Hand of Fire (The Master of the Tane) by Thomas Rath

The next morning, she was up early. The mists of the day before had returned, soaking everything in a thick blanket of dew. Miraculously, Helgar had started a fire and they shared its warmth and another pot of mulberry tea before Rani announced she had to be going.
                  “I thought ye might be,” Helgar said gruffly, though Rani thought she sensed a touch of sorrow in his voice.
                  “I have to complete my journey. Who knows what kind of trouble my children have gotten themselves into?” She tried to smile but it felt forced.
                  “Thank ye lassie for yer help,” Helgar said with a slight touch of emotion. “Bardolf here might not have made it without you. I know I would not without that whistle stick of yers and those needles. I Thank ye.”
                  Rani blushed. She knew it had been hard for Helgar to admit his need for her, and she found it was just as difficult for her to hear it. “Well,” she said softly. “I best be on my way.”
                  Helgar looked at her with a pensive wrinkle to his forehead and then abruptly turned about. “Wait just one moment,” he said, rummaging through his pack. Turning back around, he held out two large, red stones and his sheathed dagger. “Take these. I think at least one of ‘em should appease yer ancestors.”
                  Rani stared in disbelief. Never in her life had she seen such stones. “Oh no, Helgar. I couldn’t.”
                  Helgar thrust them into her hand. “Just take ‘em and be off. This fog will be good cover fer ya.”
                  Rani stared dumbfounded at the gems and the dagger now resting in her hand. Turning slowly about, she loaded her canoe and then started to push it into the water. Helgar watched her in silence when she suddenly stopped and turned back around. Running to him, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. “Thank you, Helgar,” she said softly. “I will never forget you.” She then turned back and quickly boarded her canoe pushing it away from shore and disappearing quickly in the haunting mist.
                  Helgar rubbed his cheek still able to feel where her lips had been only moments before. “Nor I ye, lassie,” he whispered. “Nor I ye.”
                  Turning to Bardolf, he kicked his companion roughly in the ribs. “Get up ye lug,” he growled. “Ye’ve slept long enough.”
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER FOUR

    Thane entered the family hut just as DorMar’s father, TaqSagn, made a small cut along his forearm in preparation for the blood purification ritual used to heal the sick. Thane had received word in the fields that his father had been struck with the killing fever and had sprinted home to see if he might help.
                  Thane moved to his mother’s side, putting an arm of comfort around her shoulders, as Taq looked up from his work. “Ah, it is good that you are here Thane. The curing process is much quicker and stronger when a member of the family is of the VerSagn Tane and can administer the healing.”
                  “No!” DelVen cried weakly. “I will not have his blood run through my veins. I will not!” He glared at them as if daring someone to challenge him until his eyes slowly rolled back into his head, the effort taking him to the edges of consciousness.
                  Thane cast a sad glance down at his father. Taq stared sympathetically at the young boy. “It really would be for the best if you did it, Thane,” he half whispered.
                  “I will not disobey my father’s wish,” he responded quietly. “Please continue.”
                TaqSagn slowly turned back to Del and then finally continued with the ceremony. Those of the VerSagn Tane were gifted with