Jocasta's mouth worked in mute shock for a moment as she stared at Beren's bleeding body. Her hands trembled in shock as she quivered between the desire to reach for a weapon and the desire to try to do something for Beren. He had seemed so invincible, her mind couldn't quite reconcile the fact that he now lay broken on the floor.

"Well?" the Outsider prompted, tapping its oddly sharp fingernails impatiently. 

"Yes! Yes! Save him!" Jocasta blurted, finally managing to scramble down and press her hand to the wound, blood seeping between her fingers with alarming rapidity.

"My help isn't free mortal," the Outsider cautioned, "I will extract a price."

"Whatever," Jocasta snapped, "I'll do whatever it is, just save him!"

The demon thing reached out and touched Jocasta on the stomach. A sickly white light blasted out from its fingertips and Jocasta felt a searing pain burning in her chest as though liquid fire were being pumped into it. She staggered back, choking back bile. Light poured from her eyes, and mouth, it shone from beneath her fingernails. Somehow the light was poluting, like swimming through slime.

"Now, use your puny mortal magic," the outsider instructed. 

"H..how, I don't know any healing magic," she protested. The Outsider scoffed.

"You have no need of your petty incantations, simply will it to be done, if your will is strong enough you will accomplish it. If not, I have no need of you as my servant." Trying not to think of what 'my servant' might mean. Jocasta placed both hands on Beren and shouted, pouring all her fear and terror into the scream. To her utter amazement, the wounds knitted closed. Not all at once, but over several nauseating seconds, even the spilled blood seemed to be attempting to flow back into Beren's veins before the congealing tissue blocked its ingress. Beren took a shuddering breath but didn't open his eyes. The creature chuckled.

"It is a shame to part you so soon, but you will return with me to my realm. A foolish bargain mortal," the creature laughed. Jocasta gripped Beren with one hand and her sarong with the other.

"You think your puny mortal arts are a match for me?" it scoffed. Jocasta grinned bloodlessly, then forced the last ounce of demonic magic into the sarong and she and Beren vanished in a cloud of slightly sulforus smoke. 

_____

It was cold when Jocasta came to. Beren was laying atop her, still unconcious, though she could feel his heart beating against her. Beyond his hair she could see a star field, which was a good sign because she had only a vauge hope of reaching the surface when she had overcharged her sarong.

"Not as much fun when you land in my lap," she complained, straining to shove Beren off her. Eventually she managed to shift him and sit up. She was in a snow bank beside a road. In the distant lights glittered from beyond a pallisade and she could smell woodsmoke on the air. Someone let out a startled shout and a horse neighed. Jocasta turned her head to see an old man with a one horse cart filled with firewood. 

"Where in the Evergod's Grace did you come from?" he demanded querellously, a long white beard bristling. He had a wrinkled face with a bulbous nose and a battered blue hat with a broad brim. Jocasta touched her stomach which still burned.

"You know, I can't really remember the name of the town," she admitted.

"Is your friend ok?" the old man asked as his eyes shifted to Beren and narrowing in concern.

"I don't really know," Jocasta said, standing up and trying to drag Beren to his feet. He gave a pained grown.

"You are just a font of information," the old man said as he climbed down and came over to them. He hoisted Beren up and peeled back on of his eyelids.

"Well we better get him inside before he freezes to death," the old man opined, and helped Jocasta drag him to the cart. Sweating and heaving they managed to get Beren into an uncomfortable position in the back of the wagon.

"Welcome to Iskura," the old man said as he got back on the bench of the wagon. Jocasta climbed up beside him and sagged exhausted against the chair. The old man clucked and snapped his reigns and the old draft horse began to clatter over the icy road towards the gate.