“What do you think it means Father?”, Lochan turned to Harndall one eyebrow raised quizzically.

“Were you referring to the strange inscriptions beneath our feet, or to the candles mysteriously lighting themselves or to some combination of the two?”.

“Erm… I guess all of the above”, Lochan replied.

“Well…”, Harndall started confidently as though he had already discovered a solution to these questions, “to be perfectly honest, I have not the faintest idea what any of these things mean. Actually I am choosing to ignore the disturbing behaviour of the candles at this moment, as I have no hope of even beginning to explain that, and focus instead on these strange tiles”.

Lochan squinted at the colourfully painted tiles beneath his feet.

“Well, it does look like a family insignia”, he peered at some of the crude images, “and although it is very worn I think I can make out some birds on this part, actually that one rather looks like a raven”.

“What say you brave Sir Arwaduhn?”, he asked Cordell who had reappeared out of the shadows he had been lurking in.

“I… I do not know Lochan, I… I am not feeling very well”, Cordell replied shakily, rubbing his head with a dazed expression on his face.

They were suddenly interrupted by what sounded like a muffled scream from above them.

“Mella!”, Harndall’s hand flew up to his chest as though to still his pounding heart and he was running up the stairs before the others could even register what had happened.

“Harndall! Wait! Slow down… we do not know what is out there… it could be a wild animal”, Lochan said sprinting up the stairs behind Harndall.

His cries fell on deaf ears, as Harndall was oblivious to everything except the terror that scream had instilled in his heart.

He raced up the hill towards the church yard, the direction he thought he had heard the scream coming from. He was the first to reach her.

He saw to his horror, the crumpled figure of Mella motionless on the ground, lying at the base of a statue. He had seen it before when they explored the ruins earlier, and had thought it a particularly gloomy choice for a grave marker. He had wondered then who was buried here, but right now all these curious thoughts had left his head entirely and been replaced by a steadily rising fear.

“Mella!”, he bent down to kneel beside the figure, checking her neck for a pulse, “Mella… wake up… it is me, Father Harndall”.

She did not stir and he became more insistant, shaking her gently by the shoulders. He was relieved to see her chest rising and falling, even if her breathing was far from steady. He quickly checked her over, unable to find any external injuries whatsoever. Perhaps she had fallen and hit her head on the base of the statue.

“Mella… please wake up”, he said a silent prayer that she be spared, “Open your eyes, we are here to help you”.

To his great surprise she did open her eyes, blinking up at him in confusion, tinged with fear.

He gently helped her to a sitting position. She was mumbling to herself, not words but sounds of animal distress.

Suddenly, she pulled herself away from his helping arms, and began to weep, thrashing around in distress, her hands occasionally colliding with her head. She was panting like a caged animal throwing itself against the bars that imprisoned it.

He looked at her with growing distress, had she finally lost her mind completely. He had been so concerned about her since they had arrived on Mhalwae but watched in despair as her condition slowly worsened till he was beginning to feel she was almost beyond hope.

That did not mean he would stop trying to help her.

Without warning she turned her face upwards, raising her hands in submission, as though to ask God why he was doing this to her.

She lowered her hands, evidently dizzy from whatever injury she had suffered. Her eyes closed and she began to fall backwards, her body shutting down again.

Luckily, Harndall was standing close to her and gently reached out his arm and caught her before she fell. She groaned fearfully as he put his arm around her to hold her up.

“We need to get her back to the ships right now”, Harndall said, trying to keep the panic out of his voice.

He did not want the others to know he of all people was frightened. There were things going on here that he could not explain, but the last thing the people needed was an unsure priest.

“Do you think you can carry Sister Mella, Goodman Cade, I do not think she can walk back”.

Steen mentally flexed his muscles and picked up the semi-concious nun. He need not have worried, she was light as a feather. As she rested her head on his shoulder, Steen was disturbed by the faint metallic odour of blood that filled his nostrils.

Arwaduhn, Cade, Murchadh, The Church