The royal family are faced with a terrible burden. The boy that was their son has long since died. What was within the body was pure evil. Now came the most painful part. Casting out the evil, though it would mean having to bury their son. For the sake of many lives, there was no other course.
@internutter/challenge-04898-m149-what-rude-beast -- BKF
The thing that inhabited Prince Crevith's body drove it relentlessly Eastward. To what goal, it did not say. It wore out three horses on its quest, and cared not for the welfare of the retainers.
But Druids find a way to manage. The good berries replenish and revitalise. One could fly ahead and prepare for the arrival of the others. One more could go and seek help from any vector. Including other Druids.
A great evil walked the world, and something had to stop it.
Druids have close connections to nature. This required people with connection to the gods. The closer, the better. They needed a saint. Finding one was the big issue.
The Druids went out in relays as the rest of the retainers slipped away to better offers. Or swapped out with new, volunteer Druids. They were doing their utmost to preserve life, as long as it fit with the leyflow.
Druid Ganlen subtly tried to end Prince Crevith's body. The thing that inhabited the corpse would not perish so easily. In a way, Ganlen was fortunate that the thing inside Crevith did not bother telling individuals apart. That lesson was made clear in a luckless cutpurse, maybe seven years old, who attempted to snatch Crevith's coin pouch.
Crevith's inhabitant only began by breaking the child's arm. There was barely anything recognisable left by the time it was done.
Whatever lay waiting in the East, this thing had to be stopped before it got there.
When it was Ganlen's turn to scout for a savior, he went straight for a temple he knew a saint would frequent. Not the showiest or most elaborate of temples. A true saint would be working where they were needed most.
There. A weaving-house with the single-thread infinite knot of Shai. That was the house of a saint. A saint who had seen the threads of fate and had a healing foot bath and a balm ready to easy Ganlen's arm muscles[1]. She also had a go-bag ready with an every-case exorcism kit.
"I know the issue," said Saint Zolesare. "I cannot promise results, but I can promise that I will do my utmost. Rest and revitalise. I know where to meet the threat." She handed him a map, which showed not only a circled crossroads, but also the fastest route to reach it and the note, Be a dog, atop a blank stretch of highlighted road.
Seers. They knew their stuff.
If anyone could change fate, it was a saint for Shai.
[1] The joke we know about airline travel holds true for shapeshifting Druids.
[Photo by Vincent van Zalinge on Unsplash]
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