Pug sat quietly, letting the drama before him unfold. He recognized that something momentous was taking place and was intent on understanding what he was seeing. Magnus stood behind his father, equally focused on the discussion. The three older Bloodwitches who had come to greet them were arrayed in a semi-circle of chairs. They all wore identical robes of black with orange shawl collars and broad orange belts, while the younger members of their order wore robes of white and orange.
Macros sat in a similar chair distant from them. He looked fatigued to the point of exhaustion and leaned on his staff for additional support. The centremost Bloodwitch said, ‘I am Audarun, the most senior sister of our order. To my left is Sabilla, and to my right Maurin, and we three form the Triarch, who ultimately rule the Sisterhood. We are also the keepers of knowledge and defenders of life.’ She looked at Macros and said, ‘How did you come to be the Gardener?’
Macros was silent. He looked from face to face and then finally said, ‘I don’t know. One day I was walking home from my place of business and I had a… seizure of some sort. I got dizzy and fell down behind a wall so as to not reveal weakness to anyone. Then I had memories of my last life and… I knew I was…’ His voice faltered. ‘I went home and felt… ill. I had dreams. I had a family. They were frightened. When I awoke my mate begged me to be strong, not to be taken and killed, but to return to work and keep them safe.’ He lowered his head. ‘I left that home and have never seen them again.’
‘Go on,’ said Audarun. ‘Where did you go?’
‘I walked a very long way. I don’t remember very much, save that I hid some times, and other times I merely walked down very busy streets as if I were on an errand. I stole food when no one was looking, and…" He closed his eyes, as if it would help him remember. ‘I came to a place.’
‘What place?’
‘I don’t remember.’ Macros opened his eyes. ‘It was like the Grove of Delmat-Ama, but it wasn’t there. It was another place.’
‘What happened?’ asked Audarun, in a gently reassuring tone.
‘I met someone.’
‘Who?’
‘He said his name was…’ Again Macros closed his eyes. ‘He said his name was Dathamay.’
The three women exchanged glances.
‘You know that name.’
‘Yes,’ said Audarun. ‘It is a false name, from a very old fable. What did he say to you?’
Macros kept his eyes closed. ‘He said he had expected me… no, he said I was expected. Then he…’ He opened his eyes. ‘He put his hands on my head, almost like a benediction, and… my pain was gone, my memory… clear. I remembered much of my previous life and my current life, in proper order.’
‘As I thought,’ said Audarun. ‘What sort of man was this? A Lesser? A Deathpriest?’
‘I can’t remember…’ said Macros. He slumped down in his chair.
The attending Bloodwitches looked disturbed, but rather than the sort of conflicted self-control Pug had witnessed by members of the White when evidence of weakness was apparent, this was a genuine concern.
‘What is the matter with him?’ asked Audarun, rising from her chair.
Pug stood as well. ‘He told me he is gravely ill, dying.’
She looked puzzled. ‘I should have heard of this.’ She went to Macros’s side and knelt down. She examined him and then gave instructions to one of the younger Bloodwitches. The woman left the room to retrieve the items requested. ‘Bring him with us,’ she said to Pug and Magnus.
They picked Macros up between them and carried him out of the room, down a series of halls, and into a sleeping room, barely more than a cell. Pug had seen many such in temples throughout Midkemia and Kelewan. A pallet, a small table and a chair were the only furniture. A simple burning wick in a bowl of oil on the table was the sole source of light.
They put Macros on the pallet and Audarun continued to examine him. The young Bloodwitch arrived with a large basket with vials, jars, and waxed paper packages and a second young woman followed bearing a steaming pot of water. Audarun quickly prepared a strongly-scented drink and when it was ready, motioned for Pug and Magnus to prop up Macros and put the draught to his lips.
Macros revived enough to sip the drink and after a few minutes he regained a semblance of alertness. ‘Did I faint?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ said Audarun. ‘Or, rather, you lost the ability to remain conscious.’
‘I’m dying,’ said Macros.
‘Who told you this?’ asked Audarun. She pulled the small chair next to the pallet and sat down.