Andrew Reid - Letters Home

[RollinsCat]

He's doing a little better -- but at this rate he'll be my age before he's ready to go home.  He hums along with music I play, he draws things no child should know to draw.

I visited Taorn's village wise woman today.  I took Jed with me -- he wasn't as dazed, but a fight between two boys that broke out across the cart road upset him and he tensed into his catatonic state.  I had to lead him the rest of the way.  The woman was as old a human as I've ever seen.  Her words, as I recall them:  "I've seen all sorts of crazy, from the lovelorn ta the pit possessed.  From them that jus' lost kin to those that can't get with child.  While seein' his pa will help the lil fella, ya best get him talkin' before ya reintroduce him to Taorn.  If that man sees his boy and you're the only one doin' the talking... I wouldn't wanna be you. You'll need that boy's words ta protect ya."  And I will.  So -- it looks like, for now, I have a child.  God help him, I'm not father material.  I need a drink.

 He hums every time I sing and I catch him focusing and looking around.  More of those damned drawings.  What's been done to this child...what he's been forced to see...he'll spend the rest of his life searching for something that gives him one moment of the security that he felt before his mother was taken.  I suppose that's all of us -- always wishing for those few moments before our ignorance was stripped away.  Maybe Layonara is a pit, after all...

There is a dagger in every drawing.  Every single one.  Was that the dagger we found?  Who has it now?

He flipped the note-page over; blank. The next three papers were drawings in a child's hand, pictures of people being whipped, chased, or eaten. While the drawings had the rather crude and simplistic touch of an unpracticed hand and subject matter more horrifying for it's absolute reality, there were aspects that was engaging and enigmatic -- the perspective, mature for a child's imagination, and the dimensions that were surprisingly accurate.  He smiled and felt again the tugging of the Muse that had inspired him to, for the first time, teach.  The small glow was followed immediately by his stomach finally protesting its involuntary emptying and subsequent non-refilling; he had maybe a week's rations left, more if he stretched them.  The dead snake was still half-coiled on the stone...how bad could it be?  

On the other hand, his rations were not gone yet.  He dug out salted meat, dry bread and his canteen, and shuffled to the next page of notes.

I've started collecting the drawings. What was a quick mercy mission for a child has become something more. I want to help this boy, get him back to his father, set him back in his life. Jed may never be what he was before but with care he could be whole again.  Since the boy hums along, I've written a song that takes advantage of that.  I use his name as often as I can, and his father's.

I'm a boy, a boy named Jed
I have tight curls upon my head
My field-hand father's name is Taorn
He works until the light of Orn

Not a masterpiece, but easy to sing.  I've added humor -- maybe I can get him to laugh.  I clown and do my world's worst juggling act for him.  He watches, follows me with his eyes, but he has not smiled or laughed -- not yet.

I might be a good father someday. Maybe.

He smiled!  He humming his song until Taorn's name then he'd stop, but this last time, he got all the way through -- and smiled!  Thank you, my Muse...

A good day.  I took a ball to the head trying to coax a laugh out of him and he came over, climbed up on a chair, and rubbed the spot on my head where the ball hit.  He was trying to make me feel better...I spoke to him about hurts, and about letting people help.  I offered him a simple hug -- just sat there with my arms open.  He came to me and hugged me.  I don't know what I'm doing, but thank Ilsare it seems to be working whatever it is.  I drew him a picture of his father after that.  Again, no masterpiece; I wonder if I'll ever learn to like the things I create?  Regardless.  I drew Taorn, put the picture by him, and then for some idiot reason drew my father William.  That didn't turn out how I expected.  I was trying for something to amuse Jed and somewhere around dad's nose, I think -- more aquiline than mine, because of Grandmother's blood -- it became my catharsis.  What I saw when I finished was the face of a wonderful, talented, proud, fierce, blunt, unforgiving man.  A man of passion only for family and profession who has never grasped what matters to me.  It wasn't until I sat back that I thought of myself and Aya, and his love for us -- and his temper, and expectations.  We'll never be what he wants us to be.  We'll never come home.  I had lost track of time while sketching and when I turned to look at Jed, he was sitting close to me.  I must have had quite an expression because his was sympathy, compassion, and dare I say understanding -- I swear, at that moment, we'd traded places.  He laid his hand on my arm, and he tried to smile.  He could not, but his eyes said it all.

I'm going to miss this kid.

I think it's time to admit I've done as much as I can.  I've sent birds to several people -- let's see if they come.  Hopefully a fresh perspective will help Jed open up.

[RollinsCat]

Daniel, Lana, Caerwyn, and Emwonk agreed to come.  Jed and I are downstairs waiting, I have the pictures in a pile in order, and I'm on my second glass of gin.  I'm nervous and I don't want Jed to get hurt.  He's watching me drink.  I think he knows this isn't water.

Caerwyn has the dagger.  Muse, what an evil, ugly thing.  You can feel it -- Lana collapsed while examining it for Al'Noth.  Gave her some whiskey to get her back on her feet.  A mighty attractive woman, she is...

He is frightened by them, all of them even Lana, all except for Emwonk.  He can't keep his eyes off the lightning and Emwonk is doing a show for him using the sparks to make pictures between his hands.  I wonder if Emwonk's being small has a hand in it, maybe Jed's less threatened by such a short man.  He clings to me as if I were his parent which makes me uncomfortable even as I enjoy the trust and love it implies.  He needs to go back before he'll miss me too much.

Daniel and Caerwyn are questioning him.  I want to protect him and I can't.  I want to pound the table and I can't.  Third glass of gin.  Stop hammering him, he's a  kid.

The handwriting, the neat italic script that he'd been forced to practice over and over and over and over until each letter was exactly proportional to its neighbor, degenerated on the page.  The gin had loosened his hands; he remembered.  He remembered how upsetting it was to watch Jed be made to recall his ordeal through his own pictures.  Discovering more of the second child, whom he'd thought at the time was Jed's brother, taken.  Jed's mother taken.  The boy still could not verbalize that.  Even now, insulated by years, the vicarious horror was undiluted and he suddenly, fiercely, and fruitlessly wanted something to drink.  Silver Buckle -- which drew a stunted laugh, considering what he'd bought before he and Gurnorhn had started walking the desert sea...

They broke him open.  I can't think of another way to put it -- something I didn't have the heart to do but Daniel and Caerwyn are right, he needed a push.  He cried in my arms for a very long time and finally let it all out.  And spoke, bless the Muse.  After that he was less afraid of Daniel and Lana, and still taken with Emwonk's entertainments.  He even likes the way Emwonk talks.  I'm going to ask Em to stay and help -- it's not his usual style, but he seems to enjoy making the pictures, so maybe.

Hangover, bloody pits.  I've tried to drink less with the boy around -- this is what I get for it.

He hums along with all the songs I sing, and has started to sing the odd word himself.  I'm happy about this.

The next pages were more drawings, six in all, variations on a theme of torture and suffering and the dagger in all of them -- until the last drawing.  Charcoaled, it showed crudely drawn birds taking flight, flowers blooming and growing through a skull, and the ever-present dagger bent and hanging limply from the left eye socket.  He sat a long time looking at that picture before flipping to the next page.

Caerwyn is staying nearby, somewhere -- I didn't ask.  He visits to see how the boy is progressing and I know he wants to ask more questions.  Emwonk is in the room with us and has begun to teach Jed to speak.  I try to jump in but it seems that Emwonk's way is better, Jed feels more comfortable it.  This means I'm having to learn Emwonkese.

A week of coaxing and leading him to talk more about what happened in the caverns.  He finally just said "I...mama..." between his sobs.  I hate doing this.

He's taken a real interest in Emwonk's language and still loves watching the lightning-pictures.  Perhaps more interesting is the change in the halfling.  Emwonk is...enjoying himself.  He behaves as if he likes Jed, and is steady in his teaching.  I'm fascinated by their interplay.

Another week.  Em's a reasonable guest but the room is a mess.  Jed is getting better, speaking more.  Last night I was ready to give up for the day when Jed pointed to Em and said "Other entity..."  He couldn't finish what he wanted to say, started to go to his bed.  Em walked over and introduced himself in that way he does -- "Emwonk T'noduoy...Youdon't knowme."  He followed up with "Emwonk equals Emwonk. Jed entity equals Jed entity.  Cognate?"  Jed responded back with "Cognate?"  He seemed puzzled but it was almost a conversation.

Caerwyn's taken the knife and left for North Point while we work with Jed.  Emwonk and I have bickered over whether the boy should be allowed to go outside by himself.  Em zapped me and I ended up on the floor laughing at the cosmic strangeness of it all.  I don't think a less likely parenting duo exists...

Jed's talking to us more and more which is good, but today asked me for an uncommunicated physical verbal and I had no idea what he wanted -- Emwonk walked to the table and got him a blank sheet of paper.  This could prove a problem.  Taorn's going to skin me alive if I take Jed back and the first thing he says is "Current, father, good grounding?"

I've caught Jed saying "towels and shoebrushes".  I have got to talk to Emwonk.

Today was another breakthrough day.  Jed was more relaxed; sudden noises and movements didn't cause him to tense up; and he looked at the pictures and when we questioned him he did not fall into sobbing fits.  He spoke of his mother today -- "Mama entity grounded forever."  And Emwonk, who has gone soft on the kid too, gave him what I think was a compassionate frown and -- I'm writing this from memory:  "Mama entity flow disrupted, alternate Mama entity flows joint Current.  Current recycles Mama entity's flow.  Additionally, Jed entity recycles Mama entity's flow, internal cognative visuals, audibles..."  Here he tapped his head with a finger "...Cognate Emwonk's verbals?"  Emwonk said something else, I was having lunch -- I put the spoon down to listen and Jed said, so quietly I could barely hear him, "Mama was...eaten".  Gods.  We were both floored by that -- he knew, so he must have seen.  I told him his mother was alive in his heart, something about Ilsare and love -- I don't remember now.  It came out in a rush.  I do remember saying he'd have to tell his father when we got them back together, and he'd have to say it in his father's way of speaking.  He perked up at that, but shook his head - "Papa entity will make alternate colors of the behind of my frontside for not protecting Mama entity."  He looked at us and at that moment his guilt came out.  "Why didn't it eat me instead of Mama entity?"  What do you say to that?  I opened my arms to him for a hug, I didn't have anything glib or helpful to offer.  He let me.  Emwonk said something about birds consuming Mama entity, and Jed whispered "I can still hear their wings beating...and the chompin', like someone eatin' soup with rocks in it.  Slurpin' and chompin'."

That page ended.  Under it was another picture.  He studied it carefully, again, amazed by the perspective and chilled by what it had represented, and where.  Or because he was sitting in a deep cavern with only a thin shirt and pants on and lying against cool rock.  Whichever.

The picture's focal point, center of the page, was a large tree with a blob hanging about halfway up the branches.  What appeared to be the sun was directly behind the tree at the very top.  The rest of the drawing was confusing - it could have been a forest.  There was no pattern to the surrounding part of the drawing, but in some portions there were what looked like trees that got smaller as they moved from the focal point.  Along side those were trees that get smaller as they approached the focal point.  There was no pattern to the tree effect, and it encompassed the top half of the paper.  At the bottom of the paper was a broken blade.  

After a quiet shiver, he flipped to more notes.

We discussed the picture -- Jed saw it "behind shuttered orbs", so in a dream.  He mentioned elevation with the trees, so mountains maybe?  He calls the knife a spoon, and says that a "broken spoon equals good grounding".  So the knife must be destroyed.  I hope Caerwyn comes back soon.

I think he's almost ready.  Taorn told me to leave him and walk away but I can't, not now.  It's been too long and I'm attached.  He's got talent, I could teach him what I know of drawing.  I'll have to ask -- and I'll sneak in to see him if the answer is no, after our talk.  I asked him if he wanted a teacher.  I have no idea what I was thinking but I know I wanted to nuture his art and by my Lady I care about the kid.  He reached up, ran a finger on my cheek, and I could see hope and affection on his face.  He said "You'll teach me? Singin'..and this?" He touched my  violin.  "You won't be gone...."  His voice dropped to a whisper and he started crying "...like mama?"  I would have promised him the moons and stars if it would have lightened his heart right then.  So I need to map out the village in case I need to be clandestine in my instruction...

Emwonk and I agree.  It's time to take him home.

[RollinsCat]

Jed was crying somewhere behind him.  Caerwyn rode ahead and Emwonk refused a horse, using his spells to move faster as they made good time toward North Point.  Jed cried louder.  He kept trying to look over his shoulder at the boy but his eyes were fixed on Caerwyn's pack.  The pack moved.  It wiggled -- something was alive inside it...he called out to Caerwyn but could make no sound -- he could not turn his head -- Caerwyn kept riding, and whatever it was ripped...no, sliced an opening in the pack.  The dagger.  The blade wiggled out and immediately the smell of raw, rotten meat clung to his nose and hair like smoke.  The dagger fell, sliding off the horse's flank and leaving a greasy smear.

Caerwyn kept riding ahead but the dagger landed in the grass and grew fantastically fast.  Too fast, it was the size of a fence now, he spurred his horse to jump it, faster, it swelled before him and the horse ran into it with a screaming whinny while he flew off the saddle and hit the metal so hard his nose broke --

A grunt from nearby.  For a few heartbeats he was losing his soul on a cold metal blade and lying on a cool stone wall at the same time.  The giant who had been by the door was walking away and his face hurt.  Putting his hands on the wall, the bedroll, and his pack helped to dissipate the wisps of the nightmare...it was a minute before he'd freed himself fully and steadied his pulse.  It was longer than that before he worked up the courage to test his face.

The nose wasn't broken or at least he didn't think so.  Nor was the rest of his face, thank the Muse.  The closer guard watched as he gathered up the notes that had slid from his hands in dozing and tested his injuries.  A surge of anger as he probed his sore nose and cheeks, and he got up and walked to the giant.  So what if they killed him; he'd end up in Leringard and the hell with all of them.

"WHY?"  He had to both raise and deepen his voice.  He'd already figured out that they heard better in the lower ranges, although it was silly to yell in common; the giant could not understand him but at that moment it didn't matter.  He pointed to his nose, and shoulder, and chest, miming the jabbing and yanking and poking that had left him so beaten and threw his hands out in a universal gesture of "what!?"

The giant looked down at him, sat.  That caught him off guard -- he expected to get jabbed or pushed again.  The giant -- I need a name for him...I'll call him Fred -- eyed him more intelligently than he expected.  A finger as large as a forearm reached out to touch his shoulder, and he stood still on a gut instinct.  The touch was as slow and gentle as the giant could manage and still pushed him back, almost dropping him with sudden pressure pain on the sore, throbbing joint.  The giant retracted his hand and waited.

He opened his mouth to say something, shut it.  The point was made, eloquently and without words.  And this one is smarter than the others.  However long this takes, it's going to hurt.  He nodded his understanding stiffly and returned to the journal.

The rest of the notes were few and cryptic, written in a hurry.  More drawings dating from 1464 to 1472, and another letter - this one to Annwyl - that he'd started to read before his body cried duress and shut down for a nap.  Settling back, he savored the letter.  This one he had re-written and sent, years ago, with different details in the final telling.  It was really a journal entry disguised as communication -- well, all of his letters were, if he was to be honest.  But this one was a happy ending.  There were not enough of those in the world.  It was worth reading again.

To: Annwyl
c/o Ilsare's Shrine
Hlint
Kingdom of Trelania
Mistone

My Sword, I write in good spirits -- both of the emotional and vino kind -- as I've recently seen a child reunited with his father and had some hand in the doing.  Honesty compels me to admit I'm well pleased with myself.  I write to share, before my hands are too inebriated to hold a quill with any accuracy.

The child we found in a cave being held by what we thought were slavers.  In fact they were not and we are still investigating what they are -- were, if we got them all.  The boy was with a number of survivors who had not quite made it onto the menu yet.  More on that in person, as I don't want to sully my celebratory mood by rehashing such ugliness.

The boy's name is Jed and it was nearly two months before he was ready to return home, being in such a damaged state.  In his captivity he saw his mother, and another child whom he was friends with, eaten.  Again I will provide details when we can sit and talk.  There was an evil dagger involved as well -- does this have a familiar ring?   I am reminded of our long weeks in Fort Miratrix here.  I will speak of the dagger in a moment.

The father I found but he is not a sophisticated man.  It would have been suicide for me and damaging to the child to drop him off as he was, unable to speak and locking up like a wooden doll at the slightest hint of violence.  My indications are he was most certainly a lively, boisterous child before his capture, although I doubt he will be such again.  I will be allowed to have some influence however and this also contributes to my high mood.

The methods I used to help him were of those of our Lady, music and drawing, singing and humming.  It took others to really force him to let out his emotions though.  I'm too soft on the boy for that kind of confrontation.  For that I must credit Daniel Poetr, Lana Poetr and Caerwyn as well as Emwonk; Daniel and Lana I am sure you know, Caerwyn and Emwonk perhaps not. Emwonk stayed on a few weeks to help after Daniel and Caerwyn pushed Jed into uncorking his terror and pain.  I must say we worked well in helping Jed, Emwonk giving him another language to speak of his inside hurts and I giving him outlets that do not require words.  Together we got him to speak, to feel, to cry and reach out.  It was exhilarating and rewarding in a way being on stage isn't; very personal, with tiny gains as important to me as a drawing rouse of applause would be in a performance.  Another side to music that I have, just now, begun to explore.  I think it suits me as much as being a performer does.

There is more to what finally made the boy ready to return to his farming community though.   I was set to return Jed but Caerwyn had ridden to North Point ( I am in Dalanthar currently) to have the dagger mentioned above looked at.  He returned as we were making ready to head to Jed's village and detoured us to North Point with the boy.  Can you imagine how I felt when Jed looked at me, after my promises of his imminent return to his father, and said (I paraphrase here) "But you said..."  Not something I want to do again.  Still, Caerwyn was adamant we leave immediately with Jed and the drawings he'd done, as the one waiting on us would not be for long.  And my gut said: go.  I'm not inclined to argue with Aeridinites on the subject of evil anyway, and I did wonder if Jed had been in any way compromised in his experience.

The trip was thankfully uneventful and Father Leidanos, an elf, was there and willing to see us in short order.  Caerwyn mentioned Elohanna had been there -- you know, I really think I like her quite a lot - I'm not just playing around.  But we'll see.  No one's caught me yet -- well, except -- but you know that already.  

I digress.  Father Leidanos looked at all of Jed's drawings and was very concerned.  Emwonk and I spent our time soothing Jed, who was quite nervous to be ripped away from the first place he'd felt safe in I don't know how long, and a from promise to be returned to his family, instead to be stuck in a temple full of sick people.  You can imagine his distress I'm sure.  

The Father called Jed forward and we all held our breath.  I was a bit overprotective.  Caerwyn, who seemed ill at ease in Aeridin's holy place, still vouchsafed the Father to him, and Emwonk mentioned -- I'll quote -- "Possible joint connectivity, Jed, spoon,", spoon being the dagger.  Jed took offense to that and protested he was not in fact joint with the spoon.  I think the Father was as concerned with their speech at that moment as he was with the dagger itself...

Anyway, we coaxed him to stand near the Father, and with all our encouragment he did.  Leidanos questioned him about the drawings, the dagger, and how he came to see all of it -- "behind shuttered orbs".  Caerwyn thought the dreams that he was drawing were in fact suppressed memories, another fear of mine.  We ended up telling an abbreviated version of the story of finding the dagger and Jed, and I showed Leidanos the "grocery list" -- a book discovered in the caverns detailing the gender, race, and quantity of people obtained.  A thoroughly despicable document I still have custody of, if only to hopefully give rest to some weary, anxious hearts someday.  Much talk about the dagger, the boy, and the drawings ensued.  Caerwyn was not anxious to have the dagger destroyed, in case it held clues, but I disagreed -- and still do.  No clue is worth what that thing can do, and it is at least superficially similar to the one we destroyed in the demon's caves.

Leidanos then searched Jed.  He probed deep for any hint of the blade's taint, to be sure he'd not be hurt when the blade was destroyed.  Thank the Muse Jed is clean of any connection, and the dagger was destroyed -- we were allowed to observe -- with no further delay.  Jed watched, his hand holding mine in a grip I had no idea a child could maintain.  He could not take his eyes off the ritual and was very quiet when it was done -- we were all telling him some variant of "it's over now, it can't hurt you anymore" but that was to make ourselves feel better.  He understood.

And finally we set out for his village, later than intended but I agree now in retrospect; it was good to be sure Jed was alright and to have him there when the dagger that was used on his mother and friend was destroyed.  The trip back seemed shorter if only because we were not counting the miles against some deadline.  It was not hard to find Taorn.  You should have seen Jed, Annwyl -- he ran, exactly like he did not the first time, to his father yelling "Papa! Papa!"  I had such a rush as I've never felt on any substance, not even my beloved social lubricant.  Taorn tried to shield him at first, thinking I'd take him again  - but we made him understand we were only there to return the child, and for that were privy to a reunion of such joy, a vision of Ilsare's gift of love from parent to child, father to son, that I had a religious moment.  Emwonk stepped forward in a gesture I can say I have never seen him perform -- he offered Taorn money.  If you know Em, you know how monumental that is, and what it says about his feelings toward Jed.

I rode the goodwill and joyous emotions forward to ask for one thing.  I asked that I be allowed to teach Jed, and see him from time to time.  Emwonk was quick to ask for the same privilege.  Taorn asked Jed if he wished this and the boy said yes immediately, so it was done -- I'll be coming to teach him what I know of drawing, and Emwonk will come to visit as well.  Jed doesn't know it but he's just acquired two extra parents...

After that, using Jed's drawings (which he declined to look at, preferring the safety of Taorn's arms for the remainder of the evening), we informed Taorn of what had happened to his wife and son.  The boy I thought was a brother was instead a friend, another village child if I recall correctly.  Some measure of closure can be given those parents now at least.   With the child's return a celebration was called for and the four of us, plus some village folk, contributed to a fine supper and some very good drink.  I gave Jed a kiss good-night when he was tucked in his bed, in his home, to sleep -- and felt a satisfaction I have not previously known woven with sadness that my brief time as a father was over.  So while I sit in good mood here in Dalanthar, knowing Jed woke this morning to his father and family and will be safe from at least those akehei oni that we were able to send reeling to the soul mother, there is a certain hollowness under my breastbone.  I will miss him.

Do you think I'd make a good father, Annwyl?

Love,


Andrew


A happy ending.  The rest of the drawings he looked at, one by one, watching the style and talent mature.  Jed, drawing his father, a few months after his return.  Drawing his father's new wife, a lovely woman whom he became very fond of and eventually had siblings from - drawings of the brother and sister that the boy was extremely protective of, to the point of annoying them sometimes.  A drawing of his teacher.  That, he looked at a long time, again; it was a few years old but he'd not changed that much.  Jed drew him with glasses on, his easy grin, midnight black hair tucked behind one ear.  A remarkable talent who had quickly outstripped his ability to teach.  He'd offered to take the boy to Hunagjin, to a place there where his talent could be further challenged and nurtured; Jed refused.  He was home and would stay home.  The nightmares had faded but the loss of his mother and his time in captivity had taken the adventure from him.  His father and village needed him, and that was that.

Jed still drew, and knew letters and numbers as well -- he'd made sure of that.  The boy was an asset to his village, called on already to help with small matters that required those skills.  He flushed with remembered pride, recalling the last time he'd seen the young man; almost eighteen, finishing a painting of a pretty village girl he intened to propose to, taller than Taorn and moving quietly and purposefully into manhood.  He should visit soon with a wedding gift...

Papers arranged, he tucked the journal back into the pack near his current one.  The glow of memory made his pains less as he shifted things around to make sure the journals were protected, the back of his hand brushing against his wooden box of cigars.  

His memory glow extinguished as a candle flame in a gust.  Cigars -- his cigars, both normal and Kurn's special blend, most cherished in those moments when he did not have to be focused or attentive of his surroundings.  How many?  With panicked haste he yanked out the box, counting, praying -- She would not listen to this prayer, he was sure.

Nine.  Nine cigars.  Not enough, even if he rationed, and a prickling of sweat went up his spine and across the back of his neck.  Muse, please, not another withdrawal.  Here, now, in this place, with what he had to do?  He stared at the contents of the box, neatly lined up, smelling sweet and sharp.  Two weeks, tops.  Was there a point?  

Before his brain caught up, he was already throwing the box into a brazier by Gruntaar's stone chair.  His arm moved in a smooth motion and a heartbeat later his mind snapped into a frantic backpetal -- he started to run after the box and was pinned to the ground by the butt end of a spear.  The sudden flare of flames and crackling hurt more than the force on his chest.  The flames died back, nothing exploded, no one died screaming.  The giant let him up and with a cuff across the head dropped him right back down.  He caught a single word and the disgust in the giant's voice spoke "idiot" as clearly as if he'd been using common.  

He crawled to his bedroll, lying still and determined to ignore any pokes and prods.  Tomorrow was going to be bad.  He'd be missing those cigars...Tashe, you baka yaro...and no one was going to take it easy on him.  But that was tomorrow.  Today, he would sleep and dream of children's laughter and a warm woman's arms.  He rolled onto his right side and sang, listening to his song and opening himself to the relaxation it offered, until the pain in his limbs became a tapestry in his dreams.

//for thedagda, and thank you

[RollinsCat]

*letter sent by bird*

Mother, I am very sorry for the long, long absence.  I have been away with no access to birds or mail, and so I blame my silence on that - I had students in an isolated location.  I have new students!  Although my teaching is done for now and I am called by my Captain to resume activities in Lor, I am oddly satisfied that I had the opportunity I did.  That, and the mentoring and testing of me by a Resonance member named Franco, have given me new perspective.  A fresh set of eyes to look in the mirror, and a fresh set of ears to hear myself sing.

Of my students I will tell you more soon, in person, as I will be on an extended buying trip in Huangjin for the Inn.  Yes, I'm bringing Ty.  Of Franco I will say he and I have an understanding, I believe, and a good deal in common.  His method of testing may be somewhat off the cuff but it suited what I needed to find out and I look forward to learning more.  I have taken a large step forward in confidence which I badly needed; I am learning my Self.  And again, more when I visit!

I have included a design for the Buckle and I am placing an order.  And, I will pay - the Buckle has a fund.  All of my dishes must have your stamp on the bottom.  No one else is good enough for my Inn!  Is that flattering enough for a special dinner when I visit and a few of your recipes for the Inn's cook?  

I am making this note deliberately short, if only to prove I can, and I will certainly fill you in when I arrive.  I might be bringing one other as well so be prepared.

Love and brevity,

Your loving son and grandson,


Tashe and Ty

[RollinsCat]

A letter is dropped off with supplies at the closest drop-off point to Hlint he can get to.  The penmanship is hasty, a touch desperate.  Enclosed with the letter are lyrics and sheet music of a new song written for piano.

Minu

I am here, or close to where your "here" is, dropping off all the supplies we gathered for the clinic and a few barrels of water.  KART is here at the drop-off point as well; they have considerably more supplies and relief is flooding in so you can focus on a cure.

I wish I could be in there with you, love.  I would beg permission to enter and sing for you and the Sisters if it were not for the situation with Ty and Tyra, as I told you; she's taking less and less care of him, and I more and more.  I can't even be sure she will answer Autumn's letter and as much as I trust Heloise she should not be imposed upon to babysit in a manner to make her a surrogate mother when she is just stepping into adult shoes herself.  The end result is I must return to the Inn soon, and will content myself with pacing here and squinting at the walls, hoping to catch a glimpse of you.  But by the Muse, I wish I could be in there by your side.

You asked for descriptions of the events, and I am ashamed to say I cannot give much in the way of specifics for reasons that will be apparent in a moment.  Here is what I remember:

Moraken's tower was under attack by the Cult and I got word when a ship came into the harbor bearing the news.  I made arrangements and moved as fast as I could to the shrine.  I was promptly directed off to said tower, where the battle had been raging for some time.

Outside the Tower were gathered a group of our peers as I have not seen since the meeting in the Great Forest.  They were preparing a break-in of the protective magics around the Tower; the magic was layered and mixed so thick it scraped my skin as we moved through, or so it felt.  I remember the magical energies were powerful enough to cause the ground to fog - again, as it seemed to me.  No one seemed to have any ill effects or reactions to this but I was preoccupied with protecting - let me say, "protecting" as we both know what I'm worth in a fight - Hayley and Kylie Copperstone.  

We moved in and the fronters cleared a large number of drach from the bottom rooms of the tower.  I sang, of course, and ran away when anything so much as looked at me funny.  One does get tired of being a wimp but I suppose it's better than the feeling of your soul's tethers being ripped from you.

At a lull in the fighting a plan was formulated to take the upper levels and while it was noble and right, I felt I should be at the shrine, defending for Ilsare in the event the town was attacked.  Word came that the Cult forces were split and some were in fact headed toward Hlint, and so it was agreed and a few of us headed back; the Copperstones, myself, Daniella, Razerium, a dwarf or two.  I regret I cannot recall which one but the only ones I can reliably recognize with a helm on are Argali and Gorm, and Gorm only because of his kilt.

We had limited time to prepare when they struck, not from Moraken's side of the forest but from the Haven side.  I remember a crush of bodies, singing, magic, a green fog - did I imagine that?  No, I'm sure I saw it - and screaming before I was sandwiched between a group of Hlint defenders taking down a drach on my one side and a drach swinging at me on my other.  I was trapped, I could not move.  Even my vaulted dexterity was of no help since there was no place to go that did not have a body blocking it, although they could not have been aware of the effects of their phalanx.  I was cut to ribbons but still on my feet when I staggered through a break in the defenders and ran straight into a meteor shower.  Not a friendly one, I might add.  And from then until Kylie called back in the name of Beryl - which surely I don't mind, Beryl being a kind and most generous goddess - I remember nothing.

I found out later that Razeriem had made the call on leaving me "dirt-napping" in that place between life and death we stonebound inhabit all too often.  I won't pretend it wasn't an embarrassment to find that your friends feel you better off dead than alive in a fight.  That took a lot of wind from my sails and still bothers me, honestly.  I must redouble my rapier practice.

The area was packed with bodies when I was brought back, all needing attending.  I gave my body to my shrine, hands, feet and voice, to sing and stanch wounds and do what I could.  Again I can offer little as my knowledge of non-magical healing is weak.  I saw a lot of jagged claw-slashes, a lot of open wounds, I sang a few men to their final rest in the name of Ilsare.  I alongside Daniella did a eulogy for the hundred or so defenders who fell.  She asked me to, which was a surprise - I didn't know she even knew my name before then, having only ever called me "Ilsarian" prior.  Yet we stood together to pay respects and I sang a prayer to the bodies.  I am enclosing the words, you will recognize the beginning, and another song as well for you.

The willow speaks
And I ignore
Your eyes are fixed far past the shore
And I can't bear what is in store
While wind the willow sings

We had our fight
Some of us fell
Too many here who cannot tell
And those who stand respect you well
As the willow sings

We stood together and bled to hold your walls
While the magics blew around us all
And now we sing you to your Godly chorus

You before
We light the pyres
And bear the heat of funeral fires
The tears evaporate on our cheeks
Knowing you are far from reach
As the willow sings

I apologize for the meter, it was made up on the spot.  I may refine it later.

After regaining my lung function, I remember organizing a moving of the wounded from the open shrine to the Wild Surge so they had protection from aerial attacks and the elements.  I remember the flight of drakes that we thought were initially the enemy, and how utterly majestic they seemed when we realized they were not Cult -- slices of icy grace against a sky shot through with magic, gliding overhead as white as pure salvation.  We all cheered as they headed for the magic-shrouded tower and I grabbed that sudden burst of relief and sang it through to ease the minds of those around me.  That time, I think I had an effect.

From that point until I left I was a go-for, a third or forth pair of hands and I did as Amen and the others bid me, all the while singing.  I have no recollection of problems before I left or of indications of illness that seemed unusual, but I will think again and try to recall if anything might have stood out that I did not have the time or energy to think over right then.

Minu, as unnecessary as this is, be careful.  I believe in you, in your reason for being there, and yet I am sick with worry that you will become infected before you and your Sisters can find a cure.  I am past the point where I can even imagine living without you.  You are my sun.  Please be careful in there.  Please come back to me.

Love,


Tashe

[RollinsCat]

To:
Margaret Reid
2 Clay Ward
Huangjin
Tilmar

Mother.  I write on a ship to places far away as Tyra instructs Tyr'riel on elven and I listen with half an ear.  

That was a joke I think, although unintended.  We are taking Ty to the only safe place I can think of, specifically to keep him hidden.  Kuhl and the Green Dragon Cult have declared war on the stonebound and have posted bounties on all of us who "adventure", with a minimum of twenty-five thousand True for any stonebound that is brought to them alive and immobilized.

You are at risk, mother, as is all of my family.  I've antagonized a lot of people with my little songs, but always it seems they were organizations with structure, laws, and methods that focused on the problem (me).  I have only worried for the safety of you, my family, twice - you remember.  Dark elves.  I have backed down when you were threatened, buried my pride and ego to shield you from the backlash of my activities.

Not so now.  It shames me to the core to say this but - there is nothing I can do to protect you.  The Cult plays by no rules; they murder in the dark of night, lie indiscriminately and large, and if my guess is right, will have no trouble destroying everything in a man's life (or paying someone else to do so) to get to him.  All that I love, all that I own, is in danger - the only possible advantage I have in this is that there are those worth a lot more than I.  I believe my bounty is the generic "twenty-five thousand" variety, or maybe fifty, I don't know, but a few of us are double that.  But I have no doubts that if harming or killing you would bring me into their grip, they would do it.

My Inn I will avoid for now as much as possible.  Michael has proven an able administrator and the kids have moved in for the time being to finish the remodeling while I travel.  I pray the building will be there when I return.  I don't know that it will.  Ty we are taking to safety, I hope.  You must keep a close eye on Opal and Vanessa, on everyone, and put in extra precautions.  I have included a bank note for you to use on security.  Use it, mother.  All of it.  Hire a guard - hire two.  There is enough in the note to cover that and window bars and warding as well.  You only need let me know if you require more.

I have prayed to Ilsare, done ritual to the ancestors, tried to feel myself inside the Resonance.  Sometimes there is a moment or two of peace.  I keep coming back to this though - the risks sometimes outweigh the result.  I can't stop myself from feeling sick knowing I've put you in this position, put my son in danger, again.  That I must be separated from him in order to protect him.  There was a time that I wanted a child of my own so badly I told Minu I wanted Aeridin to make an exception - just this once - for us, so we could be parents together.  I had even stopped avoiding human women and held some faint hope that one of my trysts would result in a child.  Now I am torn between wanting progeny of my own blood and not wanting to put anyone else at risk.  Wanting to be more than just a slap-happy bard, and wanting to be a family man.  One cannot be both in this world and sleep at night.

I will not be visiting as I promised, not so long as my presence would endanger you.  I was going to bring Elohanna, but she is still quarantined in Hlint; I thought to bring Tyra as you wished to meet Ty's mother, but she's as much a danger now to you as I.  I will be disappearing soon into a man I've come to know as well as myself and devoting that man to Lor's defense.  He is as good a place to hide as any, being unremarkable and not an adventurer, although I did take your advice and his powers will manifest themselves.  Mother, you have no idea how difficult it is to not sing.  I have struggled with that to the point that I feel like a flat novice and sometimes they don't work because I cannot imagine a spell without meter, without rhythm.  It's like dancing without music or eating without food.

With Lor's independence reasserted, I might even suggest a truce between Rael and Lor.  Yes, me - well, him.  Right now, with Rael's attention turned against the Cult - if indeed it is - unification is being pushed, and that would be a disaster with Lor's army weakened after the battle.  If a truce or treaty could be made instead that kept Lor sovereign to itself then precedent could be set.  Then again, that depends on what Rael is really up to, a subject I debate internally only slightly less than that of my loved ones.  When did Rael start looking downright reasonable to me?  

I'm sorry, I'm rambling.  Tyra is telling me it's my turn to practice elvish.  Time for Ty to have a laugh at my expense, and time for some of the last things we'll do together for I don't know how long.  I will continue to pray every day to our Muse that She keep his heart strong while his family is separated.  Please do the same.


Your loving, idiot son and loving grandson,

Tashe and Ty

[osxmallard]

Dear Andy,

Accept my sincerest apologies for the recent situation we went through together, as it was entirely inappropriate and foolish of me to put ourselves in such a dangerous situation so against the teachings of Ilsare.

I wanted to let you know that I have been seen by a small council of my peers at the Resonance of Being, who have in turn ruled that I should be expelled for my transgressions.  I sincerely told them that you were coerced by me into complying with my ideas and it was through no fault of your own that we found ourselves in such a situation.

It isn't being expelled which hurts me the most, it is the disapproval and silence from Keisha which pains my heart.  She has not spoken a word to me since the event, and I fear she may never speak to me again, but I shall take the punishment that I so severely deserve.  I understand the unrepairable pain I have caused her and the long lasting damage to her reputation as my mentor.  I am sure she will assign you someone new or take a renewed personal interest in your progression.

I am sorry my friend.

~ Franco

[RollinsCat]

Franco, my friend -

I am grieved to hear of the reaction of our peers to our experience.  I will pray for your return.  

You are welcome in the Silver Buckle and keep in touch.  In fact, I have a proposition for you so let us arrange a time to meet.  I have a good use for your - and all of our - voices, hopefully soon.  A bird message will find me on Mistone most of the time, likely near Hlint.

Yours in the Muse,


Drew

[RollinsCat]

He didn't even get a chance to try and save her.  By the time he got back, the spiders had feasted well and no horse he'd ever met was stonebound - his own death had been so fast he'd had no chance to sing his poison song, no chance to move.

He did a lot of stupid things.  This time it had cost more than him.  She'd been getting on in years, of course; slower, less inclined to gallop when he wanted to.  But she was his first, and his friend, and he had to go back for the body.  To make sure she rested well, as pitiful a comfort as it was.  

The hills were as good a place as any, he being a bard of very little strength and unable to drag her all the way to Center.  The grave took hours to dig; he lost track of time, chunking dirt out by the shovelful until it was deep and wide enough.  And he cried, harder than he'd imagined, not only for the white mare that had represented range, speed, power - wealth - but also for the friend who had carried other friends on her back when called to, entertained children, pulled carts.  Dragged bodies.

She was in her final resting a catalyst for his other fears.  Fears for his lover.  His child.  His friends, all potential victims of bounty hunters.  His kids at the Buckle.  All of them.  He curled up and cried, alone, until there was nothing left.

No marker, but he did pile stones to keep larger predators away.  And sang songs...lots of songs.  Songs for her, and for Minu, for Ty.  He sang to hear himself sing and soaked up the full range of his own emotions without filtering and with no attempt to capture one or any.  He felt what he felt; there would be no manipulation.

There would be another now.  Ilsare was not far from his mind or voice as he prepared to travel.  He had to head that way anyway; Willie had a concert to throw, after all; but a piece of him was gone, and he grieved to tell Minu she was dead.

No.  He wouldn't.  Not yet.  Not until his love had something besides loss surrounding her - it was a tiny lie, an omission, but this time he felt no guilt.  And, decided, he started the long journey to Dregar.

[RollinsCat]

The bow had sat over the brazier of coals long enough.  He took it up still hot and pressed it across a wood block bit by bit.  Inch by inch.  By evening's dimming light he held it eye level and examined the camber.  It was good.

The mahogany bow was set aside and he picked up a frog, fussing with with the horn and filing where the ferrule would go.  It was mildly distracting but his eyes snapped up to the gates of the shuttered town every minute even though he sternly told himself he would not look this time, this time, this time...

No Minu.

They had to be watching.  He couldn't sense them, but they had to be there.  He'd sit as close as he could, inch up when the guards were not watching; he'd whisper through the wood to her and still he worried.  There was too much at stake to give something up to wandering ears and yet she deserved to hear.  

He could not imagine how she was staying sane.  She was locked behind a wooden muffle while the furor over dying Hlint was slowly overshadowed by the Cult's movements on Belinara; the wave of supplies had dwindled or so it seemed to him.  It was quiet out here by the tents.  It was too much like watching that woman in the temple years ago.  The town felt resigned, a grandparent about to give up life for a place with the ancestors.  Or maybe he was just depressed.

Evening gave up the last purple streaks to night and even a full fire was not enough light to continue working on the bow.  He wanted to go ask, so much that he had to force himself to sit still.  It was a leaden panic between his heart and stomach that this time she would not answer, the medicine had failed...but the guards were busy with someone else and pushing for attention was not a good idea.

For his rising panic, he sang.  He had a process now.  First, inhalations; he'd cut way back on his cigars so this was not nearly as taxing as it had been.  Then closing his eyes and listening to the world around him and the song it made.  The wind, the fire, the crickets, the chorus of voices going about their night routines.  It became music.  Listening to himself breathing and the beat of his heart and letting it blend to one sound.  Letting go of the need to make and to hold, to shape and create, and just be there in the music.  It was something Franco had tried to show him but like so many things you had to find it on your own, and each path was a little different.

The song of the camp held his attention as he picked this detail and that.  Time was nebulous here in the music.  It depended on where you wanted your attention to go.  When he next looked up it was because his eyes were dry from staring into the fire and his need to rush to the gates was abated - but only just.  Such a long road ahead, if what he understood was true.  It had to be true for him.  Self was a place some people never left and he wondered if he would.  If he could.

But his patience was rewarded.  The guards were standing back at their positions and chatting about something in a way that said "just killing time".  The wind had shifted the smell of horse manure his way, and the wood just put into the fire was damp and snapping sparks like fireworks.  All in all a pretty clear signal it was finally time.

Ilsare, Aeridin, let her be okay...

[RollinsCat]

*Sent by bird*

Domo, mother.

I was overjoyed to get your letter.  Every day I hear that someone I love is still alive it eases my tension for a little while.  I'm glad the guards are keeping things quiet there and I'm enclosing another bank note to help.  I know, you didn't ask - but I also know that you are marked by my actions and your business is slow because of it.  Don't ask me how, I just do.

I have seen Aya recently and she's doing well.  Alive, still complaining, and untouched so far.  She seems to think she's unworthy of the Cult's attention and I try to tell her otherwise but she will not listen.  On the other hand, she is unscathed.  So you can rest your mind on that.

The inn is still closed and I don't know now that it will ever open.  Over the last year my depression is worsening and my friend in the Resonance was kicked out for his novel idea on testing me so I cannot turn to him for teaching.  In fact I have had no contact with the Resonance since, despite writing letters, and I wonder if I am removed as well.  It is disheartening and surely a strong contributor to this creeping blackness I feel.  

Since the Cult set the bindchasers in motion, and since my own stupid attempt to capture some, people have vanished.  My Sword, Annwyl, is gone and the Sisters disbanded as far as I can tell.  Minu remains in a painfully slow dying spiral in Hlint, and grabs at whatever hope is offered - only to wait and see that hope extinguished from lack of response.  I remain by her side and I have cut myself off from all other women.  It is the first time I've been truly monogamous, not just in body but in spirit.  I don't think about it anymore.  If she dies, that part of me will die with her.

I see almost no one in my travels.  The few and mighty in their Castle in Blackford do not speak to us, and most of the world seems to be in hiding until this thing is over.  The roadways are stonebound free, the creatures formerly culled safe to roam.  I am fast becoming a relic in this tense, fearful world.  And yet I try.  I am trying something even now, in Sedera, and pray my message gets to sympathetic ears.  I still don't speak the language I must with any fluency so this will be difficult, and yet I don't actually care - it's something.  It might help, it might not, but I cannot sit idle.

There is a fog over this world as the Cult advances.  I ask you do one thing for me, my first Muse; find someplace far away to go, some village with long-lost relatives, some place in the Spine mountains perhaps, and prepare the family to go there if we lose.  I will bring Ty and join you with all the funds I have at my disposal.  I can give the Buckle to Michael, he'll be a fine owner, and do what I should have done all along: take care of my family.

Let me know when you have someplace in mind.  I will let you know if this latest bit of information proves to be something that can help Minu or just another torture to her caring soul.

I have not heard from Ty since his first - and last - letter, but I have verified he's alive.  If he is well I cannot say and that separation is also tearing me apart.  Will I know my child when I am finally able to come and take him home?

I am stopping here because I have written myself nearly to tears, again, and I must pray.  Aside from the brief moments when I hear from those I love it is all that keeps me on my feet.

Your son


Tashe

[RollinsCat]

He'd flown.

Voices surrounded him but slipped off his tangible inner glow.  Gel's occasional fuming remark, discussions and arguments between this person and that - what do we do with it now? - and the booming silence whenever Hardragh and Argali crossed within fifteen feet of each other.  All of it cascading over him as water on rock.

It was stupid, he knew.  Stupid to feel special; it wasn't uncommon, others in the group had done it or could do it with the right magic.  He knew certain druids who could do it at will.  For him, though, a first.  

He relived it again, the motions, the feeling.  The moment, after getting Gorm off his tail, that his clawed feet had ceased to register their own weight.  The moment he'd flapped hard enough to lift and feel how the wind drafted under his wings.  Right after he'd straightened his back and threw out his full wingspan and glided, skimming, so near to crashing but higher than the gods on the sensation of flight.  He did crash and tumble twice but it was out of their view, thank the Muse, so that humiliation he could deal with.  He could even deal with the way he'd looked, trudging back the two-plus miles from where the spell had finally worn off.

The memory slid down a mental web, joining other firsts, other indelible markers of his existence.  His first time with a women - well, two, actually.  His first time being completely drunk.  His first time in love, the first song he'd ever played on Bella.  The first song he'd written and scored on his own.  Leaving home.  Intense, passionate nights in an office of a tsunami-soaked tower; realizing the depth of his love for Minu, holding Tyr'riel and knowing to his core that he was responsible for another human being in every facet.  His last time quitting drinking.  Hearing himself in Ilsare's heartsong.  This newest first slipped into place as a star in his sky of future dreams and nothing could touch him, nothing.

Well - except that he'd held the vial.  Stupid, but necessary.  A ship of dead men and he'd just picked the  thing up like it was a mug of ale and started walking.  He had to wonder at the repercussions.  It was probably the only reason no one had tried to physically kick his butt.  Some looked at him like he was a dead man already, for having been in contact with it for so long.  He didn't know.  Right now, he didn't care.  Loneliness and pain were buried under wings of fortune and even though he was stretched out, two-legged, in the cave, he could feel the wind over him still.  That and the songs he heard himself sing would keep him sane for now.

For now.

[RollinsCat]

To:
Margaret Reid
2 Clay Ward
Huangjin
Tilmar

Mother.  Quick words, since no, my arms are not broken nor am I dead.

Thank you for the letter and I am glad to hear all is well; I can say that hopefully things are a little safer, as the worst of the bindchasers have had their backs broken.  Literally, in some cases.  We managed to hold Audira against the Cult and Sedera by association and it seems all sides are catching their breath, but Hilm is the likely next target and I can't be lax with projects on my plate.  The entire story of the desert defense will have to wait for a visit and that won't likely be until after some resolution to this war has been reached, but suffice to say I've been busy.  Far too busy.

Ty is still safe, although I have been remiss in writing him or anyone.  This letter is the second of the evening, the first already winging its way to him, and perhaps with the scope of my part in this war narrowed I'll have more time to communicate.  I only wish I could be certain of the security of these letters, I have news both good and better; but for now, I'll just say that that minuet I was working on is robust again - the notes did not fade and the song is far from over.

To answer, am I fine?  No.  I'll recover, but no.  I caused the death of a woman and child, and although with the help of the new head of Krandor Hospital (who also inhabits the body of my friend Shadowleaf) we were able to get them raised, praise Aeridin for that, I have been in a very poor way.  I'm trying to recover my mental bearings, but for a time longer than any other I was unable to sing.  Not merely hoarse or of sore throat but completely unable.  I remember losing my violin Alex for a solid year after my stupidity with Jaelle.  This felt much the same; either Ilsare was truly displeased, or I'm much better at self-recrimination than I thought.  And still I cannot help but see Ty's face on that child's, and know that no matter how accidental, I would be hard pressed to forgive anyone causing the death of my child.  It does change how you look at the world.

I promise more later, for now I must rest.  Early morning tomorrow.  Love to everyone, and prayers to you all.

Your son,


Tashe

[RollinsCat]

To: Ragrian
c/o Trelanian Guard Post
Town of Hlint
Kingdom of Trelania
Mistone

Milady

I write to commend and to request.  I wish to commend Arfur and Portlie Dumas, for their determination in sticking with me during recent events.  They performed, and I think that word truly applies, their duties well; Portlie in particular was most loyal in protecting me, when he could catch me.  Two better-dressed guards an Ilsarian could not ask for.

I would request that any of the bards and halberdiers who have not yet done so be sent to Hilm Castle by whatever means.  I will reimburse travel if required.  They will be sorely needed, Milady - this I cannot stress enough.  I hope to see you there as well.

Yours in the Muse,


Andrew Reid

[mixafix]

Mr Reid
 
 I thank you for word of those volunteer halberdiers serving in distant parts. That they managed to help you usefully is a surprise indeed, that they remain well turned out - no surprise at all.
 
 I will send word then - all halberds to Hilm. But whether it will reach those so far away in time I cannot say.
 
 Good luck bright Bard, sing with style and please pay homage to Hilm.
 
 Ragrian.

[RollinsCat]

To: Captain Damiane
Krandor's Guard Captain
Krandor
Kingdom of Brelin
Mistone

Dear Captain Damiane

I have received the request to present myself and regret to inform you that as of now, I cannot make the trip; I am dealing with issues on two fronts, both personal, and have no one I could put in my stead while I travel.  I am enclosing my declaration below as requested and provided no further issue arise, I can be in Krandor in two month's time for further questions.

As I understand it I am to explain what happened on the evening of Junar 3, 1479.  Here are my recollections.  Understand that despite time passing this is an emotional topic for me as I shall explain and I will try to be as succinct as possible, but may fail here and there.

I was in town to visit Shadowleaf and Feawen A'nadivian; Shadowleaf and myself have been friends for decades and I, with him, am a founding member of the Krandor Hospital when it was first conceived by the Berylite Galathea Arnaduillae.  My purpose for being there was to discuss two young apprentices for the hospital with the A'nadivians and to visit they and their daughter, whom I am to instruct in piano.

While enjoying a talk in the entrance room, Ysgraine Ursus, another hospital member, arrived and we continued the discussion.  During this the door had opened on its own.  We thought it the wind and nothing more and returned to our talk.  Not long after that a slight and delicately-boned woman entered the hospital.  I identified her accent almost immediately as one of dark elven decent and was from that point forward on my guard.

Allow me to digress a moment.  I have had the unfortunate circumstance of dark elven company on more than one occasion due to my extensive traveling.  It has rarely ended well for me.  On not less than three separate events it has ended with me waking beneath a bindstone.  Over the years my naive assumption that "all dark elves that come to the surface are like us" has been quite thoroughly punctured and from that healthy suspicion was my predilection to swift action raised - I have only met one, singular, non-Az'attan dark elf that was truly not a threat.

Upon entering the woman identified herself as an Az'attan named Xilaorn.  Again I must explain; sadly, using the goddess of Redemption as a feint is not an uncommon trick among dark elves, and requires a cleric on reasonable terms with Az'atta to see through.  We did not have such in the room.  I am, as someone with a performing background, familiar with some of the nuance of deception in voices, and was able to detect none in hers; but this does not replace the certainty of those whose gods give them the ability to sense their deity's reactions.

Xilaorn expressed desire to explore joining the hospital as a healer.  All things considered, were we able to verify her religion, we'd have welcomed her.  I did ask about the increasing vanishing of Az'attan healers and the abandonment of the Az'attan temple in Sedera (I was at the battle there against the Cult and was able to witness the empty building first-hand).  The lady was not comfortable speaking of that and we were able to obtain no real information.  Under questions, she made her apologies and promised to return later, and left.

I was tense.  I admit it.  Ysgraine, being one of great practice in shifting forms, had taken shape as a small dragon as this confers an increase in senses - we were standing around the door where the red-clad dark elf had been, discussing the situation, when the door opened again and Ysgraine let out a warning screech.

It is here that I feel my greatest shame.  How to explain?  Is an explanation enough?  I am horrified of what I did and very aware of the narrow tragedy that was avoided by the grace of Aeridin, but, read on.  

Reacting to my awareness of the dark elf that had only just stood in the room, I let out a burst of sound - a trick I've learned over the years, the pitch of which is enough to set ears bleeding and stun anyone who hears it for a few seconds, long enough to gain control of a situation.  My thoughts of the moment were if it was not she who had returned, or those under her control, it was possible that she had inadvertently led others to her and us by default; either she was a true dark elf in a ruse, or a true Az'attan hunted by her kind or someone else with a reason to hurt her.  It didn't matter at that moment; I reacted, and I yelled.  I did attempt to modulate the intensity as I have never before used this outside of the wilds, never before inside the limits of civilization, and therefore wished to only impart the stunning and not the physical damage.

As you know the woman and child were standing at the door then, they being the ones attempting to enter the building, and both were killed instantly by the sound of my voice.  I had not modulated enough.  I nearly lost my mind upon seeing them dead; I am a father, Captain, and if this happened to my child, I would not be able to forgive.  Under the circumstances, neither do I expect forgiveness.

Outside the hospital was another potential member, a large man whom we invited; he was in direct line of sight of the event.  Although Feawen and Leaf took the bodies inside to discover the cause of death, Gurnorhn was able to verify to me that it was in fact my actions that had caused their demise.

I was beside myself.  Grief, guilt, fear for my own child; I kept thinking how easily it happened and superimposing my son's face on the boy's.  I lost focus and wandered, singing to Ilsare my grief for what I had done and hoping She would direct me to a cleric.  This was the song around town that was spoken of later.  It was my second attempt to rectify what I had done, my first being to ransack through the hospital looking for a scroll of raise dead as I have the ability to read them.

My Lady Ilsare is kind to me but this day She let me bear the brunt.  I was unable to find a cleric on my own, and an hour later returned to the hospital to try and sing their souls back; again a failure.  Finally, Shadowleaf recalled a House of Healing, and we went there hoping to find a cleric to undo my terrible mistake.  With a smile from the Muse and Aeridin we found one and I made a contribution of the man's choosing to have both mother and child returned to life.  I did try to speak to them, but they wanted nothing to do with me and left promptly.  This was perhaps the end of their story aside from an understandable distrust of the hospital and my own person, which I hope this letter might begin to heal; but not an end to mine.

I found out later a dark elf had been captured and killed.  And while I understand that you certainly share my paranoia regarding the deep dwellers, I cannot help but wonder if she was an innocent.  I would ask when I come for questions if I might ask a few as well?  There is still suspicion in my mind but also a fear that yet another healer has been taken from the world.  I would like to find out.

I have also stopped using that song.  It has never been my want to hurt anyone with the gifts I have and I have had a very hard time dealing it.  Of all the paths I have tried, that of vocal destruction was never one and it has been a long hard look I have given myself since.  I have worked hard at eradicating from memory the notes, working to memorize instead a song that has no potential to hurt.  A lesson learned.

I hope you will share this letter with the woman in question and her son.  If they wish to speak to me in person, as I said above, it will be a few months but I will come.


Yours in the Muse


Andrew Reid

[RollinsCat]

It is midnight.  Thalia has been gone two days.  He sits stiffly in his office chair where he has written songs he has not yet sung, because his voice lies dormant beyond what is necessary.  

The pain has not faded and he knows it never will.  His lady is deeply affected, blaming herself, clinging then keeping her distance, at a loss, for this is the worst he's ever been.  More so for his detached, cold normalcy - no drinking binges, no tears, no music upon waking yesterday morning.  Life is not fair.  Life goes on.  

Bills must be paid.  Conductors written to.  Captains reported to.  Prisoners spoken to.  A child must be collected, loved, cared for - that is next.  Bydell to Voltrex and back.  He will hold his son, his first son, and they will learn each other again, and he prays Tyr'riel will help melt the ice around his heart.

He is not alone.  There are others he knows who have lost.  One in particular whose son's face breaks through; he knew the son and he knows the mother.  It is for her first that he draws ink into the tapered quill and writes.



To: Tyrian Baldu'muur
c/o Twin Dragons Inn
137 Leringard
Leringard
Kingdom of Trelania
Mistone


Tyrian.

I wanted to let you know how very sorry I was to hear about Chaynce.  I was not there, being involved in another part of the war, but I understand he fell in the defense of Hilm.

Your son was a good man, Milady.  A leader who knew how to follow, a friend to most everyone - a delightfully unpredictable soul, as dedicated to doing right as he was to his lady and his cause.  He has left a mark on this world that is indelible for it is in each one of us.

Here I had thought to write about valor and heroism and all that.  But I am a parent, and I have lost a child - one who lives but whom I might never know - and I understand that poems and songs of heroes are no comfort.  No parent should have to outlive their child.  

Instead let me say only that I understand.  You are in my thoughts.  If there is anything I can do, I am at your disposal.


Yours in the Muse



Andrew


.................................................................


To: Edgar Whinessy
c/o The Resonance of Being
Port Hempstead Municipal District
Port Hemstead
Kingdom of Brelin
Mistone

Conductor, greetings from warm and muggy Mariner's Hold.

I apologize for the length of time since our last correspondence.  I threw myself into the war effort, as you likely know.  It has been - difficult.  I am home, recovering from too much death and too little food and sleep and the thousand lost moments that war carves into you.  I do have some issues that I think should be brought to your attention, however, and so it is with respect that I write to you now.

First, I wish to speak to you about Francesco.  I understand that his methods were - unorthodox, certainly - and that he's been removed.  I have thought long on what we went through and how it affected me, and I wanted to put some of those thoughts here for your consideration.

Was I in danger - yes.  I was in a situation that put my back to a wall and forced me to use and expand on what I knew in order to survive.  Had I not it is likely that I would have woken at my stone.  Franco relied on his past experiences, the ways he'd been toughened as a boy and man.  I cannot blame him for that and I do not hold him a grudge.  In fact I wonder if it was not him taking my measure better than I could take it myself, for I cannot tell you how many times - hundreds, hundreds of hundreds - that hearing, exciting, tempering the Resonance and responding to it saved me while I was in Sedera, on Belinara.  Would gentler, less dangerous circumstances have prepared me as well to sing myself out of mindless fright in the face of a poisoned-mad dragon not twenty feet away?  Would I have been able to sing myself up from the depths, having held yet another dying man that for his holy symbol I could not heal?  I cannot say, but I suspect.  So if Franco put me in a place that is not traditionally where your students go, at the very least he helped me to know what I was capable of and understood me well enough to know what sorts of situations I tend to find myself in.  

I believe in forgiveness, Conductor, and in this case, I would ask - unbidden by the man and motivated by only my newfound perspective - that you consider welcoming Francesco back if his only transgression was in his handling of my training.  This is outside of extenuating circumstances of course, as I am aware I am not privy to all aspects of his case.

Second.  I have recently taken in a young performer who has been suffering from a most vexing loss of inspiration.  That she has bardic magic at her fingertips is plain; whatever circumstances she has fled, and I am investigating that while I offer her shelter, it has manifested in her blowing the strings off any harp she tries to play.  I will amend that.  It had manifested so, but due to a most interesting evening and subsequent work together I think we have helped her move past that.  To be specific, in my playing I extended myself, drawing on both my joy of music and the calm I can find inside it, and - how to express this - send it to her?  Ripples, that is the only thing I can think of.  My music to her music, directly, through the Heartsong.  In this I was able to assist her in confronting some personal oni.  

Since those nights she's been able to play.  My challenge now is to a) convince her of her own magic, after I uncover what it is she runs from, as she's only perhaps fourteen or fifteen years old; and b) guide her through that discovery.  She is not Ilsarian.  I pray I can introduce her to the Muse, but barring that, I am enjoying being a teacher.  I've done this before in a much more challenging setting, but was unable to ask for any help and was rather thrown into it.  Now that I have time and resources (not to mention I can speak the language) I'd be grateful for any advice or assistance you could lend in the instruction of a potential bard.

And third.  I find I am at a point where I would ask for a tutor for myself again.  One experience with my formerly inspiration-less young student left me stunned at the power we hold.  I feel a need for some guidance as more and more things become open to my inner ear.  I would leave that choice to you, and will make the time whenever you are able to find someone interested in taking me on as a student.  Please let me know if you find someone; if they wish to travel I will provide them room and board here at my Silver Buckle Inn or I will go to them.

Thank Ilsare for our current peace, however fragile it may be, and I look forward to hearing from you.


Yours in the Muse



Andrew Reid

[RollinsCat]

Three letters are sent, in Elohanna's handwriting but in Andrew's words.  Each is signed by him in his black ink italic script.


To: Michael Gilliam
c/o The Silver Buckle Inn
Mariner's Hold
Kingdom of Sagewald
Alindor

Michael

I returned to Krandor and have been detained on charges stemming from an incident there.  I put the Buckle in your hands until one of us returns - please be frugal.  Amaria is welcome to stay and continue her musical endeavors while Minu and I are gone.  

I'll be back as soon as I can.  Please send any correspondence care of Krandor Hospital here and it will get to me, but be aware it will have to be vetted by the Krandor town guard so there may be delay.

For legal purposes:  Michael Gilliam has my grant of authority until my return or Elohanna's return to the Silver Buckle Inn.







To: Amaria
c/o The Silver Buckle Inn
Mariner's Hold
Kingdom of Sagewald
Alindor


Hello, Amaria.  I write to let you know I may be a while returning to the Inn.  You recall my admissions to you about my crimes in Krandor?  I am there now and have been detained on charges of manslaughter and danger to the populace and the calm.

I wanted to tell you this for two reasons; because you are welcome to stay as a guest in the Inn for as long as you need, and because I am here in no small part due to the serendipity of your arrival in our lives.  Let me explain.

When you came, I spent a good part of our first few discussions encouraging you to stop running from whatever it is that caused your artistic block.  You've had success on that front and it brings me joy to hear the music you're now producing.  But it reminded me that I, too, was running from something - justice (which to be truthful does not bother me so much as I find it often very narrow-minded) and facing those I damaged.

At first avoiding them was easy to justify.  The woman told me to leave them alone, and they were alive again, I'd fixed the problem, yes?  But.  Listening to you made me wonder.  I've hovered at the brink of death and been raised by clerics, I've felt parts of my very self severed - there isn't a better word for it - and I've awoken at my binding stone more times than I care to remember.  I think we forget after the first few times how much of a mark that leaves.  It becomes old hat.  But those first times we so easily dismiss are horrible, sickening, frightening.

For that woman and that child then, what scars did that raising leave?  What dreams might they have from such a traumatic event?  What are their red doors?  The more I think about it the more I believe I have to at least find out and do what I can to assist them.  Being arrested did put a wrinkle in my plans, but I trust Ilsare and will see this through.  There are always lessons to learn, even at my age.  So when I say your fortuitous arrival put me here it is in the best possible way.  You have provided me new insight.  I did say helping you helped me, didn't I?  I meant it.

Minu is here with me, although she may return before I do.  Michael knows you're welcome to stay.  Keep practicing and keep playing, and I hope to see you soon.


Andrew

 

To: The Angels Guild
c/o Angel Guild Hall
Merchant District
Port Hempstead
Kingdom of Brelin
Mistone

Raven Blue, Daniel, all:

I am detained on charges of manslaughter in Krandor.  Minu can explain more.  I might be a while.  I wanted to let you know.  Correspondence can be sent in care of Krandor Hospital should you find it necessary.

Daniel - I've read a law book.  You are right.  It did help me sleep.


Andrew Reid

[RollinsCat]

To:
Margaret Reid
2 Clay Ward
Huangjin
Tilmar

Kassan

I hope all has been well with you and the family – the sakura are well into blooming, yes? I wish I could see them. Ask Father to sketch me a picture. I hope he’s adjusted to letting Bobby run the business. Aya and I agree it’s good he’s gone back to design. We both hope he’s spending more time with his art now.

I’m in jail. You recall my letter about the woman and the child, Mirrim and William, and what I did to them? When I went to put in my declaration in Krandor, I was convicted of manslaughter and sentenced to a year in jail and twenty year’s banishment. If you have written me, that is why I have not responded.

Minu is here working with the hospital to restore their reputation. Ty is here as well. It has been a bittersweet reunion between us and we’re learning each other again. I am allowed one hour a day for visitors and he comes every other day. The jail allows him to bring his guitar in, thank Ilsare. I’m allowed no instruments of course but I can help him with his playing; he’d given it up for a while he was away. I’m grateful he comes as often as he does. He’s still very angry at his mother and myself, and he should be. I am going to spend a lot more time with him when I am finally escorted out of this town.

It’s very hard in jail. It’s not a place of law and order inside the cells. It’s a place where the laws are made by those who have nothing to lose, and the few that come through that don’t intend to commit crimes again become grist for the mill. The rest get a fine education in the nuances of being bad. I hate it here. I am lonely and heartsick.

I have a pupil of sorts and sometimes that makes it tolerable. He’s an older man with an amazing voice. I don’t pretend that teaching him to sing will make his future any brighter, but it passes time and maybe it will help him someday.

Please write in care of the hospital or write Elohanna and it will get to me. I would love to hear some good news, some family news – how are Opal and Vanessa? How is business? Do you need anything? I can have Michael send it. Don’t fire those guards just yet either.

I can’t write much more as I am limited in how long I am allowed to be out of my cell. Love to everyone.

Your son

Tashe

[RollinsCat]

To:
Margaret Reid
2 Clay Ward
Huangjin
Tilmar

Mother

Thank you, thank you, thank you for writing.  I was getting sick with worry.  I'm glad to hear that the pottery business is doing well what with everyone wanting pots and jars to preserve harvests and brine meats, but if the food shortages get any worse, I want you to please do this: Close up shop, pack up your things and come to the Buckle.

Yes, I know father won't like it.  But for Opal and Vanessa's sake convince him.  I'm sure he would not want to imagine them caught in food riots.  I will make room for you here until whatever is happening on the islands is resolved.  I do know that rumors of attacks on livestock are getting more frequent everywhere, and so I can't promise that Alindor will be much safer if this continues, but I also know at least one person I trust absolutely is working on the problem.  The Buckle has deep food stores.  We'll be able to go a while, even with a full house.

And you can't be serious about Opal having a fiancee.  I don't think you could have written anything that could make me feel older...at least until Ty makes me a grandfather.  If or when you have to leave, bring him and his family too if they'll come.

So, jail was awful, to answer your question.  I did make some friends oddly enough - it only reinforces something I've been learning over the years, that you really don't know a person until you know them.  That, and good is a shifting scale, not a single trait with any meaningful definition.  I've always considered myself "good" - and now I'm a murderer and an ex-con, details aside.  It makes me pause a little where before I would rush in rapier-tip first.

I'm extremely glad to be back home.  Michael did such a stellar job of taking care of the Inn while I was incarcerated that I've promoted him to manager.  His wife is due with their first child soon so the income boost will come in handy.  I'm considering hiring her too in fact.  I'd like to hear a baby's laughter around here if I'm never to be blessed with another.  Minu has convinced me not to abandon my association with Krandor Hospital yet and she's used all of her womanly wiles to keep me at home lately, not that she has to try hard.  I've enjoyed being here.  More than ever before the restless has been at bay; my student Amaria is now with the Resonance of Being for some training with her talents, my son is speaking to me, the Angels Guild has welcomed me back, my Inn is standing and doing decent business and my woman is still by my side.

I guess I could say that for now, I'm content.  We'll see what tomorrow brings, eh?

Talk to father.  You gave birth to me, raised me, paid for a few of my mistakes, put up with far more than you should have.  The least I can do is offer you shelter when you need it.

More later, Mother; keep the communication coming.  It gives me peace to know you're well.

Yours in our Muse

Your loving son and grandson,


Tashe and Ty