Patricia tossed restlessly on her cot. Nalia slumbered peacefully on the other mattress in this tiny attic room. With the troubles in the countryside causing folk to pour into the village of Imnesvale, they’d been lucky to even get two rooms from Vincenzo. She felt for poor Anomen, penned up with Minsc and Jan in a marginally larger room downstairs. She didn’t even have Minsc’s snoring to excuse her insomnia.

She sighed as she stared up at the ceiling. It couldn’t be the window that filled her with vague unease; Anomen had set a warding glyph on it, and she hadn’t argued. The monk fingered the small vial that now hung next to her Order pendant and the Rosehill signet ring. Anomen had pressed this into her hand as he gave her a leg up into her saddle on the morning they left the Keep. “Holy water, my lady,” he’d murmured. “Keep it with you. I will prepare more as I can.” She’d been touched and reassured by his practical gesture more than she ever could have been by a thousand words of poetry. Flattering words were nice, but she’d far rather have a man who wanted to help her protect herself, who chose to do something concrete to allay her fears.

The real reason for her sleeplessness finally surfaced in her mind. Of course it was fear, just a different kind; fear of what might happen to this still-fragile relationship when she revealed more of the truth to Anomen. It hadn’t been his business before, but now she had to say something; should have said it the other night, really. It wasn’t fair not to tell him, to let him build up false expectations. Patricia was still wrestling with her problem as she finally slipped into an uneasy doze.

Anomen kept wondering if Patricia and Nalia were safe upstairs. He’d done what he could to secure the premises, but he didn’t like being so far away. If they called, he probably wouldn’t be able to hear, and fear of another failure haunted him. Moira’s death during his absence was a wound that had not yet healed. He’d felt the peace at Moira’s shrine that told him his sister was content in death, with no wish to return to the living, but he still felt that he had betrayed her, had been lax in his duty. Locating her murderers had done something to assuage his guilt, but he yearned for closure. Time, Patricia kept telling him, he had to allow time to aid him in its slow way.

Idly he fingered Moira’s ring. He’d taken to slipping it onto his least finger every night as he set to his prayers, his own private memorial to his best friend and first confidante. The Watcher found his mind eased whenever he did so, and the magic, if it could be called that, wrapped him about with a sense of calm. The feeling was more intense than usual tonight. Slowly a picture built up in his mind’s eye, an image of a golden fountain cupped in the lee of a sand dune….

Anomen? The voice was like the thinnest whisper in his mind, the form misty and insubstantial, but unmistakably his sister. Brother?

“Moira?” he whispered in astonishment. “Where? How?”

A sense of amusement, accompanied by loving warmth. You’re having a dream, of course. A time when a fragment of your soul spins free to wander here on the Astral plane. The amusement vanished, replaced by seriousness. I had a task laid on me, Anomen, and I have not yet discharged it. I cannot pass farther until the task is complete. Helm’s favor has permitted me to visit you here in your sleep to remind you of our joint duty. The figure reached forward and dipped a golden cup into the water of the fountain. The Great Guard is pleased with you, dear brother. I am allowed to present you a gift of his choosing. Drink, Anomen, that you may better defend righteousness.

He let her bring the cup to his lips, and he drained it. The water was cold and sweet, better than any wine he had ever tasted. Moira’s spectre began to fade as soon as he finished, until only her great dark eyes remained. A lingering echo of her beloved voice filled the air. Only you can set me free, brother. Do not forget, do not shame me! There will be opposition, but you must overcome it if I am to join Mother. When the time comes, you will remember… remember… remember….

It was cold here in the fogbank, more frigid than any Deepwinter night she had shivered through in the Wood of Sharp Teeth. Icy winds whipped around her bare form, and there were sharp stones everywhere underfoot. Patricia sighed, recognizing the signs of a Teaching Dream. Either she was about to be rebuked for some failing, or there was some test to be given. Whichever it was, there would be no aid from outside this time. This was a journey into herself, and the foe she faced was what lay within her own mind and heart.

She waited, obeying an obscure impulse that told her not to waste energy scrambling around this unforgiving terrain. Time had no true measure here; there was only the moment at hand. Eventually a giant snake, ringed in black and red, crawled out of the surrounding fog. Its red eyes looked up at her and its black tongue flicked rapidly in and out. It opened its jaws, revealing two white fangs, each easily six inches long.

“If you do not let me curl up next to you, I will die,” it hissed. “I cannot survive the cold.”

Patricia had an instinctive distrust of any serpent she couldn’t readily identify, but she knew this was part of the test. I am not the center of the universe. My wishes are not always important. “Come, then,” she replied. “We will hoard what little warmth we may.”

“What I touch, I bite,” the snake said. “Shall I bite you then?” Another stricture rose in her mind. Your body sends pain as a warning. Once one receives the alarm, the messenger’s task is done. Dismiss him.

“If you must,” she said, “I will not resist.”

The serpent wound itself in and out, between her legs and around and around her body, and as it wrapped it tightened, until she could scarcely breathe. Its great head stared fiercely at her again. “What is love?” it asked the monk unexpectedly, fangs poised at her forehead.

Patricia was puzzled. This was not the ordinary way spirit dreams progressed. “What kind?” she riposted.

“Tsk!” the snake said. “There is but one love, reflected in millions upon millions of pairs of eyes in the universe. Parents, child, spouse, friend, it does not matter. All true love is love, but what is true love?”

The monk racked her brain. This made no sense; what was the point of this dream? Had she gone so far off course that she could not see the wisdom being given? The snake tightened its grip again, and the constriction grew truly painful. She gazed fascinated into its whirling red eyes for what might have been millennia, setting aside the discomfort and pondering its meaning. She had the oddest feeling the answer was right in front of her nose.

Of course it was! “You are,” she said, and was rewarded by the snake sinking its fangs into her shoulder at once. It morphed as it pumped virulent poison into her body, scales shifting to hues of green and gold, the light of its eyes fading from ruby to deep gold. The physical agony approached that Patricia had endured at Irenicus’ hands, but the transformation she was observing fascinated her to the point that the monk was more irritated by the pain than immobilized by it.

She recognized the creature now that it had assumed its true form; guardian naga were legendary protectors of treasure and sacred areas, renowned for their purity of heart, loyalty, and fierce defense of the places and items under their charge. Yet Patricia still wasn’t sure she understood the purpose of the dream. What key was she lacking?

The naga answered her unspoken question. “Those who love overcome the fear of being hurt in order to give another being what it truly needs.”

“But what if you fear that you will hurt the one you love?” Patricia found herself voicing her darkest imaginings, even as her body spasmed under the influence of the naga’s venom.

“Sometimes, what the other being needs is to face its own pain, and so learn to love itself.” The naga gave the monk a gentle smile. “I deem you worthy, and you have passed the Test of Amethyst through unselfishness and generosity. No poison shall henceforth have power over you; my bite is sovereign over them all. Fare well wherever you fare, little sister!”

The naga slid away into the mist, and Patricia felt her muscles gradually relax as the venom wore away. Still the monk made no move. She waited until the fog drew in thicker, heavier, and even colder than before, until she could see nothing but swirling grey vapor.

“Patricia!” Nalia’s voice acted like a bucket of cold water, shocking the monk awake in one heart-stopping instant.

“What?” she said in alarm. Patricia then noticed the sunlight and added more calmly, “Guess I overslept. What time is it?”

“About a half-hour after dawn,” Nalia replied. Patricia frowned as she saw that the mage was fully dressed. That was odd; usually she woke up if anyone stirred. “You must’ve been extra tired,” Nalia went on, “I rummaged through three packs looking for my hairbrush just now, and you didn’t even twitch.”

“I just had a hard time falling asleep last night, that’s all, Nalia. Thanks for waking me,” Patricia replied as she got up and took out her own clothes. “I’ll be down as soon as I get my hair brushed and rebraided.”

She was sticking in the last of the silver pins when she heard a tap, followed by Anomen’s voice. “My lady?”

“Yes?” she called. “Come on in.”

He opened the door and entered the room, reaching for her with an awed expression on his face. “Tisha, Tisha, you cannot conceive what has happened! Do you remember what I said about feeling the hand of Helm upon me?”

She nodded, and he continued, “It wasn’t my imagination, I have proof, my love! I have been trying to learn some of the ancient prayers in the breviary you gave me, but the last lines always seemed to slip away from my memory in the night. They are powerful supplications, calling strongly upon the Great Guard’s might, and I had almost given up hope that He would favor me with such knowledge. I thought I must not be ready, had not grown enough yet in wisdom. Yet this morning I find the words lie at the top of my mind, ready to be uttered at any moment!”

He looked down at her, smoothing a stray hair out of her face. “Tisha, dearest lady, will you join me in my thanks for this gift?”

“Of course, love,” she said, heart brimming over with proud joy for him as they knelt, her dream rapidly fading from memory. After they finished the short prayer of thanksgiving, the pair went downstairs to meet the others for breakfast.

Patricia noticed at once that Minsc seemed unlike himself, toying with his food rather than scarfing down everything in sight. She laid a hand on the Rashemeni’s shoulder. “Minsc, what’s wrong? Is it Boo?”

The ranger nodded glumly. “Yes, Tisha, I do not feel well. My head hurts, and Minsc didn’t drink much last night. Boo said we had to try the… the… ex-perry-mint, to see how far apart we could be, but I hope he comes soon. If I grow much weaker, I won’t be able to give this child-scaring evil the butt-kicking it deserves!”

“Did you feel all right yesterday?” Patricia pressed. “When did you start feeling bad?” She knew mages and familiars couldn’t stray too far from each other, or they would sicken and die, and whatever bond tied the ranger and dragon seemed to function in much the same way. Even the Keep was too far from Athkatla for the pair to communicate telepathically.

“Only here in the village,” Minsc admitted, “and not even always then, mostly after I went to bed.”

The monk pondered for a few moments. Jan piped up, “Maybe we should go check out that cabin the mayor told us about. He said it was westwards, right? Ol’ Minsco might get to feelin’ better if we go that way, back towards the city.”

She hadn’t any better ideas, so why not? “Good plan, Jan. No need to take the horses, it’s not a far walk.” Patricia finished up the bowl of porridge the serving wench had brought, and pushed her chair back from the table. “Everyone done? Meet here in ten minutes, then.”