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A High Priestess magically heals an unusual Gray Wolf, and  a mysterious Traveller comes back from his Journey in the Underworld.

She heard the faint sound again. It was definitely coming from the other side of the elderberry bushes. She set the basket down, and, gripping the sica in her right hand, parted the branches carefully and stepped over the ferns underneath.

The great gray wolf was lying on the side, half covered by the thick fern leaves. In the dim light she saw the dark spot of blood, the arrow sticking out, then the front paw moved slightly against the dry leaves making them rustle like a whisper. The beast was still alive. With slow, careful motions, she half-crawled near it. The wolf half-opened its eyes and looked at her, it’s gaze moving towards the curved blade in her hand, then towards the silver circlet on her forehead, then, with a deep sigh, it closed its eyes again.

Moving ever so slowly, she backed from the brush and turned to her basket. Rummaging through the leaves and stems and blossoms, her hand deftly picked a few and stuffed them in one of the deep pockets of her apron. She grabbed the little clay pipkin and made it back to the wolf.

Tucking the sica in her belt, she drew out the fistful of leaves from her apron and started rubbing them in her hands, whispering to them, then squeezed the juices in her pipkin. She took the small water-skin hanging at her neck and took a sip of water that she spat in the pipkin. And another. And another. The wolf opened its eyes again and looked at her. She took her blade from her belt and with the handle she started stirring the mixture in the small pipkin. The wolf was watching. She set the sica down and slowly, she took a sip of the mixture and slowly, drew closer to the wolf and kneeled. Gently bending over the beast, she lifted its head and cradled it in her arms. Without warning or growling, the wolf’s upper lip lifted, showing array of white fangs. She started humming and her head drew closer to the big muzzle, until her lips touched the fearsome fangs. Still humming, she pushed with her tongue bits of crushed leaves and liquid into the wolf’s mouth. After seconds that seemed hours, the wolf swallowed. The great yellow eyes, still locked into her eyes, slowly closed, and then the great beast went limp. With care she set the big head back on the ground, and went to kneel on its side.

Her right hand went on the arrow shaft, her left caressing the bloodstained rough fur on the ribs, feeling the trickle of life there almost fading. There was no time to waste. She started calling, first in a whisper, then louder and louder, and then there was a flash of light, and thunder without sound wrestled the forest around, leaves flying in a whirlwind with no wind. The silence that followed was deafening. Her head bent in exhaustion, she looked. The arrow wasn’t there anymore. The Gods had heard her. Both hands on the great beast, she started humming again, this time whispered chants, and after a few moments the wolf’s chest slowly raised, and fell, and raised again, in the rhythm of her chants. The Sun was almost setting when she stopped. The life she could feel under her hands now was stronger, and the breathing regular. The wolf was sleeping a health-bringing sleep.

She grabbed the hem of her long skirt and using the curved blade ripped a strip of the fabric all around. She cut a piece of it and dipped it in the pipkin, soaking it in the dregs, then set it on the wolf’s wound; it wasn’t bleeding anymore. Struggling with the weight, she brought the long strip of cloth under the wolf’s body and around, securing the poultice. She sat down near the wolf and drank deeply from her little water-skin. Where was her mind? The wolf needed water too. She sprang to her feet, and stepping carefully, got out of the bushes. She rushed towards the setting Sun, where the three springs were. By the time she got back, the small meadow was bathed in the moonlight. Parting the branches, water-skin in hand, she entered the elderberry bush. The wolf was gone.

Her brow in a frown, she gathered her forgotten basket and started walking back through the forest. At least the wolf was well enough to walk now if it had left that spot. But who was it? She has never seen one so big yet.

The moon had traveled two hand widths on the skies when she reached the Temple. One of her Apprentices, seeing her, darted through the columns, eager to talk to her, then, looking at the basket in her hand, closed her mouth and fell behind, following her in silence. She could feel the young girl’s impatience, and smiled while deliberately slowing down her pace. She turned to the right and went down the stone steps to the big room where the herbs were stored and prepared. The moment one of the older women came and took the basket from her, the young apprentice burst out: “Are you well, Lady? All the other Priestesses were back long time ago. I was worried. Lady, what happened? There’s blood on your dress, and oh, the beautiful hem is gone!” Still smiling, she turned around and patted gently the rosy cheek: “Everything is well, child, everything is well. Now hurry, go get one of my other dresses ready, the one with the serpents running around the hem should do nicely for tonight.”

A little later, gathering her skirts, she took her seat in the Great Hall. Among the animated whispered conversations, the acolytes and apprentices bustling all around, arranging and re-arranging the wreaths of pine-tree and replenishing the wood in the big braziers, nobody seemed to notice her. The Throne of the Lady, at one end of the great Hall, covered in bear-furs, seemed to irradiate power, as if it was imbued with the power of the Great Priestess. A Cloud-Walker Priest came close to her and whispered “My Lady Andrada, I have two men from the Caliman Peak who are waiting for justice from the High Priestesses. They have traveled for two days to reach the Sacred Mountain.” “We shall listen to their plea, Kapnobatai. Bring them to us”. Around her formed the same crowd as around all the other High Priestesses, people telling her of their small problems, in low voices, hail is ruining our vineyard on the slope, My Lady, we need a salmanar sent there, Lady, we have children getting sick in the valley, we think something is poisoning the springs, maybe one of the filthy dwarves of the deep is burrowing in the mountain and touching the water, and the droning went on and on.

With a hiss, all the torches in the Hall raised their flames once again as tall. People squinted and even closed their eyes at the unexpected light. All of a sudden, the Lady was there, sitting on her Throne, all-knowing eyes in an ageless face seeming to look in your very soul. Like their very life depended on it, the youngsters and the commoners withdrew in a hurry, while the fierce tribe Lords and the Priests straightened themselves along the walls, behind the chairs of the High Priestesses. The crackling of the burning pine-tree branches in the braziers around the Black Andesite Sun in the middle of the Hall was the only sound to be heard for long moments. Then Hestia, hitting the stone floor with her great staff, rose from the Throne. Her voice boomed, echoes reverberating among the granite columns: “Bring the Messenger to Me!”

All eyes turned to the tall bronze doors. A group of Wolf-Warriors was coming in, the muscles on their naked torsos glistening in the light of the fire like rubbed with oil. They stopped twelve steps from the Throne and, all as one, fell on one knee, heads bent and right fist to their chest. Then the one in their middle raised and approached the Great Priestess. He was the tallest of the group and the strongest, the bronze armbands barely seemed to contain the strength of his upper arms, and Andrada couldn’t stop herself from blushing when she saw the thin strip of white fabric around his middle.

“My Queen Hestia, the signs have appeared on the Sacred Stone. They are strong and deep, and both faces of the stone are covered. He has come to the end of the Journey”. The Great Priestess extended her hand, palm up. With great care, the tall warrior pulled on the leather thong that was holding the snakeskin pouch at his belt, and turned it upside down above her palm. A white stone, covered in inscriptions, fell in the great Priestess’s hand, pulsating with inner light, like a white fire was burning inside it. Hestia looked at it, and for a moment, closed her hand around the stone. The Light seemed to pulsate through her flesh. She started walking towards the Black Sun altar, the Wolf Warriors moving to the sides. By the time she reached the round Andesite rock, the twelve High Priestesses were already forming a circle around it.

“The time has come, Sisters, to bring our Traveler back. Long has been his Journey in the Underworld, and much has he learned from our Ancestors and Gods”. The voice of Hestia, deep and rich, started humming. The priestesses joined in chant, and the Lords and Priests and Wolf-Warriors banged their weapons on their shields. Louder and louder was the chant, and the hands of the women in the circle around the Black Sun raised, the Sacred Stone’s white fire pulsating stronger and stronger, and above the round black rock short spears of lightning appeared. Through the narrow wall openings in the walls of the Great Hall, one could see black clouds gathering at incredible speed, and their lightning and thunder soon mirrored the ones above the altar. The chant raised even higher, ululating voices like wolf howls and rapping iron against bronze following each booming thunder, and then, in a blinding white light, the lightning on the altar joined the lightning of the clouds and the High Priestesses all fell in a heap.

In the abrupt silence that followed, Hestia looked up to the tall figure that had appeared on the black rock, the hint of a pleased smile in her eyes.

“Welcome back, Zalmoxes, my Son”