It had begun like a searing burn at the back of the head. Now it was like a droning pulsation. Oddly it felt stronger when he turned towards the side window.

  The door on the opposite end of the room opened and one of his clerks came in, smiling, with an armful of rolled up documents and boxes of squares.

  Patil was her name, she was one of the very first to have been born here in the new town of Canem. Mahara?a born as they themselves like to call it. He appreciated working with her because she was silently efficient, always knew the latest updates, never made a fuss and finally she never second guessed him. The woman walked to the table in the middle of the room and deposited the rolls before turning back to shelve the boxes. As she did that she said:

  "These are the deployment maps for the fleet you demanded."

  "Which parts?" He answered merely to initiate a conversation that would take his mind off the droning headache.

  "Well, there is the Descot and the Red Bay blockade and landing points in the Peninsula," she pointed to two tightly rolled maps and then lifted a third much smaller one with a brighter smile adding, "this one here is of Ael, with all the details of the coast and the harbors, lay of the land and constructions. It is very complete." She placed it back down and waved with her other hand in the direction of the last three rolls saying, "these are the length of the Wide Sea. Top to bottom. Quite good too, even if I'm not altogether certain the position of Medsit is entirely accurate. I tried calculating the Rils from the given scale but they don't add up." As she was speaking she began rubbing her forehead and kept glancing at the side window.

  "Does your head ache too?"

  She turned to face him with an interrogative look on her face.

  "It began late this morning with a scorching sensation followed by pulsating pain?" He asked.

  "Very accurate description. Do you have it also?"

  "Indeed, who else but for us?"

  "Almost every one I met for our midday meal. What do you think it is?"

  "I must go to a healer. Come with me, hopefully there is one by the tower in our courtyard."

  They raced across the large busy rooms of the town's administrative palace. Skipping down the stairs they were met with the concerned look of those suffering from the same affliction as they, standing there or sitting at their work bench struggling to focus in spite of the aching.

  Running made not only the pain worse but also it awoke the pain in his joints and knees and Atacherel had to slow down for it fouled his sight with a shiny veil that made appreciating the distances difficult. They rapidly found themselves in the colonnaded courtyard, it was flooded with sunlight and they both recoiled from it as if it accentuated their suffering. The admiral put his arm around Patil's shoulder and shuffled across the yard to the small round temple, they came into the shade of the only door and stopped there to compose themselves. Once in the enclosed shaded space they both sighed in relief for their pain felt less biting. The healing priest was there, groveling on the ground in a pool of his sick. Blood was coming from his ears and nostrils and he was mumbling incoherently and at times thrashing violently.

  "Get me a pail of fresh water from the fountain in the yard, please." Atacherel asked as he crouched over the writhing body of the priest.

  "Oh and get someone to come and clean this mess up, would you?" He shouted after her as she dashed back out.

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  "The... Healing .... Towers." The raving priest articulated with effort between ragged gasps and retching.

  "They are doing it."

  Atacherel was staring hard into the man's eyes to try and decide if he was off his mind or sane enough, but he only saw a mind tortured by a pain much stronger than his own. This raving priest wasn't raving at all.

  Slowly the admiral stood up and faced the entrance, he then took two reluctant paces outside and turned on his heels until he was facing the direction of the closest healing tower. Glancing back at the building behind him he saw that the side window of his office faced that way too, the pain was stronger than ever, not the light then, the priest was right. It came from the healing towers.

  The town of Canem like any Balà congregation was dotted with the simple spires shooting out of a mundane square building with one many windowed upper-floor. The tower was built right in the middle of the structure and differently came to overshoot the neighboring constructions. Healer priests sat at the top and feeders in the building below. The healer literally rained healing powers down on the area directly surrounding the tower and thus Balàs were free of ailments either seasonal or exceptional and whatever hurt they were caused to have healed fast and without complication. For some reason the towers of Canem, or was it this one only, were hurting the people they were meant to protect.

  The closer he was getting to the towers, the harder it became. At times he felt like it was turning him blind and had to grope his way, trying to remember the plans he had helped draw so many years ago.

  He was at the door of the Feed room and all of them, Feeders, were dead. In the middle a small door opened to the simple spiral staircase that led up to where the Healer were. The malevolence that gushed out of it felt like a wall of red hot hatred was being pushed against him, the sheer violence of the pain had him stuck where he stood, unable to make his body go forward and ascend the steps. Waves after waves raked his body and finally made him keel over, he managed to grab the door frame and slumped to an half kneeling, half seating position and bending over in agony placed his head in his hands wishing with whatever was left of his conscious mind that he would die and quick, to end the unimaginable suffering. The pale flower in the palm of his hand came into contact with his burning forehead and it was gone as suddenly as if it had never been there and She was standing in front of him, Her face full of concern and solicitude. As always her presence filled him with joy and peace and his mind eased as she smiled silently to him. As suddenly as she had appeared she was gone rushing up the healing tower to the Healers who were killing those they were meant to succor. There was a muffled deflagration and he knew the sickening power was gone.

  ***

  It was as if the sky had taken upon itself to wash the evil that had been done to the city under it. It rained upon Canem and had since the terrible day of the attack from which many were still recovering. There had been casualties but mostly it concerned Feeders and people who had been in the direct vicinity of the towers.

  "It's the all-heal," the aging Merorae was saying from her bed to those gathered in the room, "somehow whatever the monks did back on their islands, to try and forge the weapons of the Wanderer, it reverberated through the lay lines of the power Healers use and it found us, the Balà." She looked at the stern faces surrounding her and went on with her tale, "that power, the one of the wanderer, found us and tried to destroy us in order to weaken the Veviensis for She is its one true foe. Once again, the monks of Triad wielded one of their weapons to hurt us and destroy the Balà of the world." The old woman sighed profoundly and it was as if the sorrow of all the victims of the past persecutions were with her. Atacherel rose to stand by her side and placed one of his hands on her arm and she nodded allowing him to speak.

  "The White Ones from Sancto have declared us officially at war with Triad, Ziom, the three Limores and whomever would bring the Elder Realm assistance against us. The governor of Canem here before you has authorized the requisition of the yards and their workers for the maintenance and supply of the fleet. We are waiting upon the Revered Emissary herself for indication on how to proceed and will know as soon as she returns from the Nameless Towns. We have until then to be ready and knowing the Veviensis as I do it isn't much time." Atacherel finished speaking and motioned for a clerk to come forward. A square of the finest linen was presented to Merorae and she placed the seal of the governor of Canem at the top of the text subjecting the shipyards and population of the town to the fleet's and to the admiral's authority. "May the Three-Faced-One watch over us and over our own", she whispered and those in the room replied in one voice:

  "as he watches over all Balà always."