Re: Chapter #7: Catacomb Kids
Father Zantus’ shocked face looked at Pisca’s eye-to-eye. “Well, I’m glad to hear that Kellan is uninjured,” he said, voice dropping into a murmur as he watched Cato with concern. “Here, my boy,” he said, holding his hand out to Kerr, “let me see your pack.” Kerr dutifully handed the bag over to the priest, who surreptitiously glanced inside. Upon seeing the head, the prelate's face fell and he sighed heavily.
“It is as I feared. This is very disturbing. VERY disturbing. We are dealing with what is called a vargouille,” he pronounced the word as if it created an awful taste in his mouth, “and its ‘kiss’ can be deadly, if left untreated.” He gave Liseth a serious glance. “The hair falling out is only the first step of the process. Soon, if nothing is done, his head would begin changing to look more like this,” he shook the bag lightly, “then he would get sicker and sicker until finally, at the end,” the chief priest frowned, still keeping his voice low, “he would become one of them. A nasty business all around.”
“Bright light, such as sunlight, stops this transformation but does not reverse or end it. That requires divine intervention. Which, fortunately for Cato,” he gave the scholar a sympathetic smile, “I am equipped to bestow. But,” he looked around, “this is probably not the best place to do it. And the infirmary,” he older man mused, “is full of those injured in the goblin attacks.” He snapped his fingers. “Let’s go to the chapel.”
Kerr helped Cato up from his seat on the cushions and let the wizard lean on him as the group made its way across the common area to the chapel. Father Zantus opened the intricately-carved wooden doors and led them into the chapel’s dark, cool, quiet interior, lit only by the consecrated candles burning along the sides of the room and up at the altar.
“Place him here, if you would.” Father Zantus pointed to what looked like a large, cushioned prayer mat. After Kerr helped Cato lie down on the mat, he stepped back. Father Zantus knelt next to the scholar, raised his head to the ceiling, closed his eyes, and began to pray.
“Desna, please hear your servant. This man has been afflicted with a disease brought on by his fight with the minions of Lamashtu, your sworn enemy. And he has more to do. Please grant him the mercy and grace of your healing, and prepare him to bring your light and justice to the ones who have fallen under the sway of the Queen of Monsters.” The older man placed a hand on Cato’s forehead. “Starsong, please heal your child.”
A moment passed in complete quiet. No one moved. Father Zantus remained kneeling next to Cato, silent and beseeching. Even breathing seemed almost sacrilegious. Then, as an almost-inaudible hum started up, Father Zantus’ hands began to glow. The glow spread through his hands to Cato’s body, enveloping it in an unearthly blue light. Ephemeral butterflies seemed to flit around the scholar’s form, landing here and there before taking flight again.
Eventually, the blue light faded. The entire process seemed almost eternal, but must have taken mere seconds. Father Zantus looked down at Cato and smiled, then looked up at the group. “Desna has answered our prayers,” he said simply, as the smile became a broad, relieved grin. “Cato is healed.”