The child had no demon.

That much was obvious from the outset, and now she had confirmed it. The mother had asked for a priestess so whatever form of evil was in her son could be driven out. Calais had conceded to the assignment only because it had been an opportunity to get out. She had been positive that it would be a waste of her time, and that was certainly the case. Still, although there was no demon in the child--she would have been aware of it as soon as she entered the house, otherwise--there was probably something wrong with him. However, the mother expected the driving of a demon, so she would have to be out of the house if Calais were to talk to the boy. Some clever manipulation of language would be necessary. She wore a mask of concern on her face as she spoke to the mother, thoughtfulness gradually seeping into her features.

"I can help your child," Calais said quietly, "and I promise you there will be no demon within your son once I am finished." The mother bowed gratefully in the usual respectful fashion, and asked if there was anything she could do to help. Perfect.

"There is one thing," Calais answered, cocking her head slightly. "I would ask that you leave the premises, Madam: these procedures are at times dangerous." The mother nodded enthusiastically.

"Of course, Lady! I'm at your service!" Curtsying, Calais thanked her and smiled.

"You will not have long to wait, I promise you." With a final word of thanks and a clumsy bow, the mother swiftly exited the house to go to the market. Calais was left alone with the boy.

He looked intimidated, and maybe a little frightened. Calais didn't blame him. His mother had probably pointed a broom in his direction and poked him with it out of fear before calling for a priestess. He was sitting with his hands in his lap and his eyes downcast; he looked like he'd been crying recently. Calais sat across from him in the sitting room and gave him a minute to get accustomed to her being there. He eventually calmed down.

"Are you going to hurt me?" he asked, raising his head. The boy looked to be five or six, with blond hair, blue eyes--your average kid. Calais cocked her head.

"Of course not," she answered with her best friendly voice, "and I expect the same from you, understand?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Calais nodded. "Good." She asked the boy a series of questions, and eventually coaxed out of him a demonstration of what had scared his mother. With a wave of his hand, the boy--whose name was Alexander--levitated a paperweight sitting on one of the end tables. Quite obviously, little Alexander was a sorcerer. According to priestly law, the practice of sorcery was not their business to interfere in, but in this boy's situation, there was not much else she could do.

Calais tried her best to explain to him the nature of his unusual abilities, of the chance and heredity involved. She also explained to him that he would have to hide his abilities for now--until he grew up. Eventually, he understood. The boy promised to behave and to stay out of trouble.

Calais liked the boy: he was terribly sweet. As they waited for his mother to return, Alexander asked many questions, mostly about what it was like to be a priestess. Calais regretted having to leave when she did, an overjoyed mother thanking her profusely.

Her thoughts during the ride back to her temple were filled with possibilities. She thought of how many people she could heal, how many people she could help. She thought of her humdrum, unending days of educating her juniors and suddenly wanted desperately to get away from it all. To travel. To fend for herself at the mercies of nature and human kindness.

Calais had over the years read dozens of journals by traveling priestesses both from the far past and recent years, and she had always been fascinated by the attitudes they conveyed in their writings. They were almost always childishly cheerful at first, and later doggedly determined. Although many seemed to fall into depressed states, these never lasted long. The impression Calais gathered from all the journals she had read, however, could be summed up in but a handful of words: travel was never boring.

As she disembarked from the carriage and entered a temple she knew all too well, Calais promised herself she would confront Peer Isabella about future placement or possibility of release before the end of the day.

Walking through the halls of the temple, Calais was greeted by practically every priestess she saw. Some she did not even recognise, yet they all knew her name well enough. If there was one truth Calais could not escape, it was that she was respected, even by those far above her in rank. As a matter of fact, if talk was to be trusted, her reputation as a competent teacher and woman of faith reached as far as Ganeda. Calais doubted this, of course, but it was an interesting fantasy to entertain.

Stopping first by her chambers, Calais quickly changed into fresh clothes so as to not drag the dirt of the city any farther than necessary. Conscious of the day of the week, she also consulted her date book and realised a lesson was scheduled in a quarter-hour. Her talk with Isabella would have to wait. Gathering her materials with a heavy sigh, Calais left her chambers at a brisk walk so as not to be late.

She turned in the direction of the conservatory, the room where her lessons were always held. Peer Isabella had offered the indulgence to Calais six months ago, not only for recognition of the respect in which was held, but also as a gesture of friendship and as recognition of her consistently diligent and efficient work. Calais had been and was sill grateful for the opportunity. She not only found the setting relaxing, but the priestesses charged her did as well.

Mere steps from the conservatory door, Calais frowned inwardly as a young priestess--Jezebel, if memory served--blocked her path. Curtsying respectfully, the young woman cleared her throat nervously.

"Excuse me, Calais," she began, wringing her hands together. Calais couldn't help feeling somewhat sorry for her; she was obviously terrified of offending her elder and superior. Calais couldn't begin to imagine why. She thought it best to wear a sincere smile as the younger woman continued. "Peer Isabella would like to see you after your lesson."

Calais raised an eyebrow and nodded approvingly. "Thank you, Jezebel. I'll be sure to see her." Smiling faintly, Jezebel curtsied and ran off as quickly as possible. Calais brightened at her fortune. Perhaps her talk with Isabella would be sooner than later after all. Hopefully she would have the opportunity to broach the subject with her.

Stepping into the conservatory, a few priestesses early already, Calais pushed all thoughts of release out of her mind. For now, she had lessons to teach.

Isabella was, above all things, a busy woman. As administrator of the temple, her duties were enough to occupy twenty women at all hours of the day, and this was in fact that reality of her situation. Isabella had over two dozen women working under her directly in the handling of her duties. Still, although none outranked her at the temple, she was still addressed as Peer Isabella, a leader among equals.

Entering the administrator's offices, Calais remained quiet, unwilling the break the almost sacred silence of the room. A half-dozen of her peers were working in the same room, yet the only sounds one could hear were shuffling of papers, and the occasional scratching of a pen.

Without looking up from her work, Isabella motioned for Calais to sit in the simple chair before her desk. The latter complied silently, waiting with her hands calmly in her lap. Unlike the majority of her peers, Calais was not intimidated by the administrator. Indeed, she would go as far as calling her a friend. Isabella was older, of course, having been voted to the position of administrator through wisdom gained with years of experience. To Calais, she had always been the administrator, but she had also always been a kind, gentle woman. Isabella, now approaching her old age, would always be a gentle woman; Calais knew this as fact.

Putting her work aside, the administrator laced her fingers together on her desk blotter and smiled to Calais across the desk. Returning the smile, the younger priestess waited for her superior to begin. What she said, however, surprised and also worried her.

"How are the new students this year, Calais?"

She answered that the students were strong-willed and filled with energy, as they almost invariably were. It was not Isabella's custom to ask trivial questions; she was not the sort of woman to waste time with pleasantries--Calais knew her well enough to be aware of that. The old woman was probably trying to put her at ease. Unfortunately, she was only succeeding in the doing the opposite. Seeming to sense this, she redressed her back and cleared her throat.

"I have asked you here because I have an assignment for you," she said with authority. Once she began with her business, Isabella was never sheepish. "I am asking you for two reasons: first, the assignment will require you to travel the countryside, something that, despite appearances, I am well aware and sympathetic of your desire for." She raised her hand before Calais could say anything, commanding her attention as she continued. "My second reason for asking you is simple: I trust you, Calais.

"This assignment came directly from the Seven, and as such cannot be taken lightly. I can think of no one better skilled to send than you."

Isabella rubbed weariness from her eyes and stifled a yawn. Calais had not noticed how tired she looked, but now she could not imagine how she had not realised it earlier: the administrator was exhausted.

"Perhaps you should sleep," Calais suggested. "You can tell me of the assignment in the morning."

The other priestess shook her head and waved her hand in dismissal of the notion. "No, this cannot wait. I need your answer as soon as possible."

Calais shifted in her chair. "Tell me, then."

Nodding, Isabella cleared her throat a second time. "A man has been killing our peers in other lands," she said simply. Calais' face was unreadable. The murdering of a priestess was uncommon, but certainly not unheard of.

Isabella continued: "His methods are--particularly brutal." The administrator's voice broke slightly, no doubt as she relived memory of hearing reports, or possibly seeing bodies. "He was last reported leaving this city two days ago. That is why I need your answer now. Time is pressing." Her face suddenly bore a stern look that demanded Calais' attention. "You are not to attempt to capture him alone, only track him. If he enters a city, you are to alert our peers and the local authorities of his whereabouts.

"This will not be an easy assignment, but I can trust no one else with this."

Calais nodded sombrely. "I understand, Isabella, and I accept." The administrator was near tears; either the murdering of her peers was affecting her more than she would admit, or she had lost a friend to this man. Calais suspected both were the case.

The older woman smiled weakly. "Thank you, Calais. You will be provided with ample funds, and leave in the morning." She handed Calais a few odd sheets of paper: information on her target, a Lord Gandash. "I suggest you spend the rest of the day in prayer, my peer. Faith will be your strongest weapon.

"Good luck."

Calais rose from the chair, curtsied, thanked the administrator, and left for her chambers.

Yes, she would pray.