a successor, as soon as possible."

Taking a slow sip of her tea, Saera nodded her head, "I know."  She glanced toward the quiet bedroom where her grandmothers soft snores could be heard. "She's better in the mornings, I think it should be tomorrow."

A'lisha glanced at Sherrel, who nodded, then turned to her friend. "It may be a good idea if you're not present."

"What?!" Saera looked from one to the other in startled incomprehension,  "Of course I'm going to be with her, what if she gets confused, or the strain causes another brainstorm?" Then her face flushed in anger, "How could you even suggest such a thing!

"Saera," Sherrel leaned toward her, "Others know about her...confusion...and they
may try to dispute her choice on those  grounds."

"Sister Melan" Saera spat the name.

"Yes, and others sympathetic to her." A'lisha continued Sherrels argument. "If you're there, well, they may try to make it seem as though you are prompting her into a
choice."

Saera nodded grimly, "And idiot that I am, I've made no secret of the fact that I have a preference for Sister Kiera." she groaned "If grandmother chooses her, whether I'm there or not, they'll still think it was my doing."

Sherrel had to agree, "Probably, but at least there will be little grounds for them to claim that to be the case."

"You know Sister Melan will protest anyone that is chosen over her, no matter who it is.  As is her right.  But if you're not there, they can't say you put the words in Mother Ama's mouth." A'lisha took Saera's hand, adding softly "Don't worry, Sherrel and I will be there to look out for her."

"Well, maybe the relief at finding out I'm not her successor will ease things somewhat."
Seeing the sense of their words, Saera acquiesced, reluctantly.  She still intended to be there, but she would stay at the back of the crowd, where no one could claim she had directly interfered in any way. 

A'lisha left to make the arrangements for the announcement, while Saera and Sherrel stayed to ready Mother Ama's garments for the morning...and wait for her to waken so they could make sure she was, indeed, ready to make the decision. 
 
 

     Saera entered the tree, shivering.  No matter how many times she went through the passage, she never got used to the feeling.  Still, in a way it was oddly comforting, being touched and passed on by the souls of those who had  gone before. Sometimes, she even thought she could feel her mother, Seren, there.

Stepping forward into the center, she felt the warm presence of the Goddess surround her.  She seldom showed herself, but Saera could always feel her.  Like a soft blanket that enveloped her in a loving welcome.  Even after months of coming  for instruction, the sense of awe nearly brought her to her knees. As always, the embrace of the Goddess held her upright.  No matter how humbled Saera might feel in Her presence, the Goddess would not allow her to drop in obedient respect.  Instead, Saera felt a sense of reverence coming from Maia to herself.  It made her feel terribly uncomfortable and not a little embarrassed.

"Thank you for coming to me once again, Chosen One." came the disembodied voice.  It seemed to emanate from the walls, the very air.

Saera responded as she always did, "It is I who must thank you, Mother, for allowing me to enter this holy place and receive the knowledge you gift me with." Once again, she felt the impulse to drop to her knees and, again, was prevented from doing so.  She would never feel comfortable with being treated as an equal in this place.

"Mother, I have not this day come for instruction in the ways of Earth, or what I must do there." Saera spoke quietly, head bowed. "I am sorely troubled, Lady."

There was a soft brush against Saeras hair, like a gentle breeze...or a hand of comfort. "This, I know, Daughter." The quiet illumination in the tree changed slightly; dimmer, velvety. "You worry for your Grandmother."

"Yes!" Tears slipped from her already reddened eyes, "How is she to get through this!  Are we pushing her too hard, too soon?" Saera sank miserably to the softly packed dirt floor, head huddled against her knees. 

The light shifted again and became a quiet glow.  Maia was there beside her, taking her in her arms.  She simply held her Chosen One and rocked her, crooning to her like a babe.  Finally, when the girl had relaxed against her, she laid a gentle butterfly-kiss against one temple and resumed speaking. 

"You and your friends are right, the Choosing must be now.  Your Grandmother will choose wisely, trust in her."

Saera felt the very real warmth of the Goddess.  The scent of growing things rose into her nostrils.  Not daring to lift her head and meet those eternal eyes, she tentatively reached out towards the deep flame of  hair lying against her face.  One curl wrapped itself around her finger, as if alive and separate from the rest of the mass...like a
tendril of ivy. 

Safe and secure in the arms of the Lady, she drifted into sleep. She woke a short time later to find herself lying before the tree, head pillowed on a soft bed of leaves.  A length of blood-red ivy curled about her hand.

It was fortunate that the area before the Temple was as large as it was, for everyone who could be spared from duties was packed into it.  Save for a few acolytes left to watch over those things that could not be left unattended and the Head Cook and her minions who were preparing the celebratory feast, every member of Temple Prime was there.  There were not a few from the nearby village swelling the crowd, as well.  Anyone who had had time and opportunity to come was there.

Saera joined the throng.  Close enough to see and hear well, but not so close that she was in her grandmothers' line of sight.  She watched anxiously as the soon-to-be former High Priestess walked out of the Temple between Sherrel and A'lisha.  She held to their arms, but walked steadily; back straight, head high.

They had washed her hair and dressed it in the corona of braids that she wore for important occasions.  Her white gown fell in soft and precise folds, looking as if they were carved from marble when she came to a stop and stood imposingly before the assemblage.

Looking out over the crowd with that penetrating blue gaze, she spoke no word, but complete silence fell as suddenly as an ax.

"Sisters and welcome guests, I am pleased that you have all come to witness my words as I choose my successor." There was a build-up of anticipation in the crowd, an electrical surge that swelled with an almost audible crackle. "I would first like to request that certain of you join me here."  She whispered to A'lisha, who stepped back behind her and waved her left hand toward the area at the top of the steps beside her.

"Sister Kiera, might I have the honor of your presence?" The voice rang distinct, except for her hand laid on Sherrels arm at her right for support, no one would ever know she was ill.

A murmur of speculation rose up as the Healer climbed the steps to stand beside Mother Ama, an impassive mask covering her features.  Saera knew that her grandmother had spoken with Sister Kiera briefly that morning, but had not been privy to the conversation.

Quelling the sudden unrest in the gathering with one glance, Mother Ama continued, "Sister Melan, please join me." This gave Saera a start.  The murmurs swelled once again, with several grumbles weaving through the building noise.  Sister Melan swept haughtily up the steps, a look of smug satisfaction on her face, but glaring daggers at Sister Kiera. The healer steadily ignored her.

"And finally," the Priestess' voice rang over the mumbling, "I would like to request Sister Elusine to attend me."  There was a distinct air of puzzlement now, no one had expected this. Saera heard questions stir around her...who was it?

Sister Elusine mounted the steps gracefully.  Her almost white-blonde hair lay in a thick braid down the center of her back, reaching nearly to her knees, her shoulders straight and narrow.  As she reached the top and turned, she directed gentle eyes the color
of periwinkles towards the crowd and lifted her pointed chin a fraction.  There was an
audible sigh at her swan-like beauty.  Saera thought she looked like one of the rulers the Goddess had told her about from Earth's' history.  A Saxon Queen.

Saera had seen Sister Elusine only recently, at the Weavers Hall.  She had lately come from Temple Tertian, although Saera had heard that she was originally from the secondary Temple at Dosin.  She was a Senior Priestess, reputed to have a great deal of knowledge in the dyeing of wool and fabric. 

Saera, like all of them, was surprised and puzzled to see her standing with the two other Senior Priestesses next to Mother Ama.  She tried to quell her thoughts
and wait.  Maia had told her to trust her grandmother to choose wisely.  She could do little else, in any case.

She watched her grandmother anxiously for signs of strain or fatigue, there were none, as yet.  Keeping a wary eye on Sister Melan, as well, she waited with the rest of the crowd to hear the outcome.  Who would be the new High Priestess? 

Mother Ama stilled the assemblage once more with one sweep of those eyes and spoke, "I have called you all here today," Well, actually, they had been called by Saera, Sherrel and A'lisha...but the Priestess had agreed with them when she was rested and able to think clearly, that the choosing must be done right away. "To hear my choice."

The crowd shifted, but remained quiet, attention rapt on the High Priestess. Saera held her breath...as did they all.

"As you all know, to my great sadness, my recent illness prevents me from continuing as High Priestess of Temple Prime. Therefore, I would ask.."  Here she trembled a bit and leaned more heavily on Sherrel's arm.  A'lisha moved closer and Saera took two steps forward, preventing herself from running to her grandmother's side only by the press around her and digging her nails into her palms.  The crowd gasped softly, Saera could feel them willing Mother Ama to stand firm and continue.

This seemed to strengthen her, Saera sighed in relief as Mother Ama straightened and continued; "It was a difficult decision, there were many good and qualified Priestesses to choose from, but I have chosen." She turned towards the three at her left, A'lisha moved closer to her side, "Sister Elusine, will you please stand forth as the new
High Priestess of Temple Prime?" there was a collective intake of breath throughout the square.  Sister Melan began to turn red.

Sister Elusine drifted forward, dropping gracefully to her knees before Mother Ama.  Pulling free from the two girls at each arm, the High Priestess placed both hands firmly on the flaxen head. "From this day until the day you choose your own successor, you will be known as Mother Elusine." She cupped the younger womans face between those steady hands and lifted her so that they stood eye-to-eye.  She then intoned the traditional words of the sacred oath: "Will you give your heart's promise to the Goddess, Maia, and to all people under your care; to make wise and careful decisions,  to always put the good of Temple Prime and all those under it's
guardianship before your own, to meet with and consult with the High Priestesses of Temple Dosin and Temple Tiersan in times of greater need to ensure the health, protection and well being of all citizens of Ur?"

The newly-named Mother Elusine met that piercing blue stare unflinchingly and replied in a clear, even voice, "I promise to do as the Goddess requires me, for the good of the whole of Ur."

The crowd sighed and began to surge forward, Mother Ama held up one hand and they all stopped dead. "I have the duty and right of a last request before stepping down as your High Priestess, this I would do now."

"Sister Kiera, Sister Melan, would you come to me please."  The new High Priestess moved calmly to one side as the two women stepped forward. "Though Mother Elusine is more than qualified to take on the responsibilities as High Priestess of Temple Prime, she is also fairly new here." She placed a hand on the shoulders of both women, "I would ask that you act as her Assistants, pledging yourselves to help her as she takes on her new duties here for as long as she may require you."  She paused and bore her blue eyes into Sister Melans' own muddy brown ones, "Sister Melan, do you so pledge?"

The woman stiffened, her jaw clenching, but sullenly gave way, "I so pledge." Saera breathed a sigh of relief as her grandmothers grip on Sister Melans shoulder relaxed and fell away.  Having pledged before nearly the entire populace of Temple Prime, she would be bound to fulfill Mother Ama's request.

"Sister Kiera, do you so pledge?"  The Senior Healer smiled and gave her pledge with obvious pleasure. 

The now-former High Priestess stepped back into the supporting arms of Sherrel and A'lisha, as Sisters Kiera and Melan took their places to either side of Mother Elusine.  The people thronged forward to welcome their new High Priestess, as the two girls led their charge back through the Temple doors.

Saera pushed her way through the chaos and slipped free from the edge of the
onlookers, heading back to her grandmothers small apartment, where her friends would be heading from the back of the Temple.  She heard Cook bellowing as she passed near the Hall where the feast would be served.  She doubted any of them would be joining in the celebration, instead staying quietly clear to tend Sister Ama.