The World of Layonara
Character Development => Development Journals and Discussion => Topic started by: Carillon on April 16, 2008, 11:55:16 AM
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//Okay, a quick OOC explanation for anyone curious enough and with the access to read these. I had been keeping Jaelle's journal very out of date and keeping the entries on my desktop. Unfortunately, a large portion of them were lost so while I struggle to update the old journal I will be maintaining this new one so her thoughts are not entirely lost.
If you have the access to read these it means you've probably been dubbed by the Team to be capable of avoiding metagaming and other nasties. However we're all human and Jaelle's a little whirlwind of drama, so if you think you'll have trouble separating what you might read here from what your characters should know in game, here's your chance to turn back now.
No? Okay, fine, but you were warned! ;)
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I saw Muireann today in Port Hempstead. She was at the Scamp's Mug, baking pies. It's the first time I've seen her out of the house in a while. Her illness troubles me.
It seems my fate today was to play messenger to her for men who do not have the stones to come to her themselves. I gave her Brian's key and later, in her lounge, the holy symbol. I am not ashamed to say that she frightened me then. I thought it was bitterness in Hardragh himself when he called her too cold and bitter these days, but there is some truth to it. I have never seen such ice in her smile. It frightened me, in a way few things do these days. She spoke aloud to Jeran, dead these many years, talking of vengeance against Hardragh. I cannot help but fear for him. Curse his soul, but he is still dear to me in some way, and I think Muir means to kill him if he crosses her now.
In the end, she gave the symbol back to me. I am glad and sorry for it at the same time. It bears a heavy weight, that symbol. Its history is one full of love and betrayal, and now neither of the people who wore it wish to keep it. In some ways it is fitting that it should come to me. Perhaps there is some kinship between us, this holy symbol and I. Our histories are more similar than one might think, being traded between a Voice and a Priestess.
Muireann's “illness” continues to drain her. She worsens, and I worry for her. For so long I did not know why. Now I know, and I think the knowledge scares me more than my previous ignorance. To be bonded in such a way ... I do not think I could do it. She says she will not let it kill her if she can help it.
We spoke of the Lady of Storms, too. Muireann listened to me. She knows how I waver, how I teeter on the brink of this thing. I spoke of my reluctance, of my fear that Mist would not accept me, and she told me to stop putting my doubts onto the goddess. It is true. My doubts are my own. I am afraid to give my soul to a goddess, for I have never wanted to belong to anyone but myself. Muireann told me she felt much the same once, and I asked her why she swore herself then. She said that it was not a choice, once she realized she already belonged to Mist. I asked her if I would know if Mist ever claimed me in such a fashion. She said that I already knew, but I just liked to run. Is that true? Is the Lady of Storms calling to me, but I am too afraid to respond to her? I truly do not know. Muireann is wise, but she also frightens me sometimes. I know what she would do to me if I crossed her. She has told me if I betray her to Hardragh ... but I won't. I won't aid her, but nor will I cross purposes with her.
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Something very strange happened in the square yesterday. I saw a woman by the fountain, surrounded by magic. It drew me to her. She seemed to be having trouble controlling her Gift, and I was curious. She calls it curse, though, not gift. I did not understand why until she took my hand.
Power. Such power, but no way to control it! Elgon, Brian's half-brother, was there and tried to intercede, but his aunt held him back. The woman seemed more interested in me, though. It is my belief that she sensed my Gift, for when she took my hand I felt the Al'Noth flowing through me more strongly than ever before. It was wild though. Such wildness I have never felt in the Al'Noth! It bubbled up inside of me, and try as I might, I could not focus and control the magic. I tried to visualize the effects I wanted in the manner of my tutelage, but I could not clear my mind and I kept casting, spell after spell, unbidden.
The woman (Elgon's aunt addressed her as “Laura” or “Isabelle” but she called herself Ellena) said it was a gift. She asked me if I served a goddess and I found myself answering her honestly, telling her of how close I was to swearing fealty to the Lady of Storms. She summoned a great water elemental then, and I heard the gasps and cries of fear from those in the square. I had not been aware until then of how much of a spectacle we were making, for when I looked there was quite a crowd around us, though they still drew back in fear. I saw Connor across the square and was glad of it. Of any in the world I could wish to be there just then, I think it would have been him. And the one I least wanted to be there ... well, he was there too, demanding to know what she had done to me and trying to pull me away.
I had questions then, but she wouldn't answer and my brain was too clouded with the power flowing through me. All she said was to enjoy the gift, and then she walked away. As she did a wave of nausea hit me as the power of the Al'Noth surged through my being. Brian was trying to take my hand, but a small rational voice in the back of my head kept repeating very insistently that touching anyone would be a bad idea. Connor stepped forward then, and told me I must try to stay calm. I tried! Gods know, I tried, but I couldn't control it! Magic ... magic I had never been able to work before, flowing out of me. I held it mostly together until I started summoning things and changing shape. After that, I was truly terrified.
They kept telling me to stay calm. I asked Connor to get everyone away ... I didn't want to hurt them and I didn't know what I would do. I do not know why, but I trust Connor at least as much as I trust Muireann. Perhaps it is because it was she who introduced us, when I wanted a tutor. Regardless, he managed to get me to take his hands, and then he closed his eyes and subdued the wildness of the magic. No, that is not quite right—he removed it. Whatever the woman had given me, he took it away. I feel only a small pang of regret at this, for though there was power there, it was nothing I could ever have used.
Even before Connor took his hands away, I felt myself falling. All my strength was gone, but his grip was strong and he guided me down onto the cobblestones gently. I felt so strange ... how is it possible to miss something you had not possessed an hour ago? But I felt so drained. Brian was there of course, wanting to take care of me. Of all my gifts, perhaps this is the most consistent: the ability to make people want to care for me, for others were there as well. Elgon stayed long enough to make sure I was alright, and a merry elf with sparkling golden eyes I had met in the tavern not two hours hence offered to find me a room as well. Connor ... Connor went after the woman, but I do not begrudge him that. Perhaps I trust him in part because he has never been swayed by my beauty.
In the end, it was Brian I let take me to the inn. He had to carry me, but it is not the first time he has had to do so. There is no one I have hurt more, I think, and yet his love rarely wavers. Poor Brian. The news I gave him has sent his head spinning. I do not blame him. I cannot imagine what it would do to me after so many years of solitude to learn I had a family again. And all because of the lullaby, that melody that he remembers now. That little lullaby, which is the last thing I recall before my exhaustion overwhelmed me and consciousness left me.
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After the unpleasantness in the square, I thought I would return home to Leringard for a few days to recover, but when I disembarked in that city I heard a rumor on the docks of games of some sort on Krashin, and decided on a whim to take the ship there instead.
Muireann and Hardragh always pray before they sail. I have even seen sailors who profess almost no faith in Lady Doom utter sincere and fervent prayers to her as the wind catches the sheets and their ship eases out of the harbour. I am still not sure how to talk to a goddess though, and even if I was, now I question whether this is the one I should be talking to. I loved her wildness and her fury, the unpredictable nature of her storms, and her decree that we should struggle against them. She values the strong, and isn't afraid to test her followers. I thought perhaps that was the reason for some of my suffering: a test, to bring out inner strength dormant within me. But after feeling the wild Al'Noth in the square, I cannot be certain anymore. Surely of all things, that is the closest my magic has been to Mist's nature? And yet not knowing what I was going to do or who I might hurt ... the raw, uncontrolled power only made me sick and fearful. I am not sure I am worthy of serving such a force of nature as the Storm. In the end I didn't know what to say to her, so I just held the holy symbol and watched the waves.
In warmer climes, the sea is blue or green. En route to Krashin, it is like some of the colour drains out of the water. The grey of the sea here never fails to remind me of Hardragh's eyes, and I am painfully reminded that this is his homeland, as well as the childhood land of so many others who have left their marks on me.
The games were not at all what I expected. The chief, Gomo, sent his son as envoy to meet us at the camp. Momo, as he is called, is a big, ugly brute but seems gentle enough at times, though not gifted with any great wit. After seeing his father, I think his size and rough appearance come mainly from his mother, though I hesitate to speculate on the woman who gave birth to such a boy. I find myself hoping that the chief has a philanthropic streak and adopted him. It's certainly possible, judging from the chief's demeanor.
I expected ... I do not know what I expected. Someone more like Hardragh or Muireann, I suppose. Charming, perhaps, but always with that underlying hint of iron, that elusive toughness that seems to characterize the northern isles. I did not expect a battle of compliments. Nor did I expect to be paired with Brian, though perhaps knowing my luck I should have. I am an ill-luck coin, it seems.
It was uncomfortable. I so nearly abstained from the game altogether, but he had invited us there and I did not want to give offense. I did not know what would or wouldn't give offense to their people. They call them barbarians, and I think it not entirely amiss. There is a roughness to them.
I shall not write the words we spoke to each other. I shall say merely that they were true, and yet they are still not enough. I cannot allow someone to get so close to me, both for my sake and their own, so no matter what pretty words passed between us, our reality is unaltered.
In the end I needn't have worried about giving offense. The mage from the auction, the lady Linda, managed to blow up most of the camp in an impressive and very lethal display of magic for the chief's pleasure. This sent the entire tribe running to the hills and left many of the guests either wounded or dead. I think it unlikely that we will be remembered fondly or indeed invited back at all. It merely goes to prove that one should never entrust diplomatic matters to a mage. Consumed by their studies as they are, they seem to have a knack for getting into scrapes. Then again, so do I. But Aryell ... Aryell would do perfectly.
I have not told anyone, but when I study enchantment with her I also study her form and her manner. I have noticed a kind of roughness in myself lately, perhaps born of too many years of isolation. I am still uneasy in large groups and I lack the sophistication of the nobility and well-born. I must find a way to control the strangeness in my manner and blend into gentle society if I am to succeed in my aspirations. Hopefully my order from Omer will aid me in this.
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I have seen the woman called Laura in the square again. She came to me by the fountain, just as before, and bid me sit with her a while. I did so, though this time I was warier and kept my guard up. She apologized for the incident the other day, in a manner. She admitted that her “gift” had been a bit much for me, perhaps, and assured me she meant me no harm.
She made me an offer, too. Power, among other things. That she has power and can grant it, I have no doubt. What the cost of that power would be, I am not sure. The price she asks at the moment is that I cease contact with Connor. I know this to be a bad idea, but I do not know if I can help but acquiesce to her requests. When she held my chin in her hand and looked into my eyes, it was as if I lacked the willpower to pull or turn away. In some ways, this is the same force of personality I have seen in Connor himself, and Aryell and Elmater too, but they are less inclined to use it against me. She has no such scruples, I think, though I still do not know how malicious her intentions are. She claims she does not wish to use me as a pawn, but to share power with me and treat me as an equal. And yet she would threaten me with harm to keep me from going to Connor ... I am not so foolish to trust her, no.
Connor seems to be an object of great interest to her, and I am quite certain she plans to use me to gain insight into him in some way. She has told me she will return, and that it would be wise for me to tie up any loose ends in the city, for I will likely not be there much longer. I am not sure whether she will keep her promise, but I am fairly certain that if she comes for me I will not have the strength to resist her.
When I returned to Leringard, there was a letter waiting for me. Naturally, it was from Connor—a response to my correspondence from the other day thanking him for his efforts on my behalf in the square. He explained in it much of what happened, from his perspective, and I am grateful for his insight. He warned me that Laura or Isabelle as she calls herself might come for me again, and not to provoke her if she did, but to avoid contact with her. A warning come too late, I fear, though I am not sure it would have made a difference. The most terrible of the news contained in that letter was that this strange woman was apparently up until recently a vampire, but has since found a way to walk in the daylight. I confess, I am not sure what this means. Has she been cured of her taint, or merely found a way to overcome it? The letter was unclear, and I cannot ask Connor now without risking crossing her.
I am so tempted to go to him and throw myself at his feet and on his mercy. I think he would protect me if he could, and in some strange way I trust him. Perhaps it is because of Muireann, or because he is my sometimes-tutor. Regardless, I know he would aid me if he could, but I will not ask it of him. A sin of pride? Perhaps, but I am also fond of him and would not see him come to harm. The vampire has promised no harm will come to him or his female companion while I do as she says, and until she proves otherwise I can only trust her in this for now.
If it comes down to a choice between my life and his ... well, my choice is clear. I am not a strong enough—nor a good enough—person to become a martyr. I will not sacrifice myself for Connor, much as I respect him. For as long as I can, though, I will play the game with all the subtlety I have gained in my machinations in Sedera, and we will see how far luck and a little cunning can take me. I will not ask for help ... not yet.
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Men are fools, and women are too often their weakness, it seems. While at the Hall of Reconstruction in Port Hempstead, I crossed paths with Tritherion. Now, I should say that this is not the first time he and I have run into one another, and he has always been civil and friendly. Lately, though, I have sensed his growing desire for me. Today, he proposed a trip of some sorts, and we set off for the Dragon Isles. Although I suggested inviting another along to aid us, he seemed to want privacy and I granted it. His folly, for when I went to mine aventurine he got himself petrified by one of the gorgons which promptly gored him with its horn. Thankfully I didn't even have to decide whether to try and save him or not, for it turned me to stone as well. As I was invisible at the time, though, I survived and left the cave safely.
I thought perhaps to leave, but on a whim I decided to wait for Trith. It is not good to make enemies when one doesn't need to. And for this patience and restraint, it seems I have been rewarded. Trith took me to Alindor and up to some high hills overlooking a lake. I suspect he brought me there to woo me, but men talk too much when they try to woo women, and they rarely think when they talk. He let slip a secret I think he shouldn't. It seems Trith has more sway in the world than I gave him credit for, for he is a member of a secret council. They call it the Council of Hope.
Hope ... hope is such a dangerous thing. Give someone hope, and they will do anything for you. Even spill secrets they should not be uttering. And so Trith and I play a game. We wager and barter: kisses for secrets. But I play far better than him, for I am quite certain he does not even know this is a game to me. He seems to think he will tame me, and steal my heart. And for my part in this, all I have to do is appear to offer it to him, if he dares seize it.
Hope, as I have said, is a dangerous thing.
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Marcus and I had such a long talk in Hlint yesterday. I caught him by the temple there buying potions and we went to sit together by the lake. There is so much I didn't know about going on in his life lately. Two children, and their mother ... how could I not have known?
Her name, he tells me, is Corrine, and she was a slave. She is wounded, like so many of us seem to be, and he says they are not sure what they want. We talked for so long, about what is, what was, what might have been ... it was true, what I said to him in Hempstead. I do love him. I care for him now far more than I did before. This fact surprises me, for I never expected to, and I am still not sure what to make of my affections. I ask nothing from him, for he asks too much from me. My love, paltry as it is, would not be enough for Marcus. He requires more—the kind of love I think only exists in storybooks and bards' tales, and I am not even sure whether my feelings for him are as friend or lover, or something caught hopelessly in between those realities.
It startled me that he even asked, though. He asked whether I could ever do it, whether I could give myself to him entirely, without reservation. Part of me so badly wanted to say yes, but there is too much honesty between us for that. He knows I am damaged somehow, and that intimacy is difficult for me. What intimacy there is between Marcus and I has been hard won, but I am glad for it.
Still, I would not have willingly given him my secrets. He persuaded me somehow. His presence puts me at ease, and since I pushed Brian away I have been so lonely. And so I found myself telling him about Isabelle, about so many things ... the words bubbled over and rushed out of me. I swore him to secrecy. I hope he keeps his promise. If Brian finds out, there will be bloodshed. I do not want to die, but nor do I want their blood on my hands. Especially when that blood will make no difference. Hardragh and Muir would tell me to struggle against adversity, but when adversity is so great wouldn't it be sweet to just surrender to it, to close my eyes for a moment?
It will never be enough for him. I know it, and he knows it, but still we fool ourselves. We seek to make eternities out of moments, and to learn to stop time. Did I once say moments were sufficient? It is not so. They are gasps of breath at the surface, but they are not enough, never enough. My love is a stone lodged deep in my throat, and it threatens to choke me. I should never have loved, or should have loved one of them better than this fragmenting of loyalties and affections. And yet I will not trade that kiss, or these moments, for these small truths are all we have.
*a large ink blot where a quill has rested on the page for some time*
I feel like I am losing my mind.
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I have been traveling so much these days. If Isabelle comes to me at the fountain, I will contrive not to be there. So many trips—Elgon and Fianon and Christine up in the cold Brech Mountains, hiding in Storan's crypt with the mummies and bodaks, climbing up and down the Hammerbound Peaks looking for that stupid oil ... anywhere safe, anywhere far from home.
It is amazing, what I find to occupy my time and fill my thoughts. I fear where my mind will go if I am idle. And so I make poisons. I make inks. I flirt with the priestess and teach her and Fianon to play dice in the Harpy. We gamble for kisses. A low wager, comparatively. I puzzle over what happened in Sedera, and what lies ahead on that path. But I still row back and forth from the Isle of Mist when I pass through Leringard, and sit on the cliffs of the Lady of Storm's temple. The priestesses and priests seem to accept my silent presence ungrudgingly, and for the most part I am left with my thoughts. Dangerous thoughts. Unruly thoughts.
Muireann came to me, the last time I was there. She said she passed Hardragh on her way, coming from the temple. I did not see him though, and he did not speak to me. We have little to say to one another these days. We spoke of my faith, and I can tell her patience wears thin with me. She says I overanalyze it, that I am thinking too much, that I must just let go. She says I am waiting for a sign, but that the true sign is my feelings. I deny none of this, but still I stand on the edge of the cliff, afraid of what lies below.
Chaos. Are we truly meant to love chaos? I thought I reveled in it, but that was before Isabelle turned my magic wild. Have I failed some test? Muireann says that there is a difference between embracing chaos and becoming a complete madman. Sometimes I think that line is very thin, and easily crossed.
We spoke of Connor, a little. She told me nothing that would betray Isabelle's interest in him. Mostly, she spoke of him in the context of her bonded one. She says if he judges the bond dangerously unhealthy he will try to sever it, with or without her permission. Already, she will die without healing even one day. When will he deem it “too dangerous”? Even so, I think she might sooner kill him than let her rip the bond from her. She will kill us all without hesitation if we cross her. Or nearly all.
Three. That's how many she would hesitate for, and one of them is dead. Jeran and the children, and Jeran let her die once. Three, and I am not one of them, nor her husband. Three, only three ...
How many would I kill, if it came to it? I no longer know the answer.
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It is stranger than I thought to pretend to be interested in Trith. It shouldn't be. How many times have I done this over the years? First to survive, then later for other reasons: to create jealousy in another, as a bargaining chip, even merely for the love of the game, of the chase. How is what I am doing here different from what I did in Sedera with Reverarden and Sevell? Save that I grossly underestimated Sevell and I do not believe I have underestimated Trith, I see no difference. I purchase information with the coin fate has given me. I feel no guilt over the methods I employ, though I know what gentle society would think of them.
Trith continues to leak secrets like an old canteen. It is not easy enough to be boring and I have to be careful not to misstep, but it is easier than it should be. I pray that the other Council members at least are more guarded with their tongues, or Hope will die all too quickly.
Among the things Trith has told me is a second name, another council member: Krysthalion. His tutor, another monk. I imagine his mentor would be displeased to know Trith gave me his name and council status as a lover's token. I merely showed my fear and vulnerability and he sought to calm me. This is one way to have a secret from a man: play the victim. They love to play heroes, especially the gallant knight types.
In addition to the second name, Trith took me to a storehouse used by other council members in Prantz. (I have to admire their gall, plotting Rael's demise under his nose among other things.) There is a little saferoom there, a bedroom for council members when they need a hiding place. I took careful note of the address, and may or may not decide to stake it out. Unfortunately, it seems that the others who use the facility are absent right now so such vigilance might be for naught. Even if it doesn't yield any more council identities though, the storehouse is a treasure trove in itself. Chests of fine wood and gems, rubies and emerald dust and other wonders. It made me gasp to see it. Trith showed off their dragon's hoard like a proud boy showing another child his father's weapon closet. Close enough to the truth, I suppose, for their pretty gems are weapons indeed. Trith made no secret of how the council puts them to use, buying information and men. He actually bragged of how they bought information on Rael for one hundred thousand true once. An “inside” job, he called it.
And yet as easily as he gives me what I want, I still must give in return. It is impossible to do otherwise. Even fools like Trith demand some recompense for their attentions. It is rare that it serves to pay openly in flesh—only lustful traitors and betrayers strike such bargains. With men like Trith who like to pretend they are good and loyal, one pays in promises. One alludes to what lies in the future, hints at blossoming feelings and commitment, and suddenly that future is a promise ... though of course not one I ever intend to fulfill. I rarely keep my promises for the sake of my word itself. And so it is all a deception and an illusion, except for a tiny seed of truth at the core. This is the dangerous part, this minuscule piece of reality wrapped up in the fantasy, but it is necessary. The best lies are those that brush up against the truth but don't quite touch, and it is more difficult to seduce someone without even a glimmer of interest.
There is precious little genuine interest with Trith. He is like a bragging child, trying to shower me with wealth and gifts, cloying in his affection. And yet there are still good things about him, vulnerabilities and hopes that he has shared with me that will make it difficult to crush him in the end. I shall be gentle if I can, but I shall not let myself be shackled by a desire to be merciful. When his usefulness has run its course, I will find a way to dispose of him. Some way, preferably, that doesn't leave all of the Council and their allies nipping at my heels like hounds after a blood scent. Perhaps I shall be fortunate and he shall die before then and save me the trouble.
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She came for me again, in the Hammerbound Peaks. Laura, Isabelle ... call her what you like. She came to claim me in Lyn. Gods only know how she found me there! I was out in the snow showing the vixen priestess where the smithy was when a wave of fear crashed over me like it might swamp a small boat. Nausea and irrational fear hit me like a blow to the gut and I hurried into the inn to my room. I lay down on the little bed, breathing deeply, and eventually I felt calmer so I went back outside. And came face to face with my nightmare speaking to Vixen. Sweet Hedessa! She played the innocent, asking what the woman wanted from me, but Isabelle just looked past her and saw me.
It took a moment, nothing more. I knew in that moment she would have me that day, and the only uncertainty is how much blood would be spilled in the acquisition. Were that there were fewer loyal to me there that day! Hedessa, little vixen that she is, did not take kindly to hearing Isabelle refer to myself as my mistress. And Lance, stupid shining paladin, must have felt the taint of evil on her, for he would not let her take me. Elgon too, Elgon who physically held me back despite my protests, and Chaynce, who I knew would die for me without blinking. Their bravery touched me a little, and perhaps I would have willingly taken them up on their tacit offers to die for me if I thought it would make a difference.
It did not.
Whatever else the woman who calls me “ward” is, she is powerful. I told them to let me go, I tried to make them release me to her. They would have none of it, so their deaths are not on my conscience. Laura killed them with a powerful illusion. I recognized it from my studies in Spellgard, though it is far beyond my power. They call it weird, and the only defense is to see true through the illusion. This is why I suspect my death was an accident, for she cast that spell on me a few moments before she cast her killing magic. What happened after, though, I do not know.
Lost time. I have heard of powerful mages who have learned to stop time altogether, albeit briefly, but I have never known a spell that can steal memories. And yet they tell me I lost over an hour, from when the last two of our company standing watched her drag my corpse through the snow to when I felt Elgon's gentle hands bringing me back again from the brink of death on the path to Lyn. Weak as a kitten, weak as a newborn lamb ... he carried me to the inn, just as Brian carried me in Hempstead after her first meeting with me. I could not find the strength to stand. The similarity almost makes me laugh, except there is nothing at all funny about the situation. Two brothers performing nearly the same task. I know why Brian did it. His love is unshakable. But Elgon? It is more than simple goodness, but I cannot puzzle out why he is so keen to protect me.
We went back down after resting in the inn, down through the mountains, down through the giants and ogres and ettins. It was easier going down than coming up, despite the trauma fresh in everyone's memories. No Al'Noth-touched ogre challenged us at the bridge for one thing, demanding some stupid one-on-one test of mettle. I still cannot believe Lance was going to accept that challenge on fair terms. Thank goodness the rest of us are less scrupulous.
By the time I got back to Llast, all I wanted to do was go home and curl up in my own bed. That bed may be a lonely place, but perhaps that is what makes it a safe one. That room is a place that is wholly my own, where no man has ever been save Muireann's manservant who changes the linens. Alas, it was not to be, for no sooner had we come down the trail than we bumped into Trith. He took me back to his house in Llast and had some of the story of the vampire from me. Apparently it is a story with which he is already well acquainted, and somehow this does not surprise me. Still, I learned a few things. That two others have been prey to Isabelle (formerly Laura)—both of them female elves. That Elohanna was turned for a while, but another council member named Rose managed to turn her back. That Rose is absent and would not be able to aid me should Isabelle turn me too. That they have methods of protecting me, should I submit to their care (Trith wants a magic user of some kind to make me a protective amulet that will shield me from Laura, for one thing).
As much as I fear where this is going, however, I will not let them cage me and lock me away somewhere, not even for my own protection. I am not so foolish as to go into battle unarmed, but I am still not sure what Isabelle wants with me. Everyone I have spoken to who knew her before says that she has been changed in some way. Perhaps she has forgotten enough of her previous existence that, while dangerous, she will pose no direct threat to me as long as I play this game carefully. I write this, less than a few days after she murdered all my companions. I must be mad, or more tempted by her offer of power than I thought. I must have been tired though, for I was more aggressive in my probing for secrets with Trith than I have been. When I learned they have personal items and locks of hair from Isabelle, I could not resist, but I came dangerously close to tipping my hand. Consequently, though he wanted me to stay, I felt it best to leave and return to Leringard. I do not know what protection Trith himself can offer me that Muireann cannot. He keeps boasting of his powerful friends, but as they remain inaccessible to me I shall take my chances with the priestess, who has proven herself to me several times over. I can only hope I have not brought my game with Trith to a premature end through my fumbling. Hopefully there is still enough desire for me in him that he was too blinded to notice. I will let him stew for a few days, in the hopes that absence will make his heart fonder and his tongue looser.
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I have seen Brian again. It had been so long. So many months of hiding and pushing him away, but lately it has been as if circumstances have been pushing us back together. First his family, then at Krashin, and then with Isabelle ... and now I bump into him on the Dragon Isles, the most remote place I could think of at the time. He was coming out of Enderal with a number of others. I was invisible, but Elgon caught my scent on the breeze. His ability is uncanny.
Brian left the group to come speak to me. It turns out both Elgon and Chaynce told him about my encounter with Isabelle in Lyn, and he wished to discuss it with me. It seems there are no shortage of men willing to die for me. I suppose I should be pleased. It was not dying I was thinking about when Brian came near, though.
What is there to say? An elf once told me that love between humans and elves is by necessity shallow. I thought I knew this. I thought that is why I found it safe. But if Brian and I lack in depth, we have never lacked in heat. I burn for him with a yearning that used to frighten me. I believe Randi would say it is because I was so starved for love and interaction as a child after my mother passed. I cannot say whether this is true or not, only that when I stood before him it took all my willpower not to take shelter in his arms.
Of our long conversation that night, there is little to note that cannot be guessed, save for the end. I eventually confided in him about Trith. Is it merely that every actress needs an audience, if only of one? This is possible, I admit, but I think it is more than that. The burdens of Sedera and the mystery of Kuhl weigh heavily on my mind, as does Isabelle's frightening interest in me. In the end, I believe Trith was just one secret too many for me to keep alone, and Brian is safer than any to tell it to. He swore a blood oath not to betray my confidence, slicing his hand open with his dagger. I am not sure he knew what I intended to do when I took the dagger from him. Certainly, I did not mean to make my own cut so deep. Nor to faint afterwards. In retrospect, it's a bit humiliating, but when I came to, all I knew was Brian's gentle hazel blue eyes looking down at me, full of concern, and our hands clasped tight together, cut to cut, the red of his blood mingling with my own.
We are bound now, he and I, whether we will it or no. Neither of us deny it, though we have fought hard enough against it in the past. It changes precious little, but we are bloodsworn nonetheless. There are other intrigues and other games, of course, but this particular game has been played out. Some of my blood flows in his veins now, and some of his in mine. Come what may, this binding shall endure, its permanence etched into our flesh as its memory is etched into our minds.
-
Since we cannot see one another publicly, we meet on the Dragon Isles where we bound ourselves in blood. We train together sometimes, or sit in the shelter of the forest and watch the macaws in the trees as they call to one another and preen themselves, their brilliant plumage like a fiery rainbow sunset. Once, we caught a glimpse of a young fire drake in the distance. Deadly, but beautiful. I have been called that before too.
Brian honors his oath to protect my secrets. He has come up with a heartbreaking plan to protect my charade with Trith involving his young student Alatriel. Heartbreaking, I call it, but whose heart will it break? Hers? His? Mine? All three? For as long as I pretend to be with Trith, Brian will pretend to be with Alatriel. I cannot even write her name without feeling a surge of anger and nausea combined. And yet this is why we are both sure Alatriel is the right choice, and his plan will work. Because he does not have to fake the spark of interest that draws him to her, and I do not have to feign the answering surge of anger at the idea of them being close.
It is a good plan. And I desperately do not want him to do it. But it is a good plan, and we have made our choices and we will live with them. He assures me it is for my sake only, and that there is no love between them, nor will there be. He assures me that the moment I say it is over, he will leave her and return to my side. He is willing to do this for me, and willing to watch me seduce others when necessity demands it. It is the least I can do to accept his plan without complaint. And it is a good plan, and a believable one. But I still do not want to do it.
-
We return again to the Dragon Isles, hiding from the lies we have woven for ourselves, if only for such brief periods of time. Still, we train. Still, Brian seeks some personal item of mine, that I might be found if Isabelle takes me beyond his reach. If it were an item only, I might consent, but in truth there is no worldly possession still mine that suits this purpose. What are things? Things do not endure. They are lost or broken, stolen, misplaced, thrown into the sea ... we part with them in many ways, but we always part with them nonetheless. There is nothing I can call my own that Brian thinks would suffice, so he asks for a lock of hair or a vial of blood instead. I gave him my blood freely when we cut our hands, but I cannot give it to him like this, to be contained in a glass vial and stowed away somewhere. It is too much like the Magus, and that is not something I care to live again.
Perhaps we should not bear the burden of some memories. In some memories, there is nothing to cause change or growth, but merely pain. I chose for Brian again and took one such memory from him. It was in the deepest part of the minotaur cave that he injured his leg. His thigh, laid bare to nearly the bone, and the tendon half-severed by a minotaur's axe. The pain of the wound he will remember. The pain of the suturing, he will not. He would have done it himself, had I not interceded. I've a better hand with needle and thread than he does anyway, and it is harder to suture oneself than another. And so for the second time, I took control of him through my magic and bent his will to my own, ordering him to stay still, and praying he would not remember. As with the last time, it seems his memories of the time under my control are either buried or absent, so he will not have to remember the horror of stitching flesh and muscle till the two sundered sides of the wound were knit back together. I will remember it, every finger's width of flesh that I drew back together. Even as I write this, the scent of blood fills my nostrils and threatens to choke me.
The pain of some wounds is expected, but the pain of others is startling. I did not know how much Brian's charade with Alatriel would affect me, but I cannot shake the images from my mind. Her hands on him, his lips on hers, a gentle look in his eyes as he watches her sleep, a stolen caress, whispers of devotion ... Truly, I torture myself with these images. Am I so jealous, knowing that there is no truth to it? Yes, their flesh will meet, but it will not be like when we touch. She may hold him for a while, but she shall never have him. He has tied a red cord around his scabbard, that I might be reminded of this if I need look further than the silver line that scores my palm for the proof of our bond. Even so, her image comes unbidden when he kisses me, flashing behind my eyes like a double image, like the shadow of the sun that remains after one looks directly into the light. She taints our embraces, sours them with her hidden presence in every touch, and even before we have truly begun I long to end it, to cry out to Brian for mercy. He sees me struggle, and it wounds him too. We have enough burdens already and we are ill-suited to bearing each other's pain, so I pray for strength, whispering the words into sea-bound breezes:
Lady of Storms and Mistress of Chaos, give me the strength to weather those storms of my own making as well as those chance or your will brings down upon us. As the ice storm separates the strongest of trees from those whose branches crack and break under the strain, so may this storm reveal to me my own inner strength and my potential to endure future trials.
And yet I have unruly thoughts. I dream of her face when the illusion fades and the lie is revealed. I dream of what I might say to her. Little shadowdancer, did you think this was real? Did you think he truly loved you? You were never more than a convenience to us. We but played a game, and it is you who have lost. Oh yes, part of me wants her to suffer for her part in this sham, despite her innocence of it all. While she is cloaked in our illusion, she is safe. But should we cease to have a use for her, I fear she shall rue the day our paths crossed.
-
The Magus is back. Gods only know where he was all this time. If I had to venture a guess, I would say he had returned to the Deep on some nefarious business, no doubt. I suppose it was too much to ask that he stay there, but he and I have a score to settle some day anyway. He has something of mine, and some day he will answer for the manner of its acquisition. He confronted me in the Hempstead square, calling me his child, as is his habit. He reminded me of my debt to him, though it was not needful. After all, it was I who sent such a carefully worded letter to his storehouse a few weeks ago:
Esteemed Magus,
Although our paths have not crossed recently, I have not forgotten my debt to you, and am anxious to repay it.
If the Magus would deign to provide a list of current alchemical reagents he has a need for, I will once again supply you with fresh ingredients at your earliest convenience.
I wait on your command.
Faithfully,
J. Thornwood
I think he reminded me largely out of spite, and of the pleasure he surely gets in watching the blood drain from my face as he reminds me what he is capable of. Alatriel, her soul to the Pits, was there to witness it of course. At least the Magus has had the decency to make the worst of my humiliations private. Alatriel, on the other hand, doesn't even have the courtesy to make herself scarce. She came over to sit with me afterwards, all sweetness and sugar, offering me food and telling me how pale I looked. She even offered to help me confront the Magus if I wanted support! I have no idea what game she's playing at, but I refuse to give her the satisfaction of asking for help. I told her I could handle myself, and then asked whether Brian had made a pass at her yet. This is unfair, as I know he has. He has not told me all the details yet, but I know she has taken his bait, though she seeks to keep the knowledge private. Nonetheless, it sufficed to shut her up, which was my intention.
The rest of the last few days have passed largely uneventfully. Trith and I have seen each other only once, though I am not worried. We are still in the stage of opening gambits in this game we are playing, and it does not serve me to rush this. We managed to bump into Hardragh while leaving Hempstead, though. I nearly dropped the rope of the ox I was leading when I saw him. I expect Hardragh in certain contexts and places—the Isle of Mist, Leringard itself, even the Watchtower or the Crossroads, but not there for some reason. He and Trith are acquainted—why does this not surprise me? Trith boasts he is friends with everyone—and they spoke of a private matter for a while. A note and a dagger recovered, an old acquaintance thought dead ... I followed as best I could while pretending not to be interested, but they spoke in riddles. I can't help but wonder if it pertains to that old matter with Hardragh's son being killed. I am certain it surprised Hardragh to see us together, though. If he were wiser I would be afraid he would see the lie to it all, for Trith is one of the last men I would choose freely with no ulterior motive. There is no denying he is useful, though. He chopped a cartload of wood for me, which I hd the ox haul back to Hempstead. Brian passed us in the woods on our way back. I took strength in the glimpse of red on his scabbard. He is keeping his promises.
After I bid goodbye to Trith I spent the next two days in Hempstead dealing with the oak. I have never had to grind wood into dust before, but in truth it was not so hard. A little flirting and I had another woodworker show me the rudiments of it, and then just applied some diligence to the task. Pressing the dust into parchment and baking it into scrolls was far more tedious, but I had a visit from Arkolio to break the monotony of the work.
Ah, Arkolio! A more amusing man I have rarely met. He never fails to surprise me, and never gives an inch. He is uncompromisingly unfaithful, immoral and likely deceitful, though I have no proof of this. Women should abhor him, but strangely it is his unabashed demeanor about these faults in character that I find most amusing. Today he came to beg a boon, though “beg” is a wholly inappropriate word to describe how Arkolio asks for anything. The favor itself intrigues me—apparently he wants a tale from a bard but can't ask himself, as he is out of favor with her. The bard is a little halfling named Acacea, and her name is familiar to me though we have not met. I have heard she pays coin for rumors, among other things. The tale is that of Xandrial, demon general of Bloodstone, and his life in this realm. What Ark wants with the tale, I have no idea. Simple curiosity, he claims, but he also seemed to be probing me for a weakness as we spoke. I wonder if I have given him reason to worry through one of my dealings. It is hard to tell what pies Ark might have his fingers in.
A simple favor, and Acacea is not a bad person to become acquainted with in any case, so I agreed. He warned me that she has a sharp wit about her and to be on my guard. After Sevell I am unlikely to underestimate another so quickly, though, and who knows? Perhaps the halfling will be able to give me some information I can use at the same time.
Of course Arkolio was himself, and though he came for a favor he stayed long enough to enjoy the pleasure of my company. As usual, I gave it to him freely, and as usual I won't tell Brian unless he asks. We hold to the first and only rule of our encounters: that we shall bring each other no complications. As long as this one caveat holds, all other desires may be indulged. We bring each other pleasure, yes, even a thrilling touch of danger most times, but nothing to make our complex lives any harder than they already are.
After Trith, Ark was like coming up for air, all unfettered desire and experience. In his brashness, he actually paid one of the employees of the tavern to clear out the little back room with the smaller stage. I think it is this that I like most about Ark. He never hesitates to do what others are too shy or afraid to do, caring nothing for rules, taboos, propriety, or danger. He is not afraid of darkness, and in his presence I give myself permission to indulge my darker desires as well. Well, that, and I will never again look at the stage in the Scamp in the same way!
-
I continue to travel with Brian in secret, but it has become painfully clear that eventually we will be caught if we continue like this. When we are with others, we pretend we barely know each other. When we are alone, we are by turn like giddy young lovers or like cats and dogs at each other
-
I continue to travel with Brian in secret, but it has become painfully clear that eventually we will be caught if we continue like this. When we are with others, we pretend we barely know each other. When we are alone, we are by turn like giddy young lovers or like cats and dogs at each other's throats. Alatriel's shadow continues to fall heavily over us, though we struggle to escape it.
There is darkness in all of us. I told him that the other day, to comfort him. Certainly, there is darkness in Njord I had never seen before. I have seen it now. I have watched him torture a man, peeling back the skin of his fingers bit by excruciating bit. He is frighteningly competent at what his old life trained him to do, and though he is ashamed of how easily such horrors still come to him, I fear the day will come when I will use his talents for my own ends and reckon the cost to him later. Already, I use him. He is teaching me the silent tongue of thieves, that subtle positioning of the body that allows speech without others ever realizing one is even communicating. My control over my face and body and my talent for mimicry makes for easy lessons. I am forcing him to teach me all the phrases I can think of that might one day save my life: stop, danger, knock him out, stay back, follow me, help me, unlock that, guard me . . . Dozens more, repeated to perfection and practiced in the heat of combat. I wonder what end goal I see to this endless practice with him, repeating and repeating the dance of combat until we know each other well enough we barely need to speak. A storm comes, and I can only presume my practice with him means that some part of me believes he will be at my side when I weather it.
Still, we must be more cautious. The last time I left the Dragon Isles with him, we ran into Trith. Thank goodness Njord was behind me in the shadows. Trith seemed to sense a lie (though I don't know how he did) and we quarreled about it. Elgon wandered by just as he had made me angrier than a spitting cat. Poor Elgon, walking in on the middle of that! Seeking to give me an out, he asked me if I could talk to him a moment, and Trith snapped that I was busy. I nearly sent a column of flame towards Trith at that moment. In retrospect, I almost wish I had, though knowing him it wouldn't have touched him. He's like Brian only in that he can avoid most of my magic.
Trith and I didn't part well then, but he caught up to Elgon and I later when we were with Izzy in the crypts. Again, he wanted to talk, and again he thinks I will heel to him like a cowering cur. He is sorely mistaken, but if it makes my job easier I can play the part from time to time. It wasn't hard to get him to reconcile, but I won't be able to push as hard for secrets for a while. No matter. Trith seems bent on showing me off to the world as the prize on his arm, and also proving to me what a man he is. It pleases him to show me his fine things and how brave he is in the face of danger. It pleases him to hold my hand and put his arms around me in the company of others, and to stroke my hair as if I were a filly to be gentled and broken. Brian strokes my hair from time to time and others too, but never does it feel so condescending as when Trith does so.
I think it is hardest to feel the eyes of my former lovers on us. Brian at least knows the truth of it, but the others only stare and wonder what I see in Trith. Hardragh's grey gaze is particularly hard to stomach. And yet Trith provides me with good opportunities to practice my casting, though none without a degree of danger. There was an unfortunate moment in the Misted Village when I thought for sure I would die. Coming out of that place, Trith and I were slightly separated from the rest of the group and were set upon by a half dozen bandits at least. Trith bid me run and tried to lead as many of them off as possible, but one or two followed me. In any other place, I would have used the Al'Noth to make myself unseen. There, I was powerless. Or so I thought, but I refused to go gently. I ran, and found a rocky outcrop to hide behind, near the entrance of their hideout. There was a deep crevice in the rock there by the entrance and I slipped inside. I could hear their voices as they looked for me, and dared not move at all. For several hours I dared barely breathe, and wished my heart would stop for fear they would hear the deafening drumbeat of its rhythm. And then, quite suddenly, the sounds of fighting and familiar voices, oh, familiar voices indeed!
They walked right past me the first time. I can only think it luck, as I have no great skill in hiding myself as Brian does. And yet Sallaron, who I know for a fact has sharp eyes, saw me not, nor did any of the others until I revealed myself. Trith took me into his arms then with great abandon, not caring who saw his relief that I was alive. I am certain he believed me dead. It is curious to see how strong his feelings are for me already, actually. He challenged Tobias at the Crossroads later, though Tobias didn't seem to think him worth the effort. So strange, to have a champion I do not care for at all. And yet though I let him defend me against minor annoyances like Tobias, when it comes to the important battles I still fight alone. Trith may leap to my defense now but when he learns the truth of my interest in him, I may yet count him among my enemies.
-
Njord and I spent two blissful weeks together on Corsain: the first and last week of the year. For two weeks I gathered herbs and practiced my magic and he trained, and we swam and talked and were together without obstacle. We had discussed how I might send a message to him but even so I was fearful it wouldn't work. Nonetheless, I had to try, and I had to be on Corsain anyway to fulfill the Magus's order. And so I sent Njord a false contract, giving the location and date of the meeting: a box of ginger and a box of garlic, to be delivered by the twenty-first day of the last month of the year. I gambled that he would remember where it is I gather those two herbs and recognize the deadline as the date of the meeting. I dared not sign my own name, so I signed the parchment with my mother's name: Alaìs Ceìndráel.
Like a charm, he came on the evening of the twentieth, just after dusk had fallen. I had been there three days already, digging ginger roots and garlic bulbs for the Magus and preparing each to perfection. He demands nothing less of me. It meant the camp was set already: tent up, provisions stowed, furs arranged for the bed. I even had pike and herring cooking over a fire. I find fishing to be a simple pleasure, and always enjoy catching my meals thus. Nonetheless digging herbs, even in winter, is dirty, sweaty work and I was relieved to set the fish to cooking and slip into the lake water. It was cold, of course, but refreshing and dark and still. So absorbed was I in the feel of the water on my skin that I did not even notice Brian had come up behind me until he was right beside me, catching me up in his arms.
Have we come full circle to where we began ... what now? Four years ago? Five? The night he took me to the Lake of Dreams for the first time and swam me across to a quiet glade. And now, less than half a dozen years later, how changed we are. Bound together, more sure than ever in how to wound each other but more open too. Four years ago he did not know who his family were, nor would have spoken so openly of them. And four years ago I would not have sung to him a melody from my childhood as he rested with his head on my lap, languorous by the fire as I ran my fingers through his hair, nor thrilled at the simple security in the warmth of his body as we lay dreaming together in the shelter of the tent, thick pelts to shield us against the cold as the fire slowly died. Thus did Njord and I bid farewell to the past year and greet the new one.
-
To say life has been uneventful these past weeks would be a lie, for truly my life never seems to be dull. However, as the events of my days do not include unsolicited visits from vampires, struggling to draw secrets from Trith like pulling teeth from a crocodile, or playing pawn to Muireann and Hardragh's temple games, I shall count myself blessed.
I successfully made my delivery to the Magus at his warehouse. The herbs were fresh and perfect, and I had little to fear, but meeting with Del'mar is always unpleasant nonetheless. Brian, always considerate, helped me get an entire box of spotted mushrooms so I knew the Magus would be pleased. He toys with me as always, though, discussing the "interest" on my debt and suggesting I might pay with my tongue again. Unlike the last time I was unshaken. Like Isabelle, it is best to be polite but firm with the Magus. Respectful, but unafraid. To show fear is to show they have you, but both are too powerful to risk antagonizing. It worked amazingly well with the Magus, at least. The next time I see Isabelle I will strive for the same calm serenity and see what comes of it.
Speaking of Isabelle, I have seen Connor again, shortly before my meeting with the Magus. I ran into him in the magic hall. It seems he is an alchemist as well, for he was making potions while AnnaLee watched. I think they must be a couple, for I rarely see them apart these days. It was nice to see him, but I was struck by a pang of guilt at the sight, just as I was when I received his second letter:
Jaelle,
I have been wondering how you are faring and whether or not you have had further contact with Isabelle. I hope my last letter was helpful to you. Let me know if I can be of any more help, with the matter of Isabelle or in your magical pursuits.
Connor
I wanted to reply to him so badly, but Isabelle's threats hang heavily over my head. I know she will kill to have her way or if she feels threatened, and I know seeking help in Connor would threaten her. I think he understands what is going on, though, and he has made it clear I need only ask and his aid is mine.
Thankfully there are more mundane and lighter matters to counter the gravity of the other issues that compete for my attention. I continue to practice my alchemy and have made considerable progress in the field of scribing. Poisons that were once beyond my capabilities I now find simple to concoct, and Brian has a steady supply of the stuff. The rest I sell to a few unscrupulous buyers in the rougher cities and make a tidy profit in doing so. And when my time is not occupied with such dull chores as mixing inks or making paper, there is always a game to be found.
My latest flirtation is with an elf named Razeriem who I like very much. He passes himself off to the world as a dandy and does a fine job of it, but he's more cunning than they give him credit for and there is sadness and pain beneath his merriness. We shared tales by the fountain one quiet afternoon, tossing copper coins into the water for each past grief. I have more than him, but it is not for me to judge the burdens of another, and his griefs are not insignificant. It seems he plowed the wrong field and by misfortune the seed took root. He is banished by his father for the shame of it, and he shall not know the child he conceived in carelessness. Brian finds his story very touching, even more so than I do I think. But then, Brian is very concerned with children knowing their parents.
Razeriem seeks his oblivion through women and liquor. Mostly liquor, it seems, though he claims to have stopped. I offered my company to him should boredom or depression threaten to overtake him, but I think he mistook my meaning. For once, my intentions were innocent, but he wrote me a charming verse the other day and now flushes whenever I glance his way. I admit, I have some fun with this shyness, and was bold enough to steal a kiss the other day for the simple pleasure of seeing him struck dumb with shock. Sometimes I wonder at the sources of my own amusement. Ah well.
-
Is it possible that stolen time with Njord is sweeter than when we could be together openly? Why is it that my pulse quickens when he kisses me now, knowing that at any moment we might be discovered and our carefully spun illusions revealed for what they are? Could it be that we both need this dark element, this risk of danger that heats the blood and sets the heart racing? This is the same way I feel when Muireann takes me out onto the water on Revenge's Release and we sail through a storm. Muireann can sail. I still just try to keep out of the way, but watching her work with the crew and captain and feeling the rain stinging my face and the wind whipping through my hair ... it's like lightning striking.
I had the same thrill breaking into a house in Hlint the other day to see Njord. He caught me while I was washing up in the stream. (Gathering skullcap in the swamp tends to leave one a little messy.) We didn't touch anything, just sat by their hearth and talked. I noticed immediately how happy he looked, and that he had speckles of blood all over his armor but didn't seem wounded. At first I thought he'd been in a fight, but then he told me he'd helped birth his own cousin ... Elohanna's little girl. Having a family confuses him but I think it warms him too. He tells me he tattooed the baby in the tradition of his village. She was named Clarisse, which means light or brilliance, so the symbol was a small burning candle. (Njord's is a ram. For a long time I wasn't sure whether it was meant to represent tenacity or stubbornness. Lately, I suspect it's both.) Thinking of this small child I have never met, newly born into the world, makes me wonder for Njord and what he has lost. I have never longed to conceive, and I am certain I would make a very poor mother. But Brian? I think he recognizes this is not a life conducive to children, but I think there is a sense of sadness and regret nonetheless.
We have our ways of forgetting, though. The familiar paths we walk towards amnesia. Before, the thrill of a chase lending in a strange bed might have satisfied me, but lately my path to solace has been darker. As has Njord's. And when those two paths cross ...
-
It is unbearable, watching him with her! To see him fawn over her new clothing, to see the way she responds to him though she hides it to the public eye ...
I should not have watched invisible. I know that now. When I saw them together I should have left. But oh, I had to see. And now I wish I had not, because I cannot purge the images from my mind. She calls his place home. Why does she call it such? In all my time with him, if Muireann's was home it was my room or her lounge but not Brian's quarters. They were familiar and safe, but they were not home.
I cannot deal with this. I cannot bear it. And yet I know it is an illusion, and that if I merely can summon the strength I will see the truth of it: that he does not love her. That he does this merely to protect me and aid me, not even knowing my goals.
He heard me as they were leaving. When she begged him to take her back home, the word like a lover's caress on her lips, I could not help myself and though I strove for silence I think a sound must have escaped my lips for he turned towards me ... but she was already going, and though he stayed to listen a moment he heard nothing further.
I know it is a lie, but I cannot stay to watch this. I need to be elsewhere, if only for a while. I need to escape.
-
Three weeks have I been away. I caught a ship from the harbour and sailed south, to the city everyone goes to when they want to escape their troubles: Katherian. Say what you will about the Xeenites, but they know how to have a good time. Music, dancing, wine, passion, pleasure ... the city hums with life and vitality. It was a perfect antidote for the poison I suffered from.
Katherian is a strange city, in some ways. Everything is available there, for the right price. Even slaves. I wandered through the slave market one day and marveled at the quiet order of the place. I am not sure what I expected, but it was not what I found there. Certainly, I did not expect there to be gardens. Most days I merely toured the city, playing the part of a visitor from out of town. One day I pretended not to speak common. Another, I posed as a young elven noblewoman leaving the shelter of Voltrex for the first time. It amused me to act out these roles, to continue to try and spin illusion to subtly change my appearance, and to simply play in a city that has as little concern for my troubles as I wish I did. I walked the streets and admired the white marble, accepted dinner invitations, attended a party or two ... there are always men who long to have a beautiful woman on their arms. I could live like this, perhaps. It would be an easier life in many ways.
I saw the temple too. That, at least, was more in keeping with my expectations. I flirted with the idea of punishing Brian by picking an acolyte and propositioning them, but the idea held little appeal for me for some reason. Instead I watched: priests and priestesses, acolytes, devout, and visitors such as myself. They are rarely shy, the Xeenites, and there is always something to watch. They are not all of them beautiful and elegant like the Ilsarans, but they burn with passion and heat. One of them reminded me of Alatriel and ... oh, gods, I did something I am not entirely proud of. I heard one of the priests remark she liked the kiss of the whip and arranged to see for myself. Everything is available in Katherian for a price, and as the participants were willing the price was not even high. And so I watched them bind and whip her. I never held the lash in my hand, but when I looked upon her I saw Alatriel's face and basked in the sound of her cries.
I left before the end, and went to High Peak Lake for a day to escape Katherian's heady pleasures. When I returned I was calmer, but I didn't go back to the temple. Instead, I managed to talk a local fisherman into letting me borrow his boat for a few days. It was not hard. It rarely is these days. Sometimes I don't even have to compel them. It was a small craft but the weather was fair and I managed to see a bit of the coast without drowning or smashing the prow into anything. By the end of the three weeks, standing on the much larger deck of the merchant vessel bearing me back to Mistone, I was once again ready to face Brian and Alatriel. Or so I thought, but the night before we docked, I saw her face in my dreams again ... the face of the woman from the temple, and this time it was my hand that held the lash.
-
I have seen Elohanna's baby, little Clarisse. She was tinier than I thought she would be. Elgon brought me. I suppose she is his cousin as much as she is Brian's, after all. I felt out of place there though, in so many ways. I didn't expect Brian to be there, nor Alatriel or Aerimor. It galled me more than I care to admit, that he brought her here to see Clarisse. Even more so when I learned that she knows his birth name and his history. I felt like such a fool, clutching those stupid tulips. I could barely thrust them at Elohanna fast enough.
She was gracious, and everyone was in a good mood because of the baby. Everyone loves a baby, it seems. Everyone except me, perhaps. I have no idea what to do with them. Elgon didn't believe me, I think. I cannot count the years of my life, but I would guess they number close to two hundred now, and yet before today I had never held a baby in my arms. I thought it would cry as soon as I touched it, but it didn't. Perhaps it was sleepy. She was sleepy. It is strange to think of that little pink thing all swaddled in cloth as a she. as someone who will grow into a woman who will think complex thoughts and break hearts and have hers broken in return, perhaps. I looked down into her face and wondered who she will become. She is such unblemished, perfect potential right now. She has known no pain or fear or anguish, nothing to jade her or harden her. She was so ... fragile.
I thought Brian would leave when I arrived, but he did not. He merely appeared to leave, and clung to the shadows, but stayed near my side. When I hid in the hallway, he was there beside me, whispering reassurance. When I held Clarisse in my arms, he was at my side, gently caressing my cheek and touching my shoulder. It is hard to hide it, my response to his presence, but I managed not to give him away. I wondered for a moment, though, what he sees when he looks at me holding this tiny child. Does he see me holding the baby he could never give me, even if we wanted it? Or does he merely see his jaded, tormented, twisted lover struggling to absorb the unblemished perfection of his infant cousin?
-
It has been a very long few days, and there is much to record. It began, I suppose, when I came across Isabelle again in the Hempstead square. She was in the guise of an Ilsaran cleric again and I did not recognize her at first, not until she revealed herself to me. As usual, the sight of me talking to a strange woman quickly drew a crowd, especially of those who thought they recognized her. Unlike in the past though, this time I was able to remain calm around Isabelle and keep my wits about me as Connor has advised me to do. Instead of allowing her to take me away where she might do gods only know what to me, I had her sit with me by the fountain, out of earshot but not line of sight of Brian and the others.
In the past, information has flowed mostly one way between Isabelle and I. Not so this day. Now, at least, I begin to know what she wants from me. Her first demand was a full roster of the Council of Hope. I managed to extract from her the names she already knew, in exchange for one more. She gave me Krys and Elohanna. I gave her Tritherion.
It is strange, but I felt no remorse at selling out Tritherion, who has been so kind to me. If he is foolish enough to let his secrets slip into my hands, knowing what I am, then in a way he deserves it. If it wasn't meant to be done, it shouldn't have been possible. I was not sure what Isabelle asked of me was possible either, but I feel I have less choice in that matter. I did manage to learn what she wanted, though. She sought an artifact. An urn, to be precise, though she would not tell me its significance.
The significance of the urn I learned later, from Abi and Berak. After they followed Isabelle and saw she could fly, they came back to me seeking knowledge. And so I used them both, playing them like harps. It is easy to acquire knowledge when people think you are weak, and easier still when they think you are both weak and good. My fear of Isabelle is real; I have seen her power and I know what she can and will do to get what she wants. All I had to do was show them that fear, and they spilled out the story to me without restraint. It is as Connor described Isabelle in his first letter to me on that subject: There are elements of truth to what she says, but also she seems to act with some purpose. I employ the same tactics, weaving small grains of truth into my greater purpose, and for my troubles I now know why Isabelle desires the urn.
It is as Connor and the others have said. Isabelle was once a vampire, hiding from sunlight and stalking the nights. She had a "sister", Marilyn - though whether that was a bond of blood or merely a sense of sorority I do not know - who was also her Mistress. This too confirms my Isabelle is their Laura, for Isabelle has mentioned Marilyn to me before, and told me how the Council murdered her. What she neglected to add, it seems, is that she delivered Marilyn to them bound and helpless, and in so doing allowed Marilyn to be killed by Quantum Windword, the Shining Hand of Toran and Abigail, his goddaughter, freeing herself from the geis-like bond she was under and setting herself up as leader of the coven.
I learned more of the story that I had not known before. How Marilyn wanted Elohanna to "rule the day" while she ruled the night. How Isabelle flew East, toward the Serpent Isles where their lair apparently is. How the third urn is all that keeps them from raising La'Forran, who aspired to be a devil before he was destroyed by an Aeridinite. This, I paid close attention to, for this must be Isabelle's goal, even as it was her sister's. I have learned that only one person knows the location of the urn, that this person is female, and that the map to the location has been destroyed. I also know this person is not Elohanna, which brings me some relief.
Abigail and Berak sought to protect me, and have called upon several forces to do so. They called Elohanna to the Angels guildhall where they had hidden me, and she brought with her a man I recognized. A few days ago in the square he cut his hand, sliced it right open, and said he was hunting rats with blood. I wondered then whether he meant my blood oath with Brian, and had guessed at our purpose, but it seems he had merely heard rumor that I had been taken by a vampire and wished to test for himself whether I had been turned, suspecting that the scent of blood would drive me to madness and force me to reveal myself. Or some such nonsense.
I can say with certainty that this Shiff is a fool. The greatest fool on the Council of Hope, for he referred to himself as a Beacon of Hope in my presence. After that, I only needed to play the wounded child to have the rest of it from him. I thought I would play the fragile lover with Trith to garner these secrets, but this proved far more expedient. And they still have not guessed Isabelle's true purpose. They think she is after the baby, Clarisse, and uses me to get to her. What would Isabelle want with a child, if not for leverage? That is all she wants the names for: leverage. She promised me something I desired if I aided her in this, so for certainty I will barter for the infant's safety. Whatever they may say of me, I will see no harm come to Clarisse. Steel's Axioms tell me that even she is not innocent for nothing is, but even so, children are not our enemies. Children are meant to be taught. I would see Clarisse remain unharmed by this, that she might become whatever it is she is meant to be. It suits my purposes to have them think the evil vampire Laura stalks the night, yearning for the blood of the innocent baby, for it throws them off the true trail. Still ... would that I could have given Elohanna a little more comfort. She has suffered greatly in this already.
After the others left, Shiff remained. He has been appointed my caretaker and guardian for the time being. He seems rather dim and I suspect he thinks mostly with his sword. Still, he proved useful in the end, and I have had in a day what Isabelle gave me a week to acquire: the full roster of the Council of Hope.
Council of Hope Members:
Krysthalion and Elohanna Dawnstar, father and mother to Clarisse
Tritherion, my poor deceived lover
Shiff Dragonheart, Council fool and weak link
Quantum Windward, Shining Hand of Toran
Clarissa, a champion of Toran*
Rose, a cleric of Toran*, and the one I suspect turned Elohanna back
Kalin, who I believe they said was a magicker of some sort
Omer, the enchanter for the Angels guild
*These two I believe most likely to be in possession of the location of the urn. I shall have to discern their whereabouts, but do so carefully. This secret the council guards with more caution than the others.
To preserve appearances, I allowed Shiff to take me back to the Council warehouse in Prantz (address noted as 237 Prantz) for protection. From the moment he shut me up in the safehouse bedroom I felt caged, with him standing watch outside my door. He did me the kind service of not locking my door and claimed I am no prisoner, but I did not know whether to believe him in this. Still, it gave me time to think, and to plan what I will do. A week, Isabelle gave me, and a day of it I used acquiring the knowledge that might pay for my life next time. Several more tedious days I spent in the safehouse, slipping out in time to make the next meeting. And yet I struggle with the decision to turn the roster over to her, for when she has no further use for me, she may just kill me as she did the others. Is it strange that the question of my own safety occurs to me well before the much more complicated question of whether it is right? I wish I could confide in someone in these matters, but there is no one I can trust in this, not even Brian.
-
I received a strange letter from Brian on my way back to Mistone:
We have to talk, Jaelle. I know ...
Njord
Now, perhaps for anyone else, this would be elucidating. For me, it merely forced me to evaluate all my secrets and try to guess which one he now thinks he knows. That I am only pretending to have feelings for Trith? He knows that. Sedera? Unlikely. I do not see any way he might have guessed. That I continue to see other men from time to time, including Ark? Entirely possible, but why write to me about it? I doubt he'd be surprised. Which likely leaves Isabelle, or Laura as he calls her. What conclusion has his mind finally come to? That she wants to turn me? He thinks this already. That she wants the urn? I cannot see the misstep that would have allowed him to find that out from me. That I toy with the idea of selling out the Council to ensure my own safety, and that of Clarisse? And from that I knew - Clarisse. He would have spoken to Elohanna, and thinks I am after the baby.
Sure enough, I was right. It only takes a quick mind and a knowledge of what the other person fears to guess. The handwriting was shaky - he was surprised and afraid. There are few people Njord fears for. I am one of them, as is his cousin, and he already knows the danger I am in. He caught up with me in the spider cave while I was gathering silk, and questioned me at length. For a long time I resisted, but finally I assured him that Isabelle had said nothing of any intention to harm Clarisse. On the sanctity of the oath he swore me, which I know he holds dear, I swore him to secrecy. And then I finally told him what she really wanted.
Poor Njord. He came to me demanding to know whether he was a pawn in this game and whether I was using him to get to Clarisse. I wasn't, and I wouldn't have, had he not insisted on knowing Isabelle's true intent. Now he knows and I will use him to protect us both. I have sent him to gather information on the urn and its whereabouts. Elohanna and the other Council members will be more free with him, knowing Laura has no direct hold over him. We spoke too of what would happen when Laura came for me again. I told him that if it came to it, I would go with her, to save the child and to learn more of how we might stop her. At that he balked and fought me in earnest, long and hard. His own plans have no less risk though (he proposes to switch Clarisse for another infant taken from an orphanage for the purpose), they merely impose the risk on others. Call me arrogant, but I cannot think of another both able and willing to play this one so close to the vest and with a little cunning.
In the end, though it tore his heart out to do so, he agreed. He will let me go with her, and will fight like a fiend to get me back afterwards. He charged me with an edict of his own too: to fight as he will, to use every measure of strength and will to fight her. I left him one of my soulstones, that he might trace me if the worst happens. When we kissed, though, it felt like goodbye.
-
I wait for Isabelle to come still, but as I wait I fear something has happened to turn her against me. I saw this posted in the square yesterday:
Wizards - Magickers - Users of the Weave - Sorcerers - Magicians
If you seek power, prestige, control or any combination of the above, continue reading this parchment.
Aspiring mages and others seeking to understand and manipulate the weave -- I am currently seeking a single apprentice to study the art of manipulation of the weave under my strict guidance and direction.
The apprentice should be of exceptional intelligence, ability, and able to follow precise direction and command. Ones who question methods and employment of magic need not apply for this once in a lifetime opportunity.
Take control of your life now and get the respect you deserve. Send applications with proper justification to the Hempstead Post Office, Box 63.
Perhaps it is nothing, but this reminds me so vividly of what Isabelle offered me that I stopped and stared at it for almost a quarter of an hour. Finally I decided it was too great a risk, and when no one was looking I took down the parchment. I took it to the same scribe I use for Steel's language cards and had him make a fair copy. I paid double his usual rate, but I was satisfied in the end. I had him copy it precisely, only changing the box from 63 to 67, which a brief inquiry at the Hempstead office revealed was currently not in use. I posted it invisibly once the ink had dried, just where the other had been. I do not think the whole business took longer than an hour or so.
I am not sure how many it will save from having to deal with Isabelle, but hopefully it will save a few. That and I am still unwilling to give up my place at her side and more importantly at her ear. Time will tell what I might be able to do if I can get her to trust me.
To the original box, I sent a letter of my own:
My lady,
You need seek no other. Nor, in my arrogance, do I think you would find any more capable or willing to serve you, knowing what I do.
You seek one with intelligence and ability. I have nine names for you, collected in a day when you offered me a week, and a fair guess as to which mind holds the secret you desire.
If you deem this sufficient proof of my worth, I trust you will be able to find me as you have before.
In the meantime, I have business on Dregar. Let her mull over this for a few days, and let her desire for the names build up to a frenzy. By the time I return, I am sure she will be anxious to find me.
-
Calm. I must remain calm. Brian will be back soon. I know he will. I should never have agreed to this trip. Gambling on the flip of a coin, leaving my answer to chance ... what folly! If only it hadn't been Hardragh at the Crossroads! Anyone else, and I wouldn't have even considered a trip to the slopes of Firesteep. But it had been so long since I'd seen him, or had a chance to talk to him. The last time he and I really talked was at the Watchtower when he gave me Muireann's old holy symbol. We spoke about Mist then too, just like this time at the Crossroads. He does not understand what holds me back. He does not understand how difficult it is for me to bend my will to a goddess, or to anyone. I may love her for her storms, but I fear I would be a disobedient servant. Still, to hear him talk of Mist ... he questioned me at length on her dogma, drilling me on the meaning of equality, why only the eight Tides and the Tempest had ranks within the clergy, asking query after query about her goals and her faith. He still owes me a tale, too, for the holy symbol. In all the time I have known him, I don't think I've ever heard him tell a proper tale. I still wonder why he never sings, too. Or more likely he merely never sings in my presence.
This is good. Think about Mist, and Hardragh. Hardragh at the Crossroads, Hardragh and our banter, and how he teased me about making a lovely vampire. Just not how long Brian has been gone scouting, or whether Hardragh's broken body still lies on the slopes above with Wren's. I do not think he knew the shamans had death magic. Or that the way back was impossible. He would have said something if he knew, I am certain. But Brian will be fine. They will not see him. He hides so well ... I never see him. He will come back for me, he promised. He will be back, any moment now.
***
Ah, Brian, where are you? You should have been back by now! It should not have taken half a day to scale the hillside and come back, even going slowly so they don't spot you. They had death magic. Could they have had the sight too? But then how could we have made it back to this tower?
I can hear the kobolds yipping in the distance, and the glow of the fire creatures flickering now that dusk is falling. Light is failing, and I dare not light a fire or cast a magic glow for fear they will discover me. The tower is high and does not seem in use at the moment, but someone will come here eventually. Daylight fails me and night draws near, but I do not think I can rest tonight. I just pray Brian will be back in the morning.
***
Dawn has broken, and he has not returned. I watched the sun rise over the sea in the distance, its rays setting the water on fire. Fire ... that is all there is in this place, it seems. Molten Island indeed, for it seems some hidden pit gapes open far beneath me, fire spewing forth from some unknown abyss to slowly cool into rock. Or so I have heard. And somewhere beneath me a dragon sleeps, or prowls below, or does whatever it is Fisterion does deep in his lair.
I have three canteens of water, and a little food still: some rations and some apples and nuts I picked along the way. I ate an apple this morning. It was all I could stomach. Is it my imagination, or do these apples differ from those I pick so often from the banks of the Rusty River? I swear I can taste the difference. These look perfect, ripe and red, but when I bite into them, all I taste is death.
***
Dusk will fall in an hour or so, and Njord still has not returned. I have wondered all day what has happened to him. Could he have slipped from the cliff and hit his head? Is he dead or dying somewhere, or merely unable to return to me? I keep thinking I should go and look for him, but what if he returned and found me gone? He told me to wait here, and wait I do. All day I have practiced illusion, working tirelessly on what Elmater has taught me. People underestimate the power of illusion. It is illusion that keeps me alive every time the kobolds pass too close, and I make myself unseen. I practice other illusions too, simple ones but ones that may one day become something more. For three hours today, I practiced changing my appearance, trying little things: eye colour, the colour of my hair ... it is hard going. Elmater would be impatient with me, I am sure. I wonder, is he really cousin to the Twisted Pane, or is that just a gnomish brag? If I make it off this island alive, I must resolve to ask him again.
I have rested a little, and I forced myself to eat and drink. For some odd reason, a child's tale my father once read me keeps coming unbidden into my head. I recall a maiden, locked in a tower, but little more. It was such a long time ago. An army came to rescue her ... wasn't that it? Or was it a prince, or a handsome wizard who scaled the tower and ported her away? I can almost hear his voice, strong and melodious, but I cannot make out the words in my memory.
***
I have passed another night in the tower. I watched the elementals in the distance on the hill. If I half close my eyes, I can imagine they are fireflies dancing in the sky, but then I hear the kobolds yipping and the shamans chanting, and I know I am trapped here still. Brian has not returned, and I am certain something terrible has happened to him. I will give him one more day, and then I will set out alone. In the meantime I will rest and make a plan.
***
Night falls again, the sun slipping over the western shore. Tomorrow I will set out and follow its path. I organized my pack today, laying everything out and packing it away again after taking inventory. Aryell and Elmater make me visualize my spells in my mind, then manifest them, so I do the same thing with my plan. In my mind's eye, I cast my protections and illusions and make my way up the cliff. Time and time again, in my imagination, I slip past Fisterion's minions and reach the top and then ... what? I remember a door, and Hardragh saying something about a key. And then all I remember is the deadly spells, and half-falling as I ran back down the cliff, Brian close behind me. I do not know what I will do when I reach the top, but I have to try. Even dying up there would be better than this slow, wasting death here in the tower.
***
I watch the sunrise, and wonder if it will be my last. If I die today, what will I regret? I will regret things left undone, but I do not think I will regret many of the things I have done or the people I have met, not even those who brought me pain. But I leave too much left undone! I am not ready.
I think of Brian, and fear for him. I hope wherever he is, he is safe. Please, Njord, do not be stupid enough to come back to me if death is all that waits for you here. Live, and if I die, wonder what we might have become and take comfort where you find it, even if that is Alatriel's bed. I think of Laura, too, and immortality. I can see the allure of life stretching before you, but at what cost? She and her kind will always be hunted. I think of Randi, and a life well-lived if cut far too short. What would we have become, she and I, had we been given more time? I like to think we might have become true friends. She died not understanding me, but I cannot blame her. I find myself wondering what became of Omaa, the puppy. She must be a dog now, probably wild and free somewhere. It is what Randi would have wanted.
I think of Muireann, and of Mist. Muireann, who took me in and sheltered me, and gave me leave to be stronger than I imagined I could be. Muireann, whose bond is killing her, and whose cold anger chills even my heart. Would I become so cold if I swore myself to Mist as she has done? I do not think Mist a merciful goddess. Mercy granted too freely would breed weakness. And yet before I go, I offer a prayer to her nonetheless, Muireann's old holy symbol heavy in my hand. It is a wordless prayer, for fear of death and fear of fire have stolen all my words away, but perhaps she will hear it nonetheless.
The sun has risen. Time to go.
-
I am still alive. Whatever else I am fated for, whatever future misfortunes and agonies I might endure, it seems death here on this island was not one of them. I scaled the hill, slipped past Fisterion's agents milling around on the slopes ... saw the bloodstains on the ground and a few things where Njord must have fallen. I do not know what happened to him, but he is beyond my aid now. I tell myself that somewhere, he is safe. I pushed on.
Higher up, to where Hardragh and Wren fell. Bits of charred debris and ash on the dark rock, unrecognizable. The door ... locked, and the guardian impossible to defeat. I tried picking the lock, I did, but to no avail. I despaired then, for a moment, fear of my own mortality paralyzing me and preventing any action. I thought about sitting on the ground until the illusions failed me and the fire creatures came to bring me death. Perhaps my end would be swift, and my death merciful. Likely not.
It matters not, for it seems I cannot give myself to death so easily. Silently, I cursed the heavens, and prayed, wordless demands. I will not die here! Do you hear me? I paced the hilltop, feeling the heat of the fire creatures even through my protections, knowing my time ran short ... and then I saw my way down.
A narrow gully in the cliff, worn nearly smooth by gods only know what purpose. A sign of the gods, or simple dumb luck? I neither cared nor knew which. Getting down was all there was room in my mind for, and my escape nearly killed me. I twisted my ankle at the top of the gully, and the heat of the creatures circling around nearly did me in. By some miracle, I made it down, half-burned to death and falling most of the way, the sharp black stones ripping my robes and flesh to shreds. They must have taken my ungraceful descent to be a rockslide, for I was not followed.
And then I was there, at the edge of the island, at the edge of the ocean. Hope blossomed like a desert wildflower in my heart, and I walked into the waves. The cold ocean water was soothing on my burned skin. The salt was agony in my open wounds. I prayed:
Lady Chaos, Lady Doom, I do not know why I still stand, when my companions have fallen, but I thank you for your mercy, and for delivering me from danger.
There was more too, gratitude and relief and thanks pouring out from me into the sea, words carried away on the wind, but what exactly was said was unimportant. What is important is that I am still alive. I shall rest here tonight, and give my wounds a chance to close. The sting of the salt has washed them clean, and I think they will heal quickly. Tomorrow I will find the path back to the docks, and sail from the accursed place!
-
Curse you, cruel goddess, if this is indeed your work! Why would you save me from the hilltop, only to die a slow death on this beach?
There is no path. I have searched and searched, but the cliffs are too sheer and impossible to climb. There is only one path: up, the way I came, and even if I could make it, nothing but death lies that way. For two days I have tried, but there is no escape. I have half a canteen of water left, and my food is gone. I will die of thirst, or starve to death here on this shore.
Listen to the wind and the waves, for they contain her voice, Hardragh said. All I hear is relentless mockery. The waves beat and crash against the shore, merciless. How could I have believed she had brought me mercy? The wind whispers in my ear: trapped, you are trapped ... death is coming soon ... give in, give in ...
There is no use fighting anymore. There is no way out. I will die here, alone.
Curse you, Mist, for giving me hope. I should have died on the hilltop.
-
Two more days have I passed in this cove. I have tried to make my peace with death, but I do not know how. The supple reed may bow to the storm and yield to its fury and endure the winds unbroken, but I do not know how to yield to this. I am alone with my thoughts and my fears, and this accursed will to live that will not allow me to die gently.
Hear me, Goddess of Storms! If this is a test, so be it. Place your hardships before me, Lady, and let me face them. If your seas are undrinkable, I will gather dew in the morning, and rain when it falls. If my food is gone, I will hunt fish and shelled creatures in the shallows. I have my bow and a full quiver of fishing arrows. I am not helpless, and if you will not aid me, I shall aid myself. I prayed for mercy in the tower, and gave thanks on the beach. Now I do neither. Let me not cry out to be sheltered from adversity, but to be fearless as I face it. Let me not pray for the easing of my pain, but for the strength to push through it.
If it is my fate to die on this shore, then I am certain it shall be. But I will fight to live with every measure of my will, and I shall struggle against this until my last breath falters and my heart ceases to beat.
Author's Note: My sincerest apologies to Nobel laureate and Bengali poet Rabindranath Tagore for my shameless adaptation of his beautiful quotation: "Let me not pray to be sheltered from dangers but to be fearless in facing them. Let me not beg for the stilling of my pain but for the heart to conquer it." You said it more beautifully than I could ever have hoped to.
-
I have been thinking, as I struggle to live. There is much time for thinking on this shore, alone with the sea and the waves and the wind and the rocks, Fisterion's minions above and behind me.
Consider the pebble, tossed by the waves. It endures, yes, but it will never escape its fate. Though it doesn't bow to the ocean, the sea will wear it down nonetheless. It may take ten years, or a hundred, or centuries, but the boulder will be reduced to sand. Its stubborn resistance is in vain because it cannot adapt.
Consider the bird, caught in the storm when its fellows have taken shelter. If it flies against the gale, it will likely perish. If it moves with the winds and seeks the eye, it might survive but it will be at the mercy of the storm. If it rides the gusts, though, and seeks higher air, then it may have a chance for freedom, however small.
I think of this, and remember the Revenge's Release. Even that mighty ship cannot sail directly into the wind. The ship does not fight the wind, but uses it. If I am surrounded by the sea, I must not be fenced in by it but rather find a way to use it. Some things I cannot do. Only Mist can control the direction of the wind. But I ... I can at least adjust my sails.
-
It is done. I cannot number the journey in days, nor in tears nor curses, nor the times the sea threatened to swallow me or tear away the driftwood I clung to, nor in the times I dragged myself onto shore and slept, wearied beyond capacity for thought, my fear driven from me by sheer exhaustion.
And yet it is done. I have circumvented part of the island, clinging to its shores and the shallow water. Driftwood lashed together bore me up when my strength, magical and mundane, failed me. Food and water were in gravely short supply, but I managed.
Sometimes I think the currents carried me. Other times I seemed to fight against them. It has all blurred together now ... one long struggle that only ended when I saw the docks in sight. And Njord ... he was there, just setting out for the mountain again. He would walk through fire thrice over to save me, it seems.
Strangely, though, my thoughts are not of Brian right now. Or at least, not all of them. They wander, my musings, as we sail back to Dregar. I wonder if Hardragh is alright. I think of the island, and the beach, and what wisdom I found there. And I wonder how I will remember this, when the trauma has passed. They say that which is bitter to endure may be sweet to remember. Will it be so with this nightmare? I do not know, but I think something has changed. With Hardragh's words fresh in my mind, I took one more step towards the Mistress of Storms. I wonder about her still, and whether it will ever be in my heart to serve her, but for now bone-deep exhaustion robs me of all worries and troubles. Njord is calling me back to the bunk, and though him I could resist, sleep's more insistent beckoning would still claim me.
And so for now I rest and recover. The ocean is calm now, and there are no storm clouds in the sky. I dream on Mist's quiet seas, lulled into my reverie by the gentle rocking motion of the ship.
-
It is strange to think it, but life has swiftly returned to normal after my experience on Molten Island. I continue to scribe and make potions and poisons. I continue to study with Aryell and Elmater. With Aryell, it has lately been largely refining my ability to charm and to control, but with Elmater there is always something new to learn. I have glimpsed the potential to be able to cloak myself in shadows, partially concealing myself, and I struggle tirelessly to master this difficult illusion. I have always found Elmater a difficult tutor to learn from. He is impatient and critical, and we frequently lose our tempers with each other. This often ends in lessons being cut unexpectedly short, and a few times I have even stayed away for several days. Nonetheless, whenever I finally come back, he receives me without judgement of the lesson previous, often showing me a new slight of hand trick.
This is not to say I learn nothing from Aryell these days. I am not sure it was Connor's intention when he referred me to her, but I have learned a great deal about presence and subtlety. It isn't that she is not beautiful--she has the fine elven features that characterize our race, and her green eyes are bright—but that she seems somehow to possess ... astounding grace and poise. I have watched her, both with myself and with others she encounters when I am with her in Spellgard, and I truly think much of her power comes from her demeanor. She is always calm and pleasant, but she exudes confidence despite her humility. It is a strange paradox that I did not understand at first, but an incredibly powerful one. I am too frequently hasty and obvious in my manipulations, as I was in Sedera. I have resolved to try to adopt a little of Aryell's regal comportment, and in the spirit of this have given my measurements to a talented couturier in Huangjin.
What a beautiful trip that was! I have spent so much time on Corsain, but this was my first visit to Tilmar, and a bit of a gamble and a whim at that, as I went on the suggestion of a clothier in Western Gate who had heard tell of Oriana no Kato. Our ship sailed into Gisi, the small island that the ocean going vessels dock in. The waves are gentle around the isle, and the water is almost green. I have seen blue seas, and grey seas, but never before have I seen the sea quite this colour. They call it liquid jade. We approached from the northern side, and while the cargo was unloaded I managed to charter passage on a small junk, as they call their ships. I saw little of Gisi, but from what I understand, there is not much to see. It is covered with huts and there are small fishing boats everywhere, and palms swaying in the breeze. It looked peaceful, though, in its own way. I shall have to remember this place if I ever need a port in the storm.
Huangjin is as different from Gisi as the humble hut of my earliest years is from the gleaming marble of Katherian. I find it a strange land, though it bears many similarities with Corsain. Still, it is odd to sit in a carriage drawn by a person rather than a horse as one travels the Chi road past the wall to the city proper. Still, I like this city. There is a freedom to its lack of order, and something appealing about the busy markets, squawking chickens in wooded cages, and eclectic architecture. The man I chartered my carriage from told me this strange mixing of styles is due largely to the effect of the relief efforts on the island. While some buildings were rebuilt in the traditional style, others are the larger, boxier structures one sees on Mistone and Alindor. The Goten, which I learned was the palace of the Mido, and the Citadel of Toran were both rebuilt in the old style, though.
My carriage finally led me to Oriana no Kato's dwelling, and I was received with courtesy. She is a beautiful woman, willowy, with blue-black hair and dark eyes that you can just tell are sizing you up the moment you enter her line of sight. I could see her mentally holding up fabrics and colours against me before I had fully introduced myself. She served me a tea of jasmine while I was there. It came on a tray in beautiful shallow black cups painted with cherry blossoms, with a small jasmine blossom floating in each cup. (I later learned that cherry blossoms are important here, and that they planted cherry trees all around the Goten when it was rebuilt.) There were delicate sweet pastries too, light and strange. I never learned what they were called, much to my regret.
I did not visit with Oriana long, but I have no doubt that when the garments arrive they will be perfect. Her quiet competency is evident, and well worth her price. There is something of Aryell's serenity in her too that tells me she will not lead me far astray. The rest of my visit was largely uneventful, save two things. The first was a marvelous concert in the clamshell auditorium of the Ineffable Chord, a kind of dance set to music of which I have never seen its equal. The second was my visit to the shrine of Mist in that city. The shrine lies outside the city proper to the west on the beach. I left a small offering there before departing.
-
I had thought that things would be easier with Brian after our trip back from Molten Island, but now that the novelty of finding me alive and unharmed has worn off I fear we are once again tearing out each other's throats. I took a short and ill-fated trip into the Misted Village with him and a few others the other day. His half-sister Huntemara was there, as well as Huntemara's lover, Izzy, who has taken to referring to me as the blue witch. The Crossroads I can tolerate, as they are usually safe enough, but venturing beyond them brings nothing but feelings of panic now.
I hate being without the Al'Noth. Brian says I have become dependent on it and need to train without it, but he does not understand how vulnerable I am without my magic. I was short with him for most of the trip, and shorter still after I fell. We quarreled and he went off somewhere to sulk for a while, as he is prone to do. Eventually he came back and we tentatively reconciled, but sometimes he grates on me so. He always needs to know everything, every detail, no matter how inconsequential. He is always so concerned with how I am feeling, as if I am in constant need of comfort. He seems to sometimes want to coddle and pet me, and to protect me. It is not that I don't value his protection. Gods know I have needed it often enough! It is just that sometimes he infuriates me, and I lose my temper.
Of course, this little quarrel is nothing to the tempest we face now. Blast Hedessa and her Xeenite ways! Curse Brian too, for tangling with a drake. We were traveling home to Mistone when we met a group of familiar faces and decided to share their path for a while. Alatriel was there, but fortunately she didn't see us together. Ben was there too, and Hedessa, and Razeriem and a few others. Everything was fine until Brian wandered off alone to kill a drake he saw in the Black Hills. I was the one who found the body, when we realized he was missing, and brought the news back to the others.
Oh, how it galled me to see Alatriel so worried and wounded, like a little kicked puppy trying desperately to hide it. But after they'd killed the drake and Hedessa was reluctant to raise him, it wasn't Alatriel who did anything, no. It was me making the bargain with the vixen. A kiss is a low price for him to be raised, in my opinion. I didn't know she would use the wine.
I knew the moment I saw her do it, but it was too late. His illness, and me powerless to do anything, lest I reveal the depth of our relationship to the others. The shakes took him almost immediately (I suppose he must have swallowed more than a mouthful all told), and no one knew what was wrong, or what to do. Alatriel tried to help him, but I do not think she even knew of his illness. He needed the cure, or at the least another antidote like the one Marcus gave him. Neither of these were available, but the heart of the drake seemed to help a little. I cut it out for him and he ate it raw. I do not pretend to know the full nature of this sickness still, even after what Brian and Marcus have told me, but I am given to understand that a drake's heart (or was it a dragon's?) is needed for the cure.
I did what I could, and I gave him over to Alatriel, though it stung to do so. I do not think I betrayed too much. She took him away to find Marcus, and I remained with Hedessa and Razeriem, the others having departed. Razeriem was flirtatious, playing the dandy. Not wanting to think about Brian or poisons, he was an easy choice of distraction, and seemed inclined to play at first. But after Hedessa left, I think I glimpsed something more genuine, for his offers had more depth to them than a dandy's would.
I will admit, I considered it. There is something appealing in Razeriem, and in the side of him I think few see. I like him. I cannot help it. But as alcohol is poison to Brian, so would I be to Razeriem. I told him as much, and let him choose for himself. It was a near thing, but he was wise enough to understand I will not be faithful, nor honest, nor trustworthy, nor any of the things he desires. If I am fond of my lovers, it is a loyalty that falls far short of what Razeriem yearns for, or what Marcus sought from me. Still ... I wonder.
We are elves, I told him. Perhaps a hundred years or so will mellow us enough that we will suit one another then. I think he believes it. I wonder at it myself. What will I do, when all my human lovers have grown old and died? Will I take new ones? Or by that time, will I long for something else?
Truly, I do not know. For now I content myself with the knowledge that Razeriem has chosen wisely. I hope even our tentative friendship will not bring him to harm, for I may truly be an ill-luck coin. But we have sealed away the possibility for more for now. Razeriem wears his armor and mask and plays the fool, and I content myself with trying not to wonder if Brian is dying somewhere while I keep company with another man.
-
Wherever Isabelle is, it seems disaster follows not far behind. I knew the instant I heard her voice in the square. She was clothed in the disguise of an Ilsaran again, and talking with Iellwen, the Aragenite priestess that Lance is in love with. She broke off conversation with her when she saw me, though, and came to sit with me. My guess must have been right, for it seems she got my message. She praised me for my resourcefulness, and gave me a quiver of arrows with a powerful sting to them. She said they were a token of our friendship. She was asking me for an update when Elgon appeared at my arm. He had greeted me tersely earlier, but he must have caught Laura's scent on the wind with that uncanny nose of his. He tried to draw me away, but I have learned the hard way what the cost of inconveniencing Laura is. It seems he has too, for I managed to get rid of him without a fuss. It was a good thing too, for Laura, as I am beginning to think of her now, asked me as he was leaving if I wanted to watch him suffer. I managed to dissuade her from doing him any harm, but as always she seems to think such mercy demands my gratitude.
She also demands I call her Mistress now. It galled me to do so, but I swallowed my pride. It is strange ... the first time I uttered that honorific, I almost choked on it, but every time after it slipped from my tongue with greater and greater ease. I worry that if this continues, soon I may not think of it as anything amiss at all. For now, though, I only did it that there might be no more bloodshed.
Alas, it was not to be. While I was giving her my update, Elgon would not stop staring. She told me she thought her ruse was coming to an end, and I regretfully agreed with her. And then she cast off her cloak, and oh ... I saw them. Her wings. Beautiful, magnificent wings of jet black, their dark feathers perfect. She reached her hand towards me then, and called me to her, telling me we were going for a flight, and I was afraid. And Razeriem, oh sweet Razeriem wandered by just then, and he must have seen something in my eye as I asked her whether she was going to hurt me, or the child. She said no, and I would have gone with her willingly then, but he came over to check I was alright. Laura, oh Laura ... you can be so cruel. She told me to get rid of him or he died, and I couldn't do it. He resisted, and she cast. I recognized the spell. Necromancy school: horrid wilting. Poor Razeriem. It killed him, and then all hell broke loose.
In an instant, everyone in the square was on their feet and armed, and lightning was flashing all around us, close enough to burn me, and enough to hurt Laura. Someone called for the guards and she grabbed me, the cry I had uttered at seeing Razeriem fall still caught in my throat, but everyone was on her: Elgon, Iellwen, that fool of a dwarf Skully, the Lucindite priest Logan ... and then very suddenly they weren't, and everyone was dead, even Alatriel, who fled from her, and she was holding me and we were flying, up over the city walls to a secluded spot by the sea.
She set me down gently then, and for an instant I thought all the blood was my own. And then she coughed up blood, so much blood, and I saw how hurt she was. I swear on any god or goddess, I thought she was dying then. And she had just killed Elgon, and Razeriem, and so many others I cared even less for. And I speak truly when I say I did not know what to do ... could not think of anything to do but draw her close to me and put pressure on her wounds as she spoke deliriously.
Oh, revelations! Even as wounded as I was, I felt the shift and knew of its importance. I am no longer so certain that Laura is my enemy, and in part this is because I now know she is not what they think. She traded immortality when she handed Veira over to the Council. I do not know how or why, but she is no longer a vampire, though I know not precisely what she is then.
And if my heart warmed a little to Laura, what of hers to me? She told me I must finish her task for her if she fell, and startled and looked at me sternly when I asked her whether she meant raising La'Forran. You sought someone with cunning, my lady, I told her. Did you think the blade cut only one way? And then she looked at me, and I know no name to give that look but pride. How strange, that she be proud of me! She says I cannot understand the importance of raising La'Forran. It is true. I cannot. If I were her, I would fly far from this place and find solace somewhere no one knew me. What is power if one cannot use it? They will kill her before they give her the urn, and I told her so, but she only told me to do my best in a strangely gentle tone. She gave me a feather from her wings before she left, telling me it was a symbol. And before she skimmed low across the water, she told me to meet her in a week in Mariner's Hold, and she called me love.
I am so confused.
It must have taken me nigh on an hour to climb back over the wall, even though there was a rope. Even so, the whole square was still astir with it. I cannot say I blame them. How many innocents died when she cast her illusion? I do not even know.
The mage was there -- Timulty. He may have a sharp tongue, but his mind is as quick as his wit, and level enough as well. I was still shaky as he led me back to the others. He told me that someone had counted the bodies eventually, and realized I was not among them, and that everyone was worried for me. Worried! They half killed me with their poking and prodding, all wanting to test if I had been turned, all demanding to see my neck, touching me with silver, trying to drag me to a healer. Brian tried to drag me off alone to talk, and Elgon stormed off in a huff. Skully was demanding bloodshed and Laura's head on a pike practically. Only Connor seemed to keep his head, with AnnaLee silent at his side as usual.
I trust him. I do. I barely flinched inside when I saw him give my stone back to Brian and knew he had been trying to trace me. I know why they do it, but I still don't like it. And Brian ... Brian should have known better, should have known to wait a little. Connor caught my eye before he left, and told me his offer still stood. I think I will be taking him up on it soon, but first I need to think. I will meet with Laura in a week, and see what comes of it. Connor knows I will contact him soon. I pray he will be able to shed some light on my situation. Whenever I can determine precisely what situation I am in now, that is.
Oh, I met a little sorcerer as Brian was leading me from the city. He introduced himself as Abiorn, and though I didn't want to tell him anything, something about his presence set me at ease. I fear I would have told him far more than I intended, had Brian not been so insistent to get me alone and driven him off with such alacrity. Brian followed me, and I went to feed the chickens and collect eggs. It was the most calming thing I could think of to do, and I desperately needed a little calm. He told me his heart had nearly stopped beating when he heard she had taken me, and that it took some doing to get them not to follow me. Hearing that troubled me though ... that, and I caught Iellwen saying something about not being privy to the plan when I first came back in the square. How much did he tell them? He is so bad at guarding his tongue. Much as it pains me to do so, I fear I will have to be careful with what I tell him.
And yet his advantage is that he knows me, and spends so much time with me that he is bound to discover some things. Like the feather. He nearly pried it from my grasp to find out what I was hiding, and half-terrified me in the process. I have seen him that way with others, but never has he taken that tone with me before. It bothered me, more than I care to admit. I convinced him to let me keep it though. I think Laura's gift confuses him even more than it does me. Apparently her feathers can be used to scry on her. Hanna has some, apparently. I suspect that is what Trith meant when he said “personal items”.It drove Brian half into a frenzy, not knowing why she gave it to me. Already, he guesses more than I intended. He asked me whether I was sure she was still a vampire tonight, but I deflected the question. For some reason I am scared to let them know how close they came to killing her tonight. How easily I could have killed her after ... one spell, and she would have died. And instead, I kept her alive and closed her wounds.
I need the urn. Laura wants it, so I need to at least know where it is. Brian had better hurry and get it from the paladin. He says he can, but I only have a week until I meet with her again, and I fear what she will do if I go to her with nothing. I am in so far over my head I am not even sure I am afraid anymore. I just wish I could make sense of some of this.
*a hasty postscript*
Oh, I almost forgot! Brian knows where I live. As it turns out, he knew all the time. Or at least since I went away a year or so ago. I am not sure whether or not to be surprised. I always thought it odd that I hid it from him so well, when he never had trouble finding me anywhere else.
-
It is so strange to have Njord back in his old room at Muireann's, but stranger still to see him so helpless and so clearly in agony. I do not know why he wouldn't take the antidote with Hanna and Alatriel, but for some reason it seems he wanted me to be there for him during the whole ordeal. All I can think is that he trusts me, as I know how difficult it is for him to let others see him this vulnerable.
Let me go back a bit, to before I brought him to Muireann's. I was in Hempstead on business, and had just run into Abi in Deliar's temple. We spoke of Laura, and like the rest of them she wanted to see my neck. It seems that she, like Hanna, had been bitten before (though whether by Veira or Marilyn, I know not). I also learned from her that I am no longer trusted by the others, though this does not surprise me. The others are not sharing information with me and the Council seems fractured and dissenting. I begin to wonder how many know that Brian is seeking the urn through Clarissa, and how many would consent to this plan if it were known to all. Abi confirmed that many would protect the urn at all costs, offering it as bait only if they thought Laura's death was certain, or perhaps to buy the life of one of their own. This is interesting, but I do not think I will tell Laura. It would be unwise to give her any further incentive to do me harm. The only other thing of import I learned was that Abigail hates Aeridin with a passion, and would give aid to his enemies just to spite him if it would not harm so many of her friends to do so.
My head spinning from my talk with Abi--who I believe still trusts me at least a little--I headed towards the fields to pick corn, and immediately ran into Brian. We quarreled, badly. He thinks I am succumbing to Laura's influence, but he is wrong. Just because my opinion of her is in flux does not mean that I am giving my will over to her or becoming her slave.
We also fought about Hedessa and the bargain I struck with her to have him raised. He is an abominable hypocrite. He would give everything for me, but denies me the right to give anything for him. What is a kiss, or even a night, next to a life? But he fears the cost will climb until he cannot bear it. I did not tell him of how she and I bantered not two days ago in Allurial's square over the price I would pay if she ever had to raise me. I do not think he would like the idea of her claiming me for a night any better just because it was my life and not his. He sickens at the thought of her lips on mine and of her whip on my flesh. He cannot abide the thought of me purchasing his life with my affections, even though he condones me using those same charms to acquire other things. His objections were so ludicrous that I could not control my temper, and when he dared to suggest that Hedessa was merely using me, I said something cruel: that what Hedessa wanted from me was far more benign than the manner in which he was using Alatriel. That seemed to take the fire out of him, as he could not deny it, and in truth it took the fire out of me as well, especially when he looked into my eyes and said that yes, he would step on nearly every one of his own convictions to protect the woman he loved. It is easier to do what I must when I do not pause to reckon the price others pay for my actions.
Whether our fight would have continued, I shall never know, for just then he started to shake horribly, and I saw how weak he was. He told me then that he had come to find me, to take the antidote with me. He had obtained it from Marcus but had refrained from taking it. He had told Hanna and Alatriel that he was going to a temple so he wouldn't be a burden, but instead he came to me.
My feelings on this matter are ambivalent, to say the least. On the one hand, it is rather touching that he feels he can rely on me. And yet on the other hand, he is indeed a burden to me in this condition, especially with everything that is happening right now. I have to meet Laura in less than a week, in Mariner's Hold, and I had planned to travel to North Point and back by portal to do a little digging in the Aeridinite temple library on La'Forran and the history of the urns. But Njord had to tangle with a drake, and Hedessa had to use wine to raise him, and he had to come to me for help. He swore an oath to me, and I cannot turn him away.
I hesitated before going to Muireann in this, as it is important that no one see Brian and I together. But in the end there is no one I trust more in this matter. I trust Muireann to say nothing because she has no stake in this matter. It is apathy I trust to compel her silence, not loyalty. As expected, she asked who it was I wanted to bring into the house, but it is her house and most certainly her right. I expected no less.
I must say, it was strange to have to bind him. It is like clipping the wings of a falcon, and finding yourself holding a sparrow. Oh, he was brave, and I am sure I would have been frightened too, but ... part of me resents him for this weakness. I am a poor nursemaid. I hope at least I am a competent physician. I have used my magic to cool the air around him and calm his fever, and also to hold him during the worst of his convulsions. It is difficult to know what to do for him, though. I think it is just a matter of doing what I can and hoping.
In the meantime, I occupy my mind with what diversions I can. I should never have thought I would think of Laura as a diversion, but even mulling my situation over is better than watching Njord thrash like a fish out of water and foam at the mouth. He has not regained consciousness since I gave him the antidote, but he did say this time would be far worse. As there is little I can do for him, I have brought a chair and table into his room and I sit at his bedside. I have an old book on vampirism that I have been pouring over, but there is more in that text on what wood to make a stake out of than what Laura might be now. Most people seem to concur that there is but one cure for vampirism, though stake, silver and severed head make for interesting variations on a theme.
He seems to be sleeping easily right now. Small blessings. But the convulsions come without warning and without reason, and I have only a few days before I have to leave to meet Laura. He is the one bound to the bed, but I feel just as trapped.
-
Brian is sleeping. I never thought I would so value the simple stillness and quiet of his uninterrupted slumber, but after the last day or two it has been bliss. The fever has been hard on him, and he suffers dreams and delusions that keep him awake at night. The convulsions continue too, forever erratic and hard to control. I worry the antidote is doing more damage than harm, but I do not see that we have any option now.
He woke yesterday for a few minutes, but his mind was cloudy with the fog of the fever and he did not know me. He kept murmuring about a golden butterfly that had come in through the window and spoken to him in elven, and how beautiful it had been. I don't know how to deal with this in some ways. What do I say to that? Thankfully he fell asleep again just then. I expect his body needs to rest. I managed to wake him later just enough to get him to eat some broth, but he was not really with me. I don't think he will remember waking at all.
He says he remembers Abi from the last time he took the antidote, and remembers her voice and her presence through all of it, so I have tried to talk to him. I fear I am a poor substitute though. I was not meant to be a caregiver, and in the face of his weakness I retract into myself. I can feel myself doing it, though I don't know why it happens. I sponge his brow with a cool cloth, wipe away the vomit from his lips when the poison makes him retch, and yet I am not really there, any more than he is. My mind is somewhere else, floating over the ocean or working through a problem. I do not know how to love him like this, and though my body goes through the motions I am merely playing the role of loving woman. In truth, I resent him a little for coming to me like this and for placing his own burdens on my shoulders when he knows I already have so much to deal with.
I cannot leave him for long as I don't know when the next fit will take him, so I have brought my herb box into the room and have been preparing herbs all day. It doesn't occupy my mind much, but it at least keeps my fingers busy and helps me feel productive. Right now I am working with dried herbs as I don't know when I'll have a chance to deal with fresh right now. Still, my room is full of sweet-smelling bundles hanging from twine that need to be taken down, some of them picked through and separated out, others crushed into fine powder. In still others I have to crush the dried flower heads and separate out the seeds.
So many people underestimate the power of herbs and plants. There is healing in a tea or an infusion, just as there is in clerical magic. Perhaps the lore of plants is more important in places like the Bracken Water Bog, where clerics are scarce and healers prescribe poultices instead of potions half the time. I admit, I don't know. I do know that working with these plants brings back memories of my mother. So much of what I know of alchemy I learned from her. So much of what she knew, I still have not mastered.
And yet my knowledge is still far from trivial. I can make a decoction, scraping and mashing roots and letting them soak before bringing them to a boil and reducing the liquid. I can make teas and infusions, cutting and crushing the herbs and pouring the boiling water over them. I can make poultices to soothe a wound or draw out inflammation, mashing up the plant and pressing it into a flat pad, then binding it with a cloth or even a leaf to keep it in place. I know that to clean a wound, you should use a decoction of comfrey roots or oak bark, or the juice of elder leaves or tansy (though the last is poisonous in large quantities). I know that the fruit or flowers of the elder plant can break a fever when made into an infusion, and that an infusion of birch will ease bruised flesh, while willow bark will take away head pains. The leaves of the angelica plant may be used in potions of bless, but the roots can be made into a decoction to ease a sore throat, as can wild rose hips. For upset stomachs, mint leaves crushed with charcoal. To reduce swelling, witch hazel leaves. To bring on sleep, you can brew a tea of chamomile. And for both the easing of sleep and the easing of convulsions, there is valerian. A yellowish-green oil, pressed from the roots and added to tea. Add it when warm but not hot, or the oil is ruined, and watch for adverse reactions.
Njord, thank the gods, seems to take it well. I gave him some as tea today. He was lucid for an hour or so in the afternoon, and though he didn't admit it, I can tell the fever dreams are troubling and he was scared to sleep again even though his body needs the rest. The hardest part today was the blindness. He thinks it is a symptom of the antidote, and I can tell it's temporary but it's troubling nonetheless. I had to spoon feed him his soup again, as if he were a child. I cannot help but think I should thrill at this chance to take care of him, but all I could think of was how I need to meet Laura in two days, and how ill prepared I will be for it. And what in the name of the Lady of Storms I'm going to do with Brian when I have to go. Blind, bound because of the convulsions, unconscious twenty three hours of the day and delirious for the other hour ... I cannot possibly leave him alone, but I certainly can't take him with me. I don't even know if he should be moved. Should I take him to the temple? I don't want to be a burden to Muir, but nor do I want her to think I am betraying her like Hardragh did by going to Aine.
Brian seems to be reacting well to the valerian. His convulsions seem to have ceased for now and he's sleeping soundly, so I think I will try and make a trip to Blackford Castle and the portal to the Great Library. I want to see if there are any scrolls I can copy that might help me. I think I can make the journey quickly enough, and perhaps Muireann or Donnacadh will not mind watching him until I am back. I shall speak to them, and if it goes well perhaps I can arrange to leave him in Muir's care until I come back from my meeting with Laura.
If I come back from my meeting with Laura. There is always that haunting possibility ...
-
I made it to Blackford and back, and managed to copy my scroll, but when I got back Brian was worse and convulsing again. Muireann has been helping, and she says she will watch him when I am away. Ah, I fear I owe Muireann a great deal. At least I know she is far more capable of caring for him than I am.
He still hasn't woken since the last fit, and he coughed up this awful bloody foam. I fear the antidote is killing him just as surely as the poison.
What will he do when he wakes up and finds me gone? What will he do if I don't come back? I am certain he will blame himself for not being able to protect me, but there is little I can do about that. I cannot deal with Njord right now. His burdens are not my burdens. Muireann will take care of him. She and Donnacadh took care of me for a month after I lost my tongue. Surely they can care for Brian for a few days. It will only be a few days.
My ship sails with the outgoing tide at dawn. My things are packed. I have lain with Brian, curled against him, trying to convey to his sleeping form that I will be back as soon as I can. I have done all I can, and now it is time to put it out of my mind and deal with Laura. It is unlikely that Brian's is the only life at stake right now.
-
The winds were fair, and my ship arrived in Mariner's Hold on the correct day. I was relieved and headed to the inn to find a room while I waited for Laura, but as it turned out there was no need to find accommodation in the city for she was waiting for me near the docks. At first I was not sensible to her presence, as she was dressed in unfamiliar robes and leaned heavily on a staff, but when she greeted me by name I knew her for who she was.
It seems she sustained more injuries from the tussle in the square than I first thought. She blames them on the dwarf, Skully, and seeks revenge on his clan. She asked me for his name and clan home, but I deflected it, telling her truthfully that I did not know where he hailed from. It is true, I find the dwarf's company distasteful and think him a fool, but I still grow queasy at the thought of what Laura will do to him and his kin. She offered to tell me precisely what it is she intended, but I declined. I am curious by nature, but there are some things better left unknown. She has set me to finding out for her. I tell myself she would learn his name and clan easily enough on her own, and that I am merely ... smoothing her path.
Poor dwarf. Even if I find him an irritating fool, there is something noble about him, about all of them being so eager to die for a cause. I told Laura as much. And yet there are those who die for no cause, and merely perish for no reason. Is it better to die in pursuit of some noble goal, or does it make the slightest bit of difference? I do not want to die at all.
I learn more about Laura each time I am with her. I learned a little of her history today. She was no older than I am when Veira bit her and turned her. A young mage, focusing on enchantment and necromancy. Whatever befell her in the centuries of servitude to Marilyn and Veira, I think it must have changed her. I wonder about the woman she was before, and the woman she might be again. It seems she is caught between the living and the dead, the taint of her vampirism slowly fading now that Veira and Marilyn are dead. She thought Veira's death would kill her, but risked it anyway. Such are the lengths we will go to for free will and independence. Such are the lengths we will go to in order to overthrow an oppressor.
I sympathize with her. I find this ... unexpected, but I do. At first, I think it was merely the shock of seeing her vulnerable and hurt, but now ... she is so much like me in some ways. Had our fates been reversed, I might have become what she has. Perhaps she sees it too, for she says she has great faith in me, and sees great potential. I am not certain what she wants of me, though, or in truth what I want from her. Do I see a companion in her? The sister I might have had? A potential lover? A dark mirror of my own soul? Or perhaps some combination of these? I really cannot say.
She asked about Brian. She has seen me with him often enough to know there is something between us. She asked if we were courting, and I told her the truth of it, more frankly than I probably should have. Don't put too much faith in love, dear. It always ends badly she told me. I know that, and told her as much. It is folly to pretend that love brings more happiness than pain. Love is a weakness in some ways. It is the soft spot at which the enemy will strike, if they are clever and ruthless.
I do not think there are any Laura truly loves now, though she seems more than passing fond of me if she is to be believed. She loved Veira, though. As much as she hated her for holding ownership of her soul, it seems she loved her too, and served her faithfully for a while. There was no love lost between Laura and Marilyn, though. It seems Marilyn was Laura's superior in a strange hierarchy, and Laura resented her. Veira, though, that one was more complicated. Can you truly love someone and still betray them, knowing it will mean their death and destruction? But betray her she did, when she handed Veira over to the Council. And now she will avenge her death. She has given me two days to turn over the Council of Hope roster. Two days to turn over the list, or find an acceptable alternative. I look for a path that doesn't end in bloodshed. I look with little hope. I am quite certain my quest is fruitless, but I pursue it nonetheless. Many will call me a fool for it, but I do not wish to see Laura dead. Not yet, not now. As much as she has faith in me, I cannot help but have hope for her.
And yet she has unruly thoughts and commits dark deeds. She summoned a mummy, and would have loosed it carelessly on the town to wreak havoc if I had not pleaded with her to send it away. Mist embraces chaos, but is it right to savor the chaos her undead would cause, knowing how many would be hurt? I am not sure that chaos is the same as the power of the storm, which may bring ill or good. No good would come of Laura's mummy, of that I am certain. Or would it? Perhaps it would kill one prone to rapine, murder and other foul deeds. Did I err? My heart says no, but I do not know how to reconcile this with Mist's teachings. Chaos is unsettling, almost by definition. If there is beauty in it, it is a savage and wild beauty, and not one that it is always easy to enjoy.
I pray for speedy winds to sail me home, for I have but two days to decide on a path. I will write to Connor, I think. He said he would aid me. Perhaps if I can find a way to restore Laura to what she was, she will abandon her revenge on the Council. I wish I knew better what she wanted. I still know so little about her. Her animosity towards Daralith surprised me a little. Sometimes I forget how strong the old elven hatred for our dark kin runs. Raised in solitude, I was sheltered from some of our prejudices. Not that common sense doesn't tell me their race is evil judging from their deeds alone. I wonder if she's reached him yet, and if so what she's done to him. When she learned what he had done to me she swore he would suffer before he died. She asked if I wanted to come, even offered to let me torture him to my heart's content and tutor me in torture techniques ... and I confess to a moment's hesitation. Oh, part of me wants to see him suffer, wants to hold that dull blade of his to his flesh and see him flayed alive, inch by inch ... but then nausea overwhelms me. No, it is enough to know she will take care of it. I do not need to be there to witness it. I feel no guilt over giving her the address, either. I am quite certain he has earned a hundred times over what she will inflict upon him, and if I do not pity him, I certainly don't envy him tonight.
Two days ... it is not nearly enough time. Especially with Brian sick, and with the time it will take to return home now. The ship left no more than an hour after my meeting with Laura and we have made good time, but I still fear the sand runs too quickly through the hourglass right now. At least whatever happens, Elohanna and the child will be safe. She promised me that, and that she would spare the others any torture and grant them a quick death, if it came to it. Such small consolation, but I can only do so much and I must choose my battles with Laura wisely. I fear what will befall me if she thinks I have played her false. She swore no harm would come to me, but if she thinks I have betrayed her I am quite certain that oath will be meaningless, and if I am forced to choose between another's life and my own ... well, I have never claimed to be a martyr.
-
There is more news on Laura, though not much. I had to stop to change ships in Hempstead, and when I learned Elohanna was in the city I sought her out to talk. She was gracious enough to speak to me a little more about Laura and her sisters and answer a few of my questions.
What I have learned thus far:
* Laura had two sisters: Marilyn and Veira. Both were killed by the Council
* Marilyn was killed in the fields outside Hlint by a silver potion and a stake through the heart
* Veira was killed in the Silkwood cave by Quantum, the Shining Hand of Toran
* Laura told me she was sired by Veira. Elohanna confirms this. I am not sure precisely what happened when she betrayed Veira and caused her death, but that marked her change.
* Veira came to the Council seeking the urns. She came to Hanna because she was an Aeridinite and the Aeridinites had the urns (conjecture?)
* Hanna has no wish for vengeance, only for her family and other loved ones to be left alone
* None of them seem to suspect that Laura is no longer a vampire
[/I]
I shall have to think all of this over. Is it more likely that Laura lied to me, or that she lied to Hanna? Or that it is Hanna that is lying to me? Everything is so confusing. My head is full of details, and I don't know what is important. Right now all I want is to separate truth from lie. I need to know whether Laura is worth protecting, or whether she is as evil as everyone thinks.
I have bought myself and the Council a little more time, too, though it comes at a high price. I delivered Skullcracker Headbang's name and clan name to Laura. I didn't even intend it to happen the way it did. Sometimes it is so easy to learn what I shouldn't. Sometimes a path of ill deeds is much easier than a path paved solely with good ones. He came to me. I keep telling myself. I didn't seek it out. He came to me.
After speaking with Elohanna in the Hall of Reconstruction, I found lodgings at the Scamp's Mug by the docks to rest until my ship sailed. I knew I would likely have to give an answer before I left for Leringard, and I wanted a quiet place to think it over. No sooner had I settled into my room and come down to the tavern proper for a glass of wine, I received a letter. It was from the dwarf. He wanted to speak to me, and as by chance we were both in Hempstead, I told him he could come to meet me for a drink.
Skullcracker Headbang, of the Headbang clan of Ulgrid's Fortress in the Brech Mountains. So did he introduce himself to me before he bought me a drink. So did I tell Laura after he had left. I almost fell off my chair when I saw her walk in. Thank the gods I've a face that doesn't betray much when I set myself to concealing things. Strange, but she was so suspicious too. He wanted her blood, her head on a pike, a stake through her heart ... predictable and careless desires, bred out of a hot, impetuous disposition without a shred of common sense, I suspect. I played it carefully and told him to seek out Brian if he was looking to launch an attack. I am not sure why being abducted by a vampire suddenly makes you a captain of undead slaying in everyone's opinion. If it weren't so awful, it would almost be amusing.
The name of his clan has Laura sated for now. She thirsts for revenge, and I have given her something of which she can drink deep. And she has even agreed to spare the Council ... in exchange for the last of La'Forran's urns.
But I do not know whether I should give it to her.
Everything I have heard about him suggests he was uncontrollable in his evil. Releasing him on the world would bring devastation. She thinks she can control him, but she cannot. There is always great chaos, my lady. That is merely the way of things. Those were my words to her, when she threatened me and questioned my loyalty, telling me a loss of trust between us would bring chaos. And most days I believe it too. Whatever the nature of the world is, it is not one prone to order and restraint, and we do not need to work hard to cause chaos. And yet we have choices, always. And I want to be good.
Laura is in the Brechs now. Many will die at the hand of her undead warriors. But is it my fault for giving her the name, or hers for seeking revenge? If I had to choose again, I would choose the same way. It is a difficult choice, but the Council matters more than the dwarves. And I secured her promise that no child would be harmed. She did not understand why I protected them, but she agreed nonetheless. I need to be more careful with her in the future though. She doubted me today; I could feel it. I cannot afford to be so careless again.
Time to go home. I am bone-weary and my heart is heavy. I have written a letter to Connor, requesting a meeting. When I am home in Leringard I will give it to Muir to pass on. And there is Brian to think of again too. I have managed to keep him from my thoughts these long few days, but now I am free to wonder if he still lives, and if so what the antidote has done to him.
-
I have been back in Leringard a few days now, and I can finally write (with great relief, I might add) that Brian grows hale once more. I was too afraid to write for a few days, fearing that even mentioning he was improving might send him crashing into a downward spiral towards death again.
It was close. Far too close. If Muireann had not been there through the worst of it to heal him ... I do not think he would have lived. I was right to bring him here and to leave him in Muireann's care. Although I would not be surprised if she hangs this over his head for a long time! She asks little in return for what she does for me, but she will likely demand a boon from Brian for what she did for him. I am content merely to know that he lives, and reckon any price she will ask low.
The letter has been sent to Connor too. In the end I kept it simple but stressed the urgency of the matter. I wait on his reply.
Brian grows restless as he grows stronger, and my patience at playing nursemaid wanes. He keeps pestering me about Laura and what I'm working on. Every time he gets out of bed to try and peek at my books I shoo him back. In part it is because he is still weak, but it is also that I do not know what I want of him now. If he truly can retrieve the urn from the paladin ... I am not even sure I want it. The lives of the Council, or all of the other lives that would be lost if La'Forran was raised? That is my choice. And I find myself crying out like a plaintive child: Why me? I never asked for these choices, and I mislike the weight of the burdens I am asked to carry.
Laura is busy in the Brechs. Even here, we hear the rumors. Ulgrid's fortress itself assaulted, but the women and children allowed to go freely. And the demand is that the entire Headbang clan be turned over. I have even heard that some rather famous dwarves are headed to the Brechs. I wonder if Laura has bitten off more than she can chew! At least it buys me time though. I need to meet with Connor.
-
I was a fool to think Laura wasn't watching me, just because I knew she was in the Brech Mountains. I should have guessed after her suspicion during our last meeting that she would find a way to have me watched.
It happened in the Hall of the Weave. Brian and I were talking in whispers while we both pretended to be busy mixing inks. We were talking about ... well, that's the problem. I know we were arguing about Laura and the urn, but I don't remember exactly what was said.
And then I felt someone tap my shoulder, and almost fell over. Brian, small blessings, left without quarrel when I asked him to. I thought it would be Laura, but the voice that whispered into my ear was male. Watch the shadows ... it said. Or something very near to that. I was so surprised I did not wholly register what was happening until after the note had been pressed into my hand and he was gone.
I glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then quickly unfurled the note and read it before tucking it away again. This is what I read:
Dearest Jaelle,
I have considered with great anxiety what we have spoken of a few days past.
I intend to cease my vengeance against the council. I have more pressing matters with the dwarves of Ulgrid's.
Please take care of yourself and do not give your heart lightly. May what wisdom I imparted upon you guide your actions.
I never lied to you.
My love,
Laura Evvanicc'ia
I do not know what to think about this. On the one hand, I am relieved Laura has ceased her quest for vengeance against the Council of Hope. It means, I think, that I have more time yet again. More time to find the urn, or another solution.
And yet ... she is out there, killing dwarves in the mountains. It is a standoff now, I hear. And there is her tone too, so affectionate and almost trusting. But love? Does Laura truly love anyone anymore?
Strangest still is the sadness I get at the thought of not seeing her again. She has been a thorn in my side, and a dangerous and confusing enemy. And yet I find myself sometimes drawn to her as surely as an object thrown in the air is drawn back down to the ground. I am simultaneously relieved she is gone and disappointed I won't see her for some time, if ever again. What if she dies up there in the mountains, struck down by some dim-witted dwarf, half-mad with battle rage? I think a part of me would miss her, and I would certainly wonder what she might have become, or might have taught me.
A reply arrived from Connor, though, which gives me hope. Perhaps sensing my urgency, his note was uncharacteristically brief and to the point:
Jaelle,
City of Spells. As soon as you can make it.
Connor
I am leaving immediately. I pray to any god or goddess that will listen that Connor will be able to shed some much needed light on my situation. I trust his guidance, as he has never led me astray. I pray too that Laura doesn't find out.
-
The meeting went well, I think. We met in secret behind the School of Magic, on the high cliffs that stretch out over the sea. It is one of my favourite places in all of Spellgard, and I have spent many hours on those benches watching the ocean before, between and after lessons with Elmater and Aryell. Connor was as good as his word, and right on time. The only thing I did not expect was Anna to be with him.
I can't help but wonder, are they lovers? They must be, for she is always at his side. And yet I've never seen them touch. I think they are both very private people. I admit, I was dismayed when he told me she was with him. He had the good sense not to bring her into the meeting straight off. He came alone first, and asked me if I were willing. I asked if I had a choice, and if he would simply tell her anyway. In the end I allowed it, not because I trust AnnaLee, but because I trust Connor and he clearly trusts her. It was strange though. She is so silent and watchful, and sometimes it feels like she's not even looking at you, but through you, or past you. It is very disconcerting.
The uncomfortable tension of having Anna there and the sense of foreboding that always seems to surround my dealings with Laura aside, the meeting went well. It was like a dance in some ways, giving and sharing information, bartering one truth for another or a secret for their aid in finding the answers to her condition. I heard myself asking their help, and could scarce believe it, even now. They gave it, albeit perhaps grudgingly. Connor mistrusts her motives, I know, and perhaps AnnaLee does too. I cannot say I am free of the same suspicion, but I would give her the freedom to choose her own fate nonetheless, and being free of the taint of her vampirism is a choice she should be offered. I sincerely hope they will find a cure.
A cure--it is still strange to think about it in those terms. And yet that's what Connor called it. He referred to vampirism as if it were a kind of disease. I wonder how many others think about it thus. Is Laura just a woman who became sick through no fault of her own, and might be restored to full health again? Or did the woman she was cease to be when Veira bit and turned her? I am not sure we will ever know, but perhaps there is a chance now. I must say also, it surprised me to learn Connor and Anna already suspected much of her condition. They are not like the others. They are far smarter, for one, and far less rash in their actions. Their heads are cool and their minds are sharp, and they listened when I asked them to judge her not on what she was, but on what she is and might become again. Most importantly, they may be the only other two people in the world who do not want to kill her outright, and for that I am grateful.
And oh, I was right to think my Mistress mistrusting! Trust ... such a strange commodity. So hard to earn, and so very easy to lose. Connor and Anna have a measure of mine, Connor through our past dealings and AnnaLee by proxy. I am not sure how much I have of Laura's. Eventually and with some reluctance, I showed Connor and AnnaLee the letter she wrote me. Blood! She mixed the ink with blood ... her blood! Anna was the one that noticed first, so perhaps Connor was right to bring her after all. Connor confirmed it after checking it over again: the letter can be used to scry on me.
It makes me uneasy, knowing she can watch me. My first impulse was to burn the letter. And yet ... and yet what good would that do? If her faith in me wavers, I must give her no further reason to doubt. Which means for now, I cannot let her know that I know. Connor does not think it was active during the meeting, so there is still a good chance I can conceal this from her.
While I ponder what to do, I will be on Dregar. Laura is still in the Brechs carrying out her siege, and I think I am needed there far more than I am here. After the meeting with Connor and Anna, I went to look through the Spellgard records for the School of Magic. It was something Connor said that made me think of it. He said that Laura seemed to have an almost pathological fear of Spellgard, and would never show her face there. It was one of the reasons he chose the city for a meeting place. I knew she must have studied somewhere. I think she taps the Al'Noth through the mind and not as I do, which means lessons and tutors for certain. And now that I have her true surname from the letter, I can search the records, and search I did. And I found it! Her name, as real as the parchment it was scribed on or the ink it was written in. An old record, though there was no date on it that I saw. It roughly matches my expectations and what she has told me though. If she was truly my age when she was bitten, it can't have been very long after she was a student, which means she was a vampire for several centuries at least, judging from the age of the document. So much time and suffering ... even I have trouble imagining her loneliness during that time.
I had thought to dig deeper into the archives, but just then word spread like wildfire through the city. A runner had come from North Point through the portal: war had broken out in the Boyer kingdom. The giants of the Thunder Peaks were threatening Dalanthar, and Essrantor was trying to expand his realm, and a group of warriors and heroes had disappeared into the Peaks. That was all I could confirm, but enough to make me pack my things with alacrity and move for the portal. In an instant I was in North Point. After warm Spellgard, it was like jumping into frigid water. Luckily I keep a set of heavy robes and a warm cloak in a bank vault in that city for just such occasions, as well as an emergency pack full of supplies and rations.
I write this from the edge of the Rift, camped for the night. I am heading south, towards Dalanthar and the Thunder Peaks, but I do not know what I will find when I arrive. I think of the times I have sat at the Crossroads and watched the so-called heroes of the lands journey up into those bitterly cold mountains, and I at least have to try. If not for friendship, at least for knowledge. I lived in ignorance of the rest of the world all my life, and I shall do so no longer. If there are events in the world that shall prove to have a hand in its shaping, I wish to be a part of them. In a way, I was reborn when I left the swamps. That life was one of silence. In this life, I have a voice. Perhaps we are always being reborn, through each new experience we overcome. Perhaps when we change, the old self dies and is cast off, like brittle snakeskin or the worn out husk of a crab grown beyond its former life.
The winds are cold and the candle burns low. I must sleep, so I will have strength for my journey on the morrow. And yet my mind keeps returning to a single thought: if it is this cold here, how much colder must it be up in the mountains? I wonder if Hardragh is up there somewhere, or Arkolio or Brian. There is but a single way to find out.
-
Has it been so short a time since I spoke of having a voice, and playing my part in those events that will shape the world? I did not realize how prophetic my words would be. I have been up the Thunder Peaks and back twice since I last found the time to sit and put quill to parchment. Now I sit at the Crossroads and think on recent events, especially those of the last week.
I arrived in Dalanthar safely, and immediately met up with a large group of warriors, mages, healers and adventurers. Like me, they had heard tell of war in the Boyer kingdom and had come to have a hand in the shaping of the outcome. There were many I knew among the group: Berak and Abi, Brian, Marcus, a Lucindite healer by the name of Sala, a few mages I had met before ... all of them, without exception, more accomplished warriors than me. They had another advantage, as well, having been closer to the Boyer kingdom when war was announced, and almost all had arrived before me. At first, I was lost and confused, but then I remembered to keep my wits about me. When in doubt, keep your ears open and your mouth shut. I went with them to speak to a Sir Evan, who seemed to be coordinating a resistance of sorts. As I understood it, the burden that fell upon my compatriots was to hold the pass and keep Dalanthar from falling, and also to provide aid and support to a separate expedition that had ventured high into the mountains to deal with Essrantor more directly.
It was not long before my careful listening brought reward, for when Sir Evan and his advisors were discussing strategy and possible sources of aid with my companions, I caught Sir Evan's chief advisor, a man named Everett, in a lie. They were discussing a half-dragon half-wyvern crossbreed who dwelt in the Thunder Peaks, and something about the spirit of a silver dragon. A few argued that we should seek him out, as he might be a powerful ally, but Sir Evan's advisor Everett argued most fervently against it. At first, he gave no adequate reason, saying only it would be a waste of time. When pressed, it came out the ice wyvern, who is known as Iliarn, was a recluse. Everett said he could not be found, as his location was unknown, and that we would be leaving the pass defenseless. However, I caught the telltale of a lie in the tone of his voice, and in the way he held his head as he spoke. It was most apparent to me he was playing us false, and I wanted to know why. So I spoke softly, but pitched my voice to carry, and asked him why he sought to deceive us.
Well, that got a reaction at least! Everett was defensive and reluctant, but after I pointed out his lie, there was no way he could hide the fact that he knew more than he was saying. It soon came out that the reclusive creature was known to inhabit the Frigid Ruins of the Thunder Peaks. Everett was greatly set against our going, but Sir Evan agreed that he was too powerful an ally not to try and secure. The others filed out one by one but Everett called me back. Of course Brian and Marcus wanted to stay and defend me, but I shooed them off. Sometimes it's useful, their intense chivalry. Other times it is merely irritating to always be treated like a defenseless child. All Everett wanted to do was scold me, though, and try to intimidate me into holding my tongue next time. Good luck with that.
Just as I was about to rush off to catch the others, Sir Evan's guard, a woman named Callie, came rushing after me. She was quite young and rather pretty, though I wouldn't call her beautiful. She had a look of competence about her though, and it was my guess she was well seasoned with battles. She told me not to be cowed by Everett, and I assured her I was not. She questioned his alliance too, suggesting he served himself before they Boyer kingdom. An interesting tidbit, which I stored away for future use. Most importantly, though, she gave us directions. Or rather, gave me directions: over the lake, and straight up the mountain past the yetis to the ridge ... but when you get to the cliffside, veer right and stay close to the cliff, and that is where you will reach the Frigid Ruins.
After taking note of her instructions, I hurried to catch the others who were waiting for me. We found a number of small boats moored by the shores of the lake, and made our way across the Warrior's Lake. It was strange for me, sitting there in the boat. The waters were very still and cold, and as we crossed the mountain loomed up before us, a citadel of icy cliffs and spires. It was an imposing sight, and I couldn't tear my eyes from it as I strung my bow and checked my quiver. No magic here. Naked, in a way those who cannot touch the Al'Noth will never know.
I was afraid.
I went anyway. I did what I could to stay out of the fights. The yetis were nothing like those who inhabit the Brechs. These were massive creatures that loomed out of the veil of falling snow looking like they were made of snow themselves. They hurled boulders of rock and ice down at us as we shot at them. Their hides were so thick my arrows could barely pierce them, and once I was caught off balance by a well-aimed boulder and nearly thrown from the cliff side. I felt it crash into my thigh, and I swear by the gods I felt the bone in my leg shudder with the impact and nearly break. Although I couldn't see the skin under the layers of woolen garments and fur, I knew without a shadow of a doubt that purple bruises were already beginning to bloom on the flesh. Sala, our healer, bound it with a length of cloth and bid me be careful. There was no magic to heal us or bring us back up here should we fall.
We went on. We climbed, and it grew colder. The bitter winds cut through our cloaks and robes as if they were nothing, and they stirred up the snow and made it hard to see where we were going. Several times we had to turn back and find another route up when the path proved nothing more than an illusion. Our footprints disappeared even as we made them, leaving no sign of our passage besides the patches of crimson blood we left on the snow, and the occasional dead yeti. Finally, we reached the cliff Callie had spoken of, but I was trailing behind the others and they wouldn't listen to me. They kept climbing.
I held my position, and clung to the side of the mountain, and called to them, and waited. The wind cut right through me, as if the mountain itself was trying to drive me off it. It snatched at me with cold fingers and tried to pull me down. I looked down once, and the empty white nothingness below nearly made me lose my balance. After that I didn't look. I just clung, my fingers going numb and my vision blinded by the little shards of ice whipping all around me.
We lost a lot of time. I had to send two runners up the mountain to retrieve the stragglers, but finally they all came back. Much longer, and I think we would all have perished up there. We fought our way, step by perilous step, around the edge of the cliff. Sometimes we had to stop, and fight phantoms that seemed to be made of cold itself. Finally, we reached the ruins, and took shelter from the wind. For the first time since setting out, we could light a fire, and light them we did. We huddled by the fire and wrapped ourselves in extra cloaks and blankets. Not a soul among us didn't feel the cold, but I think I felt it worse than many. I was not born to this clime, and my body is ill suited to keeping me warm in the face of so much ice and cold death. Brian tried to warm me, rubbing the life back into my stiff limbs. It helped, a little, but I still felt like I would die with every step. I felt like there was no air in that place, and that each breath would be my last. It actually hurt to draw breath, as if I were drawing shards of ice into my lungs.
We went on. The ruins had a terrible beauty to them. More terrible still were the creatures of ice and cold that inhabited them. I thought I would die. I thought we would all die. Poor Marcus did at one point, and a few others, or very nearly. They were so still and cold we thought they were dead, but upon shattering the layers of ice that encased their bodies like crystal after the fights they drew breath again.
There was a pillar in one of the rooms, carved in strange runic letters. I vaguely recognized them as draconic, but could not even guess at their meaning. I traced the shapes with my fingers, and another mage took a rubbing. In another room, there were the remains of old furniture, bookcases and a few books. I reached out to touch one and it crumbled to dust at my touch. I wondered what this place had once been, and who had lived here on the side of the mountain.
A strangeness overcame some of us as we went through that place ... I do not know how to describe it, nor whether to attribute it to some strange warding magic or only the hopelessness of our situation. As we went deeper and deeper, certainty of death crept into many of our hearts. Brian was at my side. He carried me part of the way when I couldn't walk. Walk ... I could barely draw breath! The cold stole all the feeling from my body and left behind only numb terror. Thinking back upon it, I wonder if it had something to do with the pillar. At the time my mind was not clear enough to fathom it, but it seemed to take the ones who had been closest to the pillar or who had touched the pillar harder than those who had kept their distance.
Perhaps I was lucky, to feel the terror earlier than the others. I had time to adjust, it take my fear and shut it out, piece by piece. I feel apart and came out the other side, and by the time we reached the last door my resolve was strong again. But all around me the others were going to pieces. No point, they cried. We are going to die anyway. I looked upon them all, huddled around the fires, and they looked so lost. And then I turned and looked upon the last doors--great carved doors many times higher than a man is tall. And gods save me, danger or no, I wanted to know what was behind them. I wanted my suffering to have a meaning. I wanted. And in that moment of hopelessness, I think just wanting was enough.
Slowly, the few of us with any will rallied the others. I whispered to those worst off, coaxing them back from that numbness and trying to kindle a fire in their hearts again. It is easier with magic, but it can be done without. Silver-tongued, I have been called. Silver or fire, whatever worked, I roused them one by one. There were others at my side after we began, supporting me and helping hold me up. Together, finally, we braved the last door.
Recluse is an apt description for the drake. Iliarn wanted nothing to do with us, and we could not get near him. The ground shook the first time he appeared, and he exploded from the ice like a tree bursting forth from the soil in search of the sun. They tried, again and again, to approach him, and each time he would dive into the snow and ice and tunnel away, appearing somewhere else without warning. They begged and cajoled, but he would have none of it. I sat quietly on a high mound of snow and watched them chase the halfbreed. Foolish, to think you can bend a dragon to your will, even this pale shadow of one.
And yet ... and yet we needed his aid, and the spirit's aid. And so I waited for a moment, and finally that moment came. He spoke in the elven tongue. Where he learned it, I am not sure. It is an older tongue than the common one, and perhaps less irritating to a dragon kin's sensibilities. Or perhaps the inhabitants of the ruins were elves, once upon a time. Whatever the reason, I saw my opportunity and seized it, and replied to him in kind.
It was strange to have the mantle of diplomacy fall on me so unequivocally. There were others among us who spoke the elven tongue (Brian I taught myself, though he will still never speak it like one born to it) but I was the only true elf among our company. And so I stood before the halfbreed, and beseeched him for aid. I, Jaelle Thornwood, bargained with Iliarn the ice drake. It is something to remember, bargaining with one of the dragonkin.
It would be a lie to say I was not afraid. I challenge any to stand before a dragon or their lesser cousins and not feel even a quiver of fear. They are more than us. They are made to be intimidating, and Iliarn was that indeed. His tail thrashed, spewing ice and snow in a shower up behind him. His teeth looked like massive icicles, each of them capable of piercing my body and stopping my heart in an instant. He looked upon me with his great eyes and I felt very small. But as I have said, I had already gone through fear and come out the other side in some ways. It was still there, pumping through each vein like cold flame, but it became less important. I knew the others were behind me, and I was dimly aware of their presence. I half remember someone holding Brian back to give me space. But to be honest, my world dwindled until the only things in it were Iliarn and my own frail form standing before him, asking him for aid. To me, it felt like he and I were very much alone there among all the snow and ice.
We spoke in the elven tongue. I cannot remember what was said. The words came easily then, summoned by my own fear and need, but had you questioned me on our descent down the mountain on what precisely I had said, I could not have told you. I remember him questioning me on the Le'Tennodin, and on Essrantor Aldtorskel. I remember the sting of his breath, which was a hundred times worse than the bitterest wind the mountain had sent to drive us away. I closed my eyes against it the first time he breathed down on me, and ice formed on my eyelashes. I had to force my eyes open again. After that I kept them open, and dealt with the pain of the little crystal shards that wedged themselves under my lashes. I remember him testing me, roaring so loudly all I could do was stand there and shake. I told myself I was already dead, that my life was forfeit, and that all I could do was try and forge the bargain before he devoured me. It helped, a little.
The lesson, in part, was that one does not bargain with dragons. He agreed to aid us, but there was no haggling. He named his price, and it was one that surprised us all. He asked for a soulstone each from Everett and Callie, Sir Evan's aid and guard. I turned for the first time to look at the others to confirm they agreed to the price, and realized that many of them had not even been following the conversation. The gist of the bargain was quickly translated, but if I had hoped for unanimity I was to be sorely disappointed. Many were in favor of the bargain but one or two were violently opposed. They started debating among themselves, but all I could hear was Iliarn's rumbling voice directed at me: Choose.
So help me, I did.
He led me to the edge of a lake then. I think it must have been an underground lake that had long since frozen. He made me stand beside him, and he took an amulet from his throat and made me hold out my hand to take it. It was cold, like everything else in that place. A dark red stone on a chain, beautiful and foreign. He bid me hold it over the lake, and then spoke in strange syllables. Even never having heard the tongue before, I recognized it as the draconic language, and the power in the words. Even then, I knew it for a summoning I struggled to hold each of the foreign cadences in my mind, willing myself to remember--but then the world changed and there was something huge and silver and ethereal coming out of the lake. I forgot my interest in the draconic language for a moment, and looked in wonder upon the great dragon spirit of Granarock the Silver, as I later learned he was named.
To say the silver dragon spirit was immense would be like saying we were cold. Granarock filled my line of sight, blotting out so much ice and snow that I thought for a moment Iliarn had somehow reduced me in size. There were cries of wonder and terror behind me. One or two seasoned warriors fainted. I think I must have been too terrified to faint, because I have no idea why I remained standing. It was almost like walking in a dream. My fear was there, overwhelming me, but I endured. I stood and listened to the dragons speak in their own tongue. I tried to understand what was being said for a while, and then I gave up and merely watched. If I ever have the opportunity to learn the dragon language, I swear I will seize it, no matter the cost!
Eventually the spirit disappeared back into the lake and Iliarn turned to me again. He was nothing next to Granarock, but he was still formidable. He told me that the dragon would come for me then, when we called for its aid. He instructed us to return with the soulstones in short order. I willed my hands not to shake as they clasped the amulet back around his throat.
We were all a little subdued on our way down the mountain, thinking on what we had seen and what we would have to ask Callie and Everett for. They all praised me for what I had done. Brian's eyes shone with pride. I still felt numb, as if it had all been a dream that I hadn't quite woken from.
I was quiet this time as we made our report to Sir Evan. Only when it came time to ask for the soulstones did I speak up. Callie showed her noble spirit and did her country proud, and surrendered hers to me with a little coaxing. Everett ... well, it seems that he had other goals. Iliarn's scales were prized and he had hunted them in the past with Callie and others. He refused to give the ice wyvern a piece of his soul, even when Callie reasoned with him. Sometimes, she said, a woman may do things for love that she later comes to regret. I do not think she will hunt Iliarn's scales again, no matter the cost. I think what love she had for Everett that led her up the mountain by his side has faded. Everett, on the other hand, will likely try to reclaim his with the same fiery vigor with which he resisted us. Even Sir Evan offered his own stone, but Everett held out to the death. After Abi's impetuous and rather tragic pursuit was over and one of our healers had raised him, he gave up the stone.
I wonder what Iliarn will do with them. I wondered as I carried the two stones back up the mountain. For better or worse, I was chosen as emissary to the halfbreed, and though I loathed the thought of a second trip I went nonetheless. We found our way more easily this time, and Iliarn appeared before us quickly. There was no lingering. I gave over the stones and they found their way into his amulet, one on either side of the central stone. In a flash Iliarn was gone, burying back into the ice of his lair, and there was only the long trip back down the mountain.
I let the others go back to Sir Evan to make the final report, electing to remain at the Crossroads. For one thing, it is safer here, where Laura cannot scry on me. But for another I am still tired and cold to the marrow of my bones. The fear is still fading. There is something about that place that does something to me. And yet ... and yet we did it. I acted as emissary to the fabled ice drake, and we secured Granarock's aid. Whenever I close my eyes, all I can see is Iliarn's white form dwarfed by Granarock's silver might. It is a sight I do not think I will soon forget. I am privileged, to live in such times and see such things. Let us hope we all live a little longer.
-
They say there is no rest for the weary, and perhaps it is true. I had not spent more than a night or two at the Crossroads recovering from the trip when I met Marcus, Sala, and Ben coming up the path again, bound for the Peaks. Chakar (who had been camping at the Crossroads with me as well) and I questioned them on their intent, and learned they were bound for a location in the mountains where an ancient tribe of giants known as Ether giants used to dwell. It seemed that the Ether giants, enemies of the Arcs, used to be able to exert a measure of control over the elements that might be useful in the impending battle, and with a rough map given to them by a sage who had been researching the lore of the Ethers, the trio were headed up into the mountains to retrieve anything that might help the Boyer kingdom's cause.
Of course, Chakar and I agreed to accompany them. We tried our best to avoid most of the yetis, as we would have been hard pressed to kill one without taking severe casualties and we were few enough in number already. For the most part, we made it up the mountain without too much trouble. Benjamin even found Brian while he was scouting and he came to join us.
It was shortly after that we saw the clouds gathering. It's strange--I know what a storm looks like on the ocean. I've seen them brewing off the shores of Leringard often enough. This was the same, and yet completely different. It was like the mountain unleashed the full force of its wrath on us. The wind picked up until we were nearly ripped from the mountainside, and the snow coming down was so thick we were nearly blinded by it. We took shelter under an overhang and someone produced a rope. I thought they would make us tie ourselves on but they only wanted us to hold on. I wrapped it around my forearms a few times, and it saved me once when I tripped.
If we thought we had felt the force of the storm before it was nothing compared to what was unleashed once we were huddled in the shelter of the overhang. All around us thunder boomed, deafeningly loud, and I swear I could feel Mist's presence in the crackling air. This was not a storm of the sea but it had something of her fury to it. Was this a sign or a test? No sooner had I formed the thought than lightning struck, not more than an arm's length away from me. Muireann always joked that I was waiting to convert until I was struck by lightning. Well, if it had struck any closer I do not think I would have been alive to convert. Strangely, I was not afraid. I think the others thought I had gone made, to hear me laugh as I did. Even to my own ears it was a crazy laugh, the laugh of a woman losing her grasp on sanity. And yet I reveled in it. Do your worst, Mistress of Storms! I thought. And I swear she did.
The storm raged for hours. It seemed like the mountain was falling all around us. There was so much snow that white lost all meaning. Beneath us was white, and in front of our faces was white, and beyond that, beyond the few feet in front of us we could see, there was only more white. We huddled there and I laughed and listened to the thunder, and watched the lightning flash. It made our world brighter, but no more or less white.
I can't remember which one of them fell first, Marcus or Ben. To my mind, they fell in almost the same instant, but I think one must have slipped and the other tried to grab them. All I saw was them grasping at the rope and failing to seize it, and then plunging their daggers wildly into the ice as they slid, searching frantically for some purchase in the sheer cliff. The plan formed in my mind without any delay but I held off a moment until I was sure they were lost. My hand had already drawn back the bowstring, though, after reaching through muscle memory for the one kind of arrow that could save them, and the line was wound all the way up and down my arms. Good fortune that I had been fishing when Sala and Ben and Marcus came through the Crossroads. Luck, nothing more, that I had a few fishing arrows in my quiver still. I don't even remember groping for the right one, and feeling for the thick cord secured to it. I fish for catfish and I can't be bothered to string more than one kind of arrow. All my lines are heavy. I prayed it would be strong enough to hold up a man. I called for Brian to hold onto me and dug my heels in, wedging myself against the rocky outcrop.
And then I shot. Straight into Marcus's thigh through an opening in the armor. I know Marcus's armor well. It's the same design he wore when we were together, and I took it off him more than once. I knew where to fire, but even so I wasn't sure I'd hit. The arrow flew true though, and it bit deep into Marcus's flesh and held fast. Bless Njord, who I never need to speak to any more to tell him my intentions ... he had fired an instant after I did, aiming for Ben, and his arrow hit as well. I think Ben cried out. I am not sure if Marcus did. I had a moment to wonder if it had hit after all, and then Marcus's full weight hit me as the cord snaked around my arms dug into my own flesh.
It hurt. Gods, it hurt. If Marcus didn't scream, I think I might have. I know my eyes stung with tears and my arms felt like they were on fire. Fishing line is not easy to hold onto, and it burned like a darkfire spell as it slid and tightened. Sala and Chakar were there in an instant, and Brian was there too, one arm around me even as he held his own line. Still, we would have fallen if Ben and Marcus hadn't kept their wits about them and taken some of the weight off by digging their daggers into the ice. Or if Brian had let his iron grip on my waist slip just a little. Or if Chakar hadn't been there, keeping us steady when Brian and I lost our footholds when a large boulder gave. It didn't even make much of a sound when it went. I suppose they wouldn't have made a lot of noise either, had they really gone over.
We got them back up. And we got the line out of my forearms. It had left deep, bleeding welts where it had bit into my flesh. Sala saw to it, after she tended to both the arrow wounds. She put some kind of ointment on it that made the stinging bearable and then bound it carefully. Marcus was quiet, but I knew he was still happier to have a sore leg than to have gone over. Ben praised our quick shooting. The storm lasted several more hours, but the worst of it had already passed for us.
Afterwards, the world was changed again. The snows had shifted like sand dunes in the desert, and when we were scouting we saw the remains of what could only be the giant civilization. It was strange though, for there were so many statues ... statues of giants everywhere. Adults and children, women and men. Near one that looked like a sorcerer or a chief, we found a body half buried in the snow. He looked like he had been young and he carried a pouch. We searched the rest of the camp at great length, but we kept coming back to this young giant man who clung to his pack with what was literally a deathgrip. His face was frozen in a deathmask of terror. We tried to pry the satchel from his hands but it was frozen to him. In the end, we melted it from his body, though we broke a few of his fingers trying to pry it away.
I was all for opening it there. What good is it to go all the way up and down the mountain and come back with a satchel that might contain nothing more than someone's ancient lunch remains? The others were against it. In the end we compromised, and shielding the sodden, defrosted pack with my cloak, Sala and I peeked inside. Wet papers.
Since there was nothing else that seemed to be worth taking back and because the others forbid me or anyone else from disturbing the papers before they could be properly dried and protected, we left with nothing more than the satchel. Still, a giant sized satchel is awkward to carry up and down a mountain, and it often took two people to get it down the trickier slopes. It was a relief when we had finally managed to lug it back to Amorean, the sage. He cast a protection spell on it of some sort ... I only recognized it as some kind of abjuration magic. I think everyone was on edge as he looked inside, but none of us expected what he found.
Scrolls. Dozens. All a single kind: stone to flesh. It took ... well, it took about a heartbeat's time to put it all together. That look of frozen horror. All those statues. It took a little longer to explain to Amorean that there was a field of statues up in the mountains that weren't actually statues. We went looking for what the Ethers had left behind and we found the Ethers themselves.
After that, it was just planning. A giant is much bigger than an elf or even a human, and stone is very heavy. Brian wasn't talking to me by that point so I was free to make some calculations while the others debated. He had seen the letter and knew it had something to do with Laura, and he was livid that I wouldn't give it to him or tell him its contents. It was quickly agreed that none of the citizens of Boyer could go into the pass, as it would be a sign of aggression and would certainly escalate things. Aid from Spellgard or Stormcrest through the portals in North Point and Dalanthar was possible, but might take some time. And the Boyer kingdom would seem very distant to people from Mistone. They might not feel inclined to help, but at least they wouldn't fear the ghost stories from the Thunder Peaks like the locals. They talked while I scribbled numbers and estimated how many statues were up there, and tried to guess the weight of stone and the weight a man might be able to bear. Finally it was decided we would beseech the Aeridinites in North Point for aid. I let the others go ahead while I finished my calculations.
A half ton. That's what one of the child statues would weigh. Ten men at least to handle it, and we were down to only four or five, since Marcus's leg was in rough shape and he couldn't make another trip. I felt bad about that, but only for an instant. I saved his life, dammit. He should feel nothing but gratitude toward me. For one of the adults, it would be worse. A full ton or more, and ... oh, twenty men maybe, as well as a sled and ropes. And if it tumbled and cracked on the way down, there might not be any chance of reviving the giant trapped inside that stone form by magic. When I caught up to the others at the temple and showed Sala my calculations I saw her face fall a little. They weren't doing well with gathering the aid of the Aeridinites. Life is precious, but risking many lives for a statue didn't make sense to the Aeridinites. It wasn't until I stepped in and gave them a more accurate accounting that they changed their tune. Not statues. Lives. Perhaps fifty, all told. And the lives of all those who would be lost in the battle for the pass, and all those that would be lost if Essrantor expanded his kingdom into Dalanthar.
They gave us men. I don't remember exactly how many ... somewhere between a half dozen and a full dozen, I think. It wasn't enough for a full sized giant, but it was enough for one of the children. We carried up the supplies for a sled and built it out of the wood growing near the glade with the statues. I would have risked a full sized one but they wanted to be certain so we picked a statue of a male child, small enough to manage but still far bigger than any of us. I carried the scrolls with me, finally dried, and we only needed to bring him past the towers to where the magic was active. I say only now, but there was nothing trivial about it at the time. It was hard, incredibly hard, getting him down the mountain. Next to that physical feat, the will it took to change him back using one of the scrolls was trivial. It was barely an effort for me.
The child--I wish I could remember his name now, but I can't--spoke elven. He was frightened, but I soothed him with a small enchantment spell and got him to focus on me. It took a while, to explain to the child where he was and what had happened, and what we needed him to do. It is harder to convince people when they are truly afraid. Fear consumes a large part of their will already, and the part you can bend to you is somewhat diminished. That, and if I bound him magically, it would only last until we crossed the towers. I did it the old fashioned way, with my silver tongue, and it worked. It took longer, but it worked. With the child, we had enough manpower to move one of the adults. We chose to bring back their chief, and once I turned him back it was easy. Still, it took a long time--perhaps a month, all told. When the last Ether giant had been thawed, their chief, Helmuut, addressed us. There were only four of us left by that time. The other three were human. Once again, I was the only one of my kind, smaller than my companions. We were all smaller than the Ethers though.
And Helmuut towered above even the tallest of his people.
For what we did for the Ethers, he granted us their aid, and the knowledge of their history. This is what he said:
I will pledge myself to your cause. I have faced no other Arc as merciless and cunning as Essrantor. You will need all the help you can get, though I fear you may have brought us back only to have us march back to a swift demise. Now, as to the state in which you found us. I should begin with a small bit about the history between the Ether and the Arc. Though cousins by divine creation, we are not family. Enemies. Ours is a relationship built on an eternal feud. Of all giant-kind, none can compare to the cunning and wit of the Arc. None except the Ether.
We are all that remains of the Ether that settled the mountains you call the Thunder Peaks. The Arc's jealous hatred wittled us down into near extinction. And herein lies the distinct difference between the Ether and the Arc: We, the Ether, crave peace and learning. The Arc craves nothing but power. Though we were truly no threat to them, in the mind of the Arc we are an afront to their supremacy, not to be subjucated like all other creatures, but hunted, tortured, and killed. We fought back, of course, but we are admittedly not as skilled in killing. Such has never been the focus of the Ether.
As I said, we are the last, were the last, and thus at the time I made a decision. Two pillars of thought supported this decision. The first is that we, as a people, were destined to die at the hands of the Arc, and we had no where else to go. The Arc followed the Ether to these peaks, and we had no reason to believe they would not chase us were we to leave. The second is that we believed the destructive nature of the Arc would eventually lead to their demise. Such is the natural way of things. We did not, however, anticipate the rise of Essrantor.
I decided, and the Ether agreed, that we should go into hiding until such a time that the Arc had moved on or destroyed themselves. Knowing that if we yet lived, the Arc would find us, we chose to die, if but for a time. We turned ourselves into stone. Granite statues to outlive the ages, and buried ourselves in the mountain snow. Only one remained alive.
Rorch. My son. A talented weaver of the Al'Noth. He would hide himself in magic and lie in wait until such a time that he might release us from our self-inflicted curse. You can imagine my surprise when it was not my son but an elf that restored me to flesh. But then you tell me what Essrantor has done. Severing the Al'Noth doomed Rorch. He had poor health for an Ether, a fact he made up for with his grasp on the Al'Noth. Had he tried, I suspect he would not have survived the trek down from the mountains without the use of the magic. He must have realized this, and chose instead to die near us, as you found him, a statue of ice instead of a statue of stone. My son, my loyal son, who can never be replaced. If we survive the attack on Essrantor, the Ether will take the proper time to mourn him, and I will open for him with my bare hands a proper grave in the mountain cliffs.
He squatted down beside us then, but even like that I was not tall enough to look him in the eyes. I took small comfort in the fact that only the tallest of my human companions came level with him as he knelt. Still, I felt small. His eyes were green, like mine, and piercing. His arms and legs were like massive tree trunks in an ancient forest. He looked at us, and told us we must tell him everything we knew of Essrantor and our fight with him, that he might devise something to help in the coming battles.
We did.
-
Placeholder for Essrantor finale episode
-
It is strange to be back on Mistone again. After the battle at the pass our army scattered like leaves to the wind. Some of us stayed, our eyes searching again and again in the direction Granarock's silver spirit had flown. Towards the mountain. We were all wondering what had happened. There were so many rumors, but nothing concrete. We did not know if our friends were alive or dead. All that seemed known was that a portion of the mountain had collapsed. I stayed for a while, hoping for word, but it never came. I think something must have happened to at least one of the runes though, because the Al'Noth was strange around the mountain. I am not sure how to describe it, exactly.
When it became apparent that no news was forthcoming, I finally returned to Mistone through the Dalanthar portal. I had gone to the Boyer kingdom in part to hide from Laura, and returning to Mistone it became apparent how successful I had been. No news of Laura had penetrated to the Thunder Peaks, and why should it? But not an hour back on Mistone, and news of her reached my ears.
Chaynce was the messenger this time. Sweet, stubborn Chaynce. There are only a half a dozen of my lovers that I've ever been really fond of. The others are a moment's comfort, but Chaynce I like. I still remember the night we shared together. It was in a stage where I would spend the night and be gone by morning. Chaynce was up before me and had already brought breakfast and hot, strong tea back to the room by the time I awoke for once. Sometimes I wonder if it was something that simple that saved us. Or maybe it was that it never happened again.
I learned from Chaynce that Laura was in the Brechs, and had been busy. There were undead wandering all through the mountains, and it was rumored that she had even turned Grenna Rockbasher and Skullcracker Headbang into zombies. Chaynce said he came face to face with her too. That she offered him a kiss. (As a disturbing aside, why do I feel an uneasy surge of anger at the thought? Am I defensive of Chaynce or perhaps something else?) That was all I heard before it dissolved into a litany of reasons he should lop off her head the next time he saw her. It makes me uneasy, hearing people talk like that. Laura is ... impossible. But I don't want her dead. And it's my fault she's in the Brechs, in some ways.
I bid him be calm, and appealed to his reason. I asked him to leave her alone, arguing she was too dangerous and I didn't want him to be hurt. It's true, but there's more to it than that. If that was all there was to it, I wouldn't have gone into the Brech Mountains that day. I wouldn't have been gone for the better part of a week looking for her up there, listening for the rumors. It seems she kept her word, though. As far as I can tell, not a single child has been killed or harmed, nor any of the women. At least not yet.
I found no sign of her, but I felt her up there. It was the oddest sensation, like a tingling or a little disturbance in my ability to control the Al'Noth. I knew she was close. I am certain of it. I cannot explain it, but there is no doubt in my mind. It was ... almost like I imagine it would feel to have a twin. It was disconcerting, and yet oddly comforting to know she was close. And terrifying too, to feel that connection and not know why.
The only other thing of note was that I saw a raven while I was in the mountains. It was dusk and Nida had just left to hunt. The raven seemed to be following me somehow. Normally I wouldn't have thought on it too long, but something about it made me wonder what Laura's familiar is.
-
Something frightening happened the other day. I was in the Ire Mountains gathering wild corn when I came across a group of people, and spotted Brian among them. I was invisible, so I snuck over to ask what was going on. He said they were following a shapechanger, which was intriguing enough that I followed them.
They tracked it to the spider cave, and I needed silk anyway so I followed them. But then something went wrong. It changed into an illithid, and turned one of the halflings and I into rocks. I wanted to leave then. Illithids make me uneasy. But the others were pursuing it, so I followed.
It was dark near the bottom of the cave. A ranger and Brian went on ahead, skulking, to scout. Abi and I stayed with the two halflings. But when they didn't come back, I followed invisible. I rounded the bend, and almost fell over from nausea. There was blood everywhere, and ravaged bodies on the ground. Neither Brian nor the ranger was among them, and we had heard no sound, but it was apparent it was something more than an illithid.
And then things started happening very fast ... there was a shout ahead and Abi charged. I heard an inhuman screaming that pierced my ears, and then there was just a ringing. It was dark and the smell of blood was everywhere. And fear. I swear you could smell the terror. I didn't know what was happening, but they shouted at us to run so I tried to take the halflings. They didn't want to leave without the ranger though. I heard awful sounds behind us, and I think Abi fell. I didn't know where Brian was, and I couldn't stop to think about it. Either he would be fine, or the thing was too strong for me to do anything about.
I suspected the latter.
I do not know how far we were pursued. It felt like a nightmare. On our way out, spiders dropped down from the ceiling all around us. I was hard pressed to take them all, frantic as we already were, and someone got bitten. There was no time for invisibility spells for everyone and the beast or creature felt like it was right behind us, so we rushed out of the cave ... straight into a patrol of gnolls.
It was close. Far too close. One of the little halflings almost perished. I had to grab his head and pour a potion down his throat. We made it though. Some of us. I didn't see Brian for some time, and he didn't look well afterwards.
I still do not know what that thing was. I never want to find out.
-
She came to me. She finally came to me again. And it occurred to me that in some ways my life has been reduced to waiting for Laura to come to me. I can search for her and not find her, but when she wants to find me she seems to be able to.
I was in Moraken's tower, scribing inks. Work is the only thing that takes my mind away these days. Illicit affairs have strangely lost most of their appeal and can rarely distract me. Scribing, infusing, brewing potions ... that requires enough of my mind that there is little left to wander.
I almost dropped the vial of ink when I heard her behind me. I cannot adequately describe my reaction to that voice. There is a surge though, of terror and fear and excitement all mixed together. I never know what she will bring with her, and though that scares me, it also makes me feel alive.
She asked me what I was making, and I showed her. She remarked I had many talents. And then she got to the heart of the matter. She is done with the dwarves of Ulgrid's Fortress. Her wrath is sated for now. Moreover, she does not wish to pursue the Council further, nor the last of the urns. She wants to go away somewhere, to let hostilities dissipate and fade into oblivion. Perhaps one of the Northern Isles, she said, far from anyone else.
And she wants me to go with her.
What do I say to that? Part of me wants to go with her, to study magic with her uninterrupted and learn what companionship might feel like. We are alike, she and I. I truly believe it, more and more. Given different circumstances, I might have become what she has, or she what I am. Whatever we are made of, she and I are the same. But to leave behind me all I have loved since I left my home? I have ties to the world that will hurt to sever.
I'm not sure what choice I have, though. Laura never phrases anything as an option. She expects me to go. And she wants to make me like her, whatever that means. I think I know what it means. I just don't know how she plans to do it. She scribed me a scroll. She said it was part of all of this, and bid me show it to no one. I am good at deciphering scrolls, but this one I could not understand. I think I could make the magic work if I needed to, but I have no idea what it would do. I have never seen the spell before. And I cannot ask anyone.
She gave me a few days to tie up my loose ends. She didn't say how many. She never does. She left angry that I had resisted her, and it pains me for some reason that she is upset with me. What she asks is too hard though! I don't know what to do. If I go with her, I can end a blood feud, but at the cost of the life I have built for myself and possibly my own soul. And if I refuse ... I do not even want to think of what would befall us all if I refused.
-
How odd, to find myself saying goodbye to all I have loved since I left my home. I decided to go with Laura, and face the cost. I cannot in good conscience choose anything else, and I am still drawn to her. I would miss her too much if she went alone, and I fear a refusal would only result in more bitterness and bloodshed. I can keep her in check a little, perhaps, but there are always sacrifices to be made.
Some of the arrangements have been mundane. I thought about giving over the papers from Sedera, but didn't know who I wanted to give them to. Sasha, maybe. I made sure to bring Muireann a large batch of fresh fruit and wheat and oils so she would have enough to do while I was away. Baking calms her, and I worry for her now that Shamur is gone. She is so alone sometimes, and so private. There is a lot I don't ask her. Like whether she had anything to do with the rumor going around the temples of Mist that Aine Nic Connall has been eliminated from the church. I know she did. I just don't know what, exactly. They say that they found letters among her things proving she was a traitor, but she and Muireann were known to be enemies. It makes me wonder how Muireann found out, and what exactly “eliminated” means. Perhaps I will ask her when all this is over. I couldn't bear to say goodbye, though she is perhaps one of the few who would understand. I thought about leaving a note but it didn't seem right, and it would make it all so final. This way I can feel like I have somewhere to come back to.
Arkolio too, that was a strange goodbye. I got to spend a bit of time with him before I left. I was in Vehl, delivering an outstanding order of poisons to a contact in the city, and met him on the docks. I was in a terrible mood, and Ark was exactly the medicine I needed. Whenever I run into him, he's usually exactly what I need. We took off to the Dragon Isles together along with another woman ... I don't really recall her name. Yvale or Yvonne, I think. It was nothing more than a mindless, trivial romp, and I loved every minute of it. We demolished everything that crossed our paths. It was a joy to fight next to Arkolio. He is always prepared to be shallow when I need him to be shallow. He even positioned Yvale and I so we were kissing when the gorgons petrified us.
It lasted until we were out of the cave and Yvale left. I realized I honestly wanted his opinion. I may not entirely trust Arkolio, but like me he is very good at surviving. He has his heroic moments, but I get the feeling he knows how to take care of number one. And so I told him a little, and asked him what he would do. What he would do if he was offered an opportunity for power, a lot of power maybe, but at a high price that was not yet defined. He surprised me yet again, and grew serious and answered with some thought. He said it would depend on the price, but it was what he said next that warmed my heart. He said that if I ever regretted my choice, I need only find a way to let him know and he would find a way to help me. That no one was ever lost to those who knew how to ask questions and get answers. It was more touching than any declaration of undying love from a smitten one night stand could ever be. I think it might have even meant more than some of Brian's declarations that he would do anything. Because it's Ark, and for an instant it seemed like he might really care. Or maybe he just doesn't want to lose what's between the sheets. He did call me the finest looking woman he's ever ... well, anyway.
Point is, it's hard to tell whether Arkolio is ever being sincere. He could make you believe absolutely anything, that man. But the way he looked when I kissed him on the cheek and walked away ... I get to take that with me when I go. And I won't forget his offer.
It wasn't the only offer I had, either. A lot of people said the same thing, in a variety of ways. Trith reminded me that he'd do whatever he could to help me, and of his connections. Marcus ... Marcus didn't want me to go. He knew a little too much, and guessed a little too much, and got lucky and caught me in a lie and figured out Laura was to be my teacher. In the end he agreed, but I know he'll come thundering after me if I ever send word. And Brian, poor Brian. I wasn't going to tell him. Only that I was going to study somewhere for a while. He is accustomed enough to me going to Spellgard to practice with Aryell and Elmater that I thought it would be believable. But Marcus botched it, and it took me forever to calm him down.
It got worse, too. Just as Marcus was leaving, Brian stopped him and went out to talk to him. I sent Nida out invisible to spy but Brian saw right through it. I had her circle round again and come in quietly, and that time it worked. Still, interpreting the impressions of a bat is wickedly difficult and all I got was a sense of urgency and secrecy, and that Brian was asking Marcus for something and then they agreed on something. I knew he'd hate me for it, I just knew it. But I had to know what they had been talking about, so when he came back I cast a paralysis spell on him, and then bent his mind to me at my leisure.
It was easy. It always is with Brian. In some ways, that makes me sad. But I needed to know, and so I did it. And I learned all about how he is planning to make the urn into a bomb, and fill it with holy water and silver bullets and firebombs, and sacrifice himself to kill Laura when he hands it over. I can't let him do that. For one thing, from everything I've heard and read, destroying the urns is dangerous and needs to be done carefully. For another, I don't want him to kill Laura, and I certainly don't want him to kill himself in the process. Just when I'd learned all I could, he broke my hold on him. He looked so betrayed. He tried to make me tell him what I knew then, shaking me and digging his fingers into my arms. I didn't tell him anything. I think he's starting to hate me.
One person I didn't expect to see but ran into anyway was Ellis Kyudo, my old roommate from the Leringard Arms. Things were never right between us after what happened with Hardragh and Kali, but that was a long time ago. I sent her a letter a few weeks ago, though. I saw a notice in the market hall with her name on it, and Daralith Del'Mar (curse his black soul to the deepest abyss) had replied to it. Now, I don't know what Laura did to the Magus, and maybe he's no longer a threat, but I was not about to toss those dice and make that gamble. I sent Ellis a letter warning her not to deal with him, and just prayed she took my advice. Del'Mar may not charge in coin, but the price is always higher than you reckon it.
She asked me about it when we met at the fountain. I'm not sure whether it was the fact I clearly had personal experience with him or when I let slip he was a dark elf that changed her mind. Whatever it was, I was relieved when she agreed not to deal with him. We talked for a bit. I always liked her, always. Even telling Kali about Hardragh and I had a certain brash flair to it, though I hated her for it at the time and blamed her for the repercussions. That probably wasn't fair of me, just as it wasn't fair of Hardragh to blame me for Kali's anger. Many things aren't fair. Mostly, though, we seemed to be over that. We spoke of getting a drink some time, and of love affairs and trivial matters. She's converted to Ilsare, it seems. Oh, and she hates the mage Timulty, who I actually rather enjoy. He's such a wit, and there's a touch of the cynic about him I like. Of course, Ellis hates most men, including (she claims) Syton, who I've met a few times. Some Ilsaran. But then she's still hurting over her old flame. It's been almost ten years though. They were roommates before I moved in with her, and something tragic happened. I didn't figure it out for a long time, that they had been more than friends. She's like me, for the most part: usually men, but occasionally she will feel drawn to a woman. I have felt drawn too. The only difference is I've never acted on it.
One disturbing thing happened during our conversation, though. Ellis kept getting little shivers and chills every so often. I used to get them too, when Laura was nearby. I think she was watching me. Or maybe she's always watching me, but this time I think it was in person. It makes me nervous. I don't think it will be long now.
-
She didn't even come herself. Her familiar, the raven, delivered the letter. I was nearly certain it was her familiar or some kind of thrall before it came. I saw it from time to time, watching me. It didn't bother me as much as I expected it to. The fact that her familiar is sent to watch me means that Laura has not forgotten me. Had not forgotten me. All the tenses changed when I cracked the seal of the letter and read its contents. It was not what I was expecting. It was nothing like what I was expecting.
Dearest Jaelle,
It is with heavy heart that I write you this letter. I know in my heart that we could never truly be friends.
I am leaving, but I am saddened to say it will not be with you. I shall return to my homeland where I may rest for a very long time.
Something terrible is happening to me and my being. I am beginning to feel the rapid effects of aging and fear my time shall not be much longer on this plane.
I know it means little to you or those you care about, but there are some things I am truly sorry for doing when I could have done much more good.
One says that evil is not born but rather it is raised. In some ways I cannot disagree, and in others I can. I was once like you, and in our talks together, I have realized that I could never wish what I have become upon you.
You have many things to experience here, and a wonderful life to lead. My final gift to you is three-fold. In bank vault 342 in Port Hempstead you shall find the gifts. You are charged with the following and final tasks.
Turn over the first gift, the first urn of La'Forran, to the church of Aeridin.
Turn over the second gift, the second urn of La'Forran, to the church of Toran.
Ensure their destruction in the deepest fires and pits of hells.
The final gift is for you.
May you cherish it as I always have, close to my heart.
My love,
Laa'ra Evvanicc'ia
I feel lost, suddenly. I had made my decision and said my goodbyes, and now the rug is once again pulled from under my feet. In some ways, I hardly dare hope it is true. Could she really have given over the urns, and changed so much? And yet I sicken to think she is alone somewhere, dying. It hurts me in a way I can't quite name.
-
I keep staring at the urns. It is strange indeed, to hold them and look upon them, and know that all this began because of them, and because of what they contain. If they are real, that is. Stars and sky, I wish I could just trust her. But if she wanted a cunning apprentice, surely she cannot blame me for my cynicism and doubts. I need to find a way to authenticate them before I can decide what to do with them.
Someone called a meeting to discuss her. There are posters all over the square in Port Hempstead. I believe they are calling for a hunt, and planning strategy. I cannot let them do it. The urns can perhaps be used as leverage. If they are real. I will see them destroyed if it nearly kills me, regardless, but I am not about to carelessly toss aside what might be my only bargaining card. And bargain I will, for Laura's life, or what remains of it.
I cannot help but wonder how long they sat in vault 342. Did Laura place them there only when she planned to go away without me, or have they been there for months or perhaps years? I was not entirely sure what to expect when the attendant escorted me to an alcove with a table and left me with the box after unlocking it. I was not sure they would be there. And I am still not sure whether or not they are real, or what exactly I should do with them.
I haven't told anyone about the urns yet. I wrapped them in layers of brown paper. They look like any other parcel I might carry. They sat beside me when I stared into the fountain in Port Hempstead. They were never out of my sight. I must look terrible, because people kept stopping by to ask me whether I was alright. I told those I didn't know that a friend of mine was sick, and possibly dying. Marcus and Brian I didn't tell anything. Not after Brian checked my neck for bite marks and pressed a silver ring into my skin to see if I would burn. I slapped him across the face for that. My temper is uncommonly short right now. One of my rings caught him against the cheek and he bled. I didn't care. He tried to get me to talk, but I won't talk to him. It angers him, but I don't trust him enough in this. He isn't canny enough to deal with this. He deceived me, too. He was never planning to get the real urn.
Marcus was a little better. Marcus held me, and I could feel the tears pressing behind my eyes. I don't know why I am like this. Maybe it is a kind of sickness of the mind. Maybe she enspelled me, enchanted me to make me miss her.
Maybe she didn't, and I miss her entirely of my own accord.
I wear the last gift around my throat, the gift she left only for me. A necklace, worn and ancient and beautiful, of elven design. Even in the box it glowed with a bright light, a kind of violet hue half way to indigo. The delicate mesh was made of platinum and woven to look like a web, with little golden spiders all over it. In the central mounting was an alexandrite stone, but no ordinary alexandrite. I swear, it must be the largest and finest alexandrite I've ever seen. Set below it were two small rubies. To me, they looked like glittering red eyes. I wonder if she can watch me through it when I wear it. I wonder if it is nothing more than a pretty collar that I have locked around my neck of my own volition.
May you cherish it as I always have, close to my heart. That's what she said. And so help me, I believe her. It is not a collar, or a trick. This was her necklace. Her name, her real name, is engraved on the back: Laa'ra. When I wear it I feel closer to her, and stronger. I don't want her to die. And gods be cursed, I am going to save her if I can.
-
I stayed in Port Hempstead for a day or two, wandering aimlessly like a boat loosed of its moorings and left to the mercy of the tide. Finally, I felt the pull of Leringard, the one place that feels at all like home. I found a ship making ready to leave, and bought passage. The cabins were all taken but I made a deal with the Captain to have one to myself. I think he bumped some lesser merchant or made someone double up. Truly, I didn't care.
Despite having my own cabin, I spent little enough time in it. Perhaps sensing my mood, the sailors restrained themselves a little and the wolf whistles and comments were less than usual. And they let me stand on the deck, near the prow of the ship, and watch as we came into the Leringard harbour.
I love being at sea. There is a very strange kind of comfort to all that openness, to all that empty space and vacant horizon. It used to frighten me, being all alone with all that water. There are monsters below the surface. Sometimes I see the sailors on the Leringard docks bring back something with their catches. Something out of a child's nightmare, strange of form in death as well as life. They are down there, and the barrier between them and us is only the line between ocean and sky, permeable and wholly unable to protect us.
That hasn't changed, but my feelings for being at sea have. The sea is death, waiting, and it will claim me one day, but I am not afraid. Death will claim us all. I have already felt the burning sting of seawater in my throat more than once. I have not forgotten the day Hardragh pulled me from the water. How arrogant I was, to challenge the sea then. She would have taken me that day, had Hardragh not intervened. Now, she merely waits quietly. No storm blows to sink our ship. No waves reach for my with icy fingers to pull me down. She is content to wait. She knows she will have me eventually. They say all rivers run towards the sea. Perhaps my life runs seaward too. Surely even the stagnant waters of the swamp make their way home eventually.
It was raining as we came into the harbour. There are so many kinds of rain: big fat droplets that explode when they hit your skin; soft mists that are like the Goddess's caress; hard, pelting rain that seems to be trying to drive you into the ground. This rain was like a thousand sharp needles pricking at my face and neck and anywhere else my skin was bare. The waves tossed the ship up and down like a frolicking colt, and every time we hit the water again I tasted salt on my lips as a curtain of spray hit me. Laa'ra's necklace felt heavy where it sat, resting in the hollow of my throat. My gut felt like an aching empty pit and my chest was tight. My skin was red and a little raw with the stinging force of the rain. It hurt. And it felt good. Because it felt like something. Anything that wasn't numbness would have felt good right then.
I stopped at the temple before I went home. The sea was still choppy and by the time I reached the shore of Mist's isle my arms ached and burned. That felt good too. I left an offering of incense, more for Laa'ra than myself. I even tried to pray, but it ended up being a wordless prayer. It is hard to find the words to pray for someone you barely knew. How do you explain to a goddess that you are half in love with a former vampire who is dying, and can she please save her, just this once? Mist is not known to be a merciful goddess. Perhaps I should have prayed to Az'atta, for Laura's redemption. I don't care about redemption, though. Not really. I just want her to live, and to be free.
The incense was hard to light in the rain. Even after I got it going with a bit of fire magic, it kept sputtering and threatening to go out as I prayed. I didn't know whether that was good or bad. I stood for a while on the edge of the island, watching the waves crash. I listened for the message, for the words of the Lady, as Hardragh once told me to. All I could hear was my own deafening silent scream, so I went home.
I was soaked to the skin and chilled to the bone by the time I got back, and it was dark. Muireann's house has been colder than usual lately for some reason. Drafty, probably. I set the fire blazing and poured myself some wine even though my stomach felt empty. It still took a long time for the words to come. Half a stack of firewood. A dozen sheets of parchment at least, most of them reduced to ash in the fire, their aborted attempts consumed into nothing. A whole bottle of wine, and several of my strongest owl potions. Tears. I don't cry often, but I wept that night. For Laa'ra, and for myself, and for all the others who could show me the same wretched, tortured reflection of myself in the dark mirror of their lonely souls.
When there were no more tears to be shed and no more words to be written, I blotted the sheets dry and folded them together. Tomorrow, or perhaps the next day, I will take them to Hempstead and leave them in Box 63, in the hopes that this letter will find her. The dark wax looked like strange, thick, molten blood as I poured it on. I chose not to imprint it with any particular seal. If she ever reads it, she will know it is from me.
~~~
Dear Laura,
The writing of this letter is no easy task for me. My heart is heavy with the news your last correspondence bore, and the knowledge that this poor attempt at relaying my thoughts to you may never reach you at all. You may have already passed beyond these shores to some distant land I have never traveled to. If that is so and this shall never reach you, I pray you somehow know, nonetheless, that I shall carry out the last task you set for me as best I can. Your gifts are safe, and I shall see the first two destroyed according to your wishes. The third I shall keep ever close to my heart, as I do you.
It is strange, is it not, to think that we have ended up thus? We have judged each other harshly at times, you and I. Know that it grieves me to hear you say that we could never truly have been friends. I say honestly that I have feared you and resented you betimes, but I have also respected you and cherished your company, as surely as I have hated some of your actions. Know that in my heart, I do name you friend, whatever you or others may believe.
We are neither of us perfect, you and I. I do not believe there is a soul in the world that is. Darkness lurks within each of our hearts, as surely as light does. Sometimes, too, the darkness that lives in the hearts of others may touch us and make us other than what we might have been. Know that I judge you not on what Veira made you, but on what you have become since, and what you choose to do with the time you have left. Heroes speak of good and evil as if they were absolutes, but they are not. They are choices we are always making, and those who think the choices easy are fools. There are times we may think ill thoughts or commit ill deeds, and I am not sure it is always wrong. And yet each of us, as flawed and imperfect as we are, may also choose the opposite, as you have. We may all choose to strive towards the light.
So you are dying. Ah, my dear—so am I. So are we all. That is the way of life, is it not? We are born to die, as simply as that. And not just us, but all things, in their time. Each day dies as the sun slips from the sky. Flowers die as autumn devours summer and the first killing frost touches them. Ships die in storms, dashed onto the rocks. Buildings crumble, legacies fall, hope fades. As surely as we live, we are all doomed to perish, sooner or later. It is a bad bargain, is it not, this thing called life? And yet it is what we are granted, and we find merit in it where we can. We become immortal not through cheating death but through leaving our legacies etched on the world after death.
You do not have to die alone. I have known solitude and loneliness, Laura, more than many know in a lifetime, and I do not wish them on you. The choice is ever yours and I cannot force your hand in this, but know that should you choose to trust me, I shall keep faith with you in this. Say only where you are and that you wish my company and I will come to you again. Not out of obligation or duty, or for honor, or out of goodness of heart or because I once called you Mistress. Call it instead friendship or perhaps, if you dare, call it love.
My dearest hope is that you will relent, and I shall see you again, even if only for a handful of brief intervals. There is still so much I want to know, so much I wish we could discuss. Death may be a part of life, but I find myself unwilling to give up on you just yet. If there is an answer to your condition, I shall search for it with all the resources available to me. If it is not to be, though, know that there is one that remembers you fondly. When I think on you and speak your name, it shall be with love.
Be easy, Laura, wherever you are, and ever take joy in the light as well as the dark.
My love,
Jaelle
-
Now that Laura is gone, things are moving slower. I have the urns but I am not certain what to do with them. I need to get them authenticated, but that is proving difficult. I could ask Connor for help. I was on my way to Spellgard when I got the letter from Laura, and though I put off the meeting to retrieve the gifts from the vault and take some time, I will be meeting with him eventually. (He is good about making time for me but it may be a short while before we can reschedule.) I'm reluctant to involve him in this facet of things, though. For one thing, it might detract from his focus on learning about Laura's condition, and now that I know she is dying, that research is more important than ever.
I've tried to ask Elohanna, but she's as slippery as an eel regarding the urns. We bumped into each other in the Hall of the Al'Noth in Port Hempstead and I tried to question her on how one might authenticate an urn. She did not think there was an easy way for me to do it, as most of the records had been destroyed, but she might have been lying. Certainly she was withholding some information. She was very evasive and clearly uncomfortable, though I attribute some of that to the presence of a local noblewoman.
Well, the Lady Saida Rothsford may be a noblewoman now, but she was not always. Her title was a perquisite of marriage (or likely the marriage's primary goal!) and not any privilege of birth. She was born Saida Peppe'rin, I think. Or at least that is the name she was tried under quite a few years back in Spellgard. Brian has spoken of her once or twice in the past, as he testified at the trial. He and Abigail Firesteed had several encounters with her, from what I could gather. Saida is an enchantress in every sense of the word, and I believe much of the trouble surrounding her was related to the misuse of certain spells that bend the mind. Spells I am quite familiar with, and have employed on occasion. Though there was also some business with attempted murder and a guard or two that went missing right around the trial date. Or so I heard. We've spoken several times and she has always been very charming. Most enchantresses are. She even invited me for tea, saying she had something to discuss with me. I'm considering going, but haven't made up my mind.
On the subject of enchantment spells and bending minds, I shall have to speak to Aryell about something the next time I can catch her for a lesson. I have been meaning to ask her whether there is any way to tell whether someone's mind is truly bent to your will, or whether they are merely acting the part. I helped deal with a bandit problem very recently in Vehl, and one of the bandits proved blastedly strong-minded. Incredibly so, actually. And a cursedly good actor to boot. Not only did my enchantment spells not take, but he was able to pretend they did and it was very difficult for me to be certain. That just will not do. When I enspell someone to get information from them, I need to know that information is correct. Luckily I caught most of his lies before we left him hidden and bound, drugged by one of my sleeping draughts, but it made our task much more difficult and was embarrassing.
I do not like to be embarrassed. He paid later, for that and for other things. His superior had captured four children, two boys and two girls, and was holding them hostage. He proposed a trade: us for them. Unfortunately, there were too many arrogant fools in our company who don't understand the principles of negotiation and bargaining. There is a time and a place for bargaining, but there are some people who are too mad, too powerful, too arrogant or too desperate to bargain. When dealing with them, persistent attempts to take control of the situation will only escalate tensions. Tensions escalated, alright. Due to the bumbling efforts of several of our would-be negotiators, including the Ilsaran cleric Alleina and Brian's father Rain, all four children were killed. One of the girls had her throat cut first, and then the other three were slaughtered during the ensuing struggle.
The first child's life being lost was a tragedy, but perhaps can be excused by my companions not realizing how serious the situation was. They thought they could outsmart our foe. It's a flimsy excuse, but it is an excuse. The other three are inexcusable. Their selfishness and stubbornness cost those children their lives. Throats slit and necks broken, they were cut down because we were too proud to bow our heads. Even I would have done it, I think. Traded myself for ransom, I mean. I am sure there is a price you can set on a child's life. Everything has a price. I reckon the price as considerably higher than my own pride, though. All the bandits were killed, but it is little consolation. I heard the children were taken to the temple in Vehl and raised, and are being kept there until they are claimed or someone decides what to do with them. I plan to go and visit on the morrow.
The bandit I had drugged paid some of the price. I admit, I was angry, and the others had forgotten him. I hadn't. I went back, and waited until he awoke. I am quite certain my face was not a welcome sight, pretty as it usually is. I had no looking glass with me, nor would I have stopped to check if I had, but I believe I looked quite frightening. My blood boiled with rage and I could feel the magic crackling all around me. Lightning magic has been my focus lately, and I could feel the hairs on my head lifting a little into a wild black mane as I sought the power within me. That would have been too easy, though. I didn't want it to be easy. And I wanted information. We took it slow. Very slow.
I expected to feel something afterwards, but I didn't. Not what I was expecting, at least. I just felt rather calm. His soul was black, as was his heart, and his mind was twisted. I have no doubts about that, so I do not feel bad about killing him. It made me think about Steel and his Dread Blade axioms though. I am not sure he would approve. Maybe he would think it was unfair to keep the thug restrained with a spell while I hurt him. No matter--I didn't feel like giving him a sporting chance.
He talked, in the end. Nearly everyone will, unless they are so crazy their minds have already broken. Senseless tragedy. The children's father crossed his boss, and he killed the man and took his offspring. There were other details too, all worth knowing though none important enough to mention here. I did not enjoy his pain, though I expect he enjoyed it less. By the time he was done talking he was already broken. I just killed him. A light touch, almost a lover's caress, and he burned from the inside out. Perhaps Steel would approve of the fact I met his eyes as he died, at least, cupping his face gently with both hands to fuel the fire, feeling the Al'Noth pour through me ... Fire magic is so easy when you are angry. My own protections and resistances protected me from most of the heat so I held my hands there and watched the flesh burn from his face, layer by layer, until there were no more screams and even the bones were nothing but dust.
I scattered the ashes so no one would look askance if people remembered him and came looking for him. No one even asked, though.
-
I've been visiting the children in the temple. It took me a while to get there, in more ways than one. For one thing, I've never liked the Rofireinite temple. I avoid it whenever I can. I always feel like the dragon's eye is on me, boring into my soul. For another, I do not have fond memories of this place. I remember coming here with Muireann to answer Jennara's questions after the fiasco with Kali's little thug. We may not have lied, but nor did we tell the whole truth, and I can't help but wonder if that will come back to haunt me one day.
I suppose if I am being honest, it is also because I knew it would hurt, to see them. My preliminary inquiries revealed they were traumatized by their ordeal. It is no little thing, to die and be brought to life again, and it takes a heavy toll on the spirit. Some spirits or souls seem to endure it better than others, but if children are resilient they are also fragile, and the scars the acquire in youth will not be easily shed later in life.
I speak from experience. I know that now.
I spent a long time, thinking about how I would do it, and what I might do once I was there. Praise the stars and sky that the temple is by the ocean. Listening to the waves go in and out, I was able to think clearly. Still, it hurt. It hurt to remember.
Is it in our nature to impose our own stories on others, as if they were so many blank pages to be written on? These four are not me. They are a story unto themselves. And yet I can see the dark thread of my own childhood caught up in the pattern too, and the memories flood me. I hear my father's voice in the waves, and I see my mother's eyes and that beautiful face, so like to my own, twisted in death.
I did not expect it to hurt so much still, after so much time. I thought I had become numb to it by now. Perhaps it is because their loss is so fresh, so raw still, the wound still weeping freely. Perhaps that is why their pain tugs at me so, and why I see so much of my child-self in them. Little lost children, all alone now, their world as shattered as their broken hearts. Oh, they have had company. They have had no end of company and visitors, all of whom come with loud voices and cheerful smiles and toys and messages of hope and joy and comfort. Or so I have heard. I wonder how many of them realize how quickly children learn to wear brave smiles as masks. I did it once, when father did not come back, to protect my mother from my grief while she dealt with her own. Our silence protected us from each other's pain for the most part.
It shows most when they are alone, or when they do not know anyone is watching them. The older three forget to be brave then, and the masks slip a little. You can see it happen, if you watch closely. I may not be good with children, but I know how to watch. They curl up within themselves again, pulling away from the world. I think I know where they go. There is a place somewhere deep in the mind, made of numbness and soft grey hues. I remember that place. It is the place you go when it hurts too much and you think you will die from the pain and the sadness and the fear. I think the little one, Liam, went to that far away place and never came back. A whispering voice inside my head worries he may have gone too far, far enough no one will be able to bring him back.
There is a difference between grief and this kind of wound. Grief is present in our everyday lives. We are saddened by the deaths of friends, and by bad news. It is a pain born of loss, and one that will heal in time. It does not change who we are. This other pain is a wound that can fester all too easily, though. It is a pain that goes beyond loss, and into the realm of terror and irrationality. This wounding pain is worse than grief, because it reminds you that you are helpless. I know no other way to describe it but as trauma, pure and simple.
When I finally went I went quietly, aiming to be unobtrusive. The first day, I brought herbs with me, and a mortar and pestle. I remember pacing outside the temple, back and forth, under the dragon's eye. When I asked for the children and told him I had been there when they died, the priest did not seem surprised. Other visitors had come before me. He led me to their room, and left me there with them.
I remember hovering on the threshold for a moment before entering, watching them. There they were, all four, just as I remembered. Except I hadn't seen all of them in life. The oldest, who I guessed to be around eleven or twelve, looked sullen and defiant. His brown hair looked shaggy, like it needed trimming. He looked like he wasn't paying attention to anything, but I could see the tension in the lines of his body, in the way he held himself. Poised for flight.
His sisters were beside him, their faces like the dark and light sides of a single coin. Two girls cut from the same cloth, but very different. The older one had sharper features and dark hair. Her eyes were dark too, and full of anger. She reminded me of nothing more than a black cat, claws extended and ready to hiss at anyone who got close. The littler one was fairer, in both senses of the word. Pale hair and blue eyes. A pretty child, and softer than her older sister. Quieter, too. She lacked the older one's restlessness. Her grief was pretty too. She made you want to reach out and cuddle her, to comfort her. I remember thinking men would want to comfort her when she was older, if she couldn't heal and leave some of her wounds behind. They would be drawn to her like moths to a flame. I knew that one from experience too. There is a powerful allure to a wounded woman. Men always want to save her.
It took me a moment to see the youngest one. He was curled up in the corner, a little ways away from his siblings, his jaw slack and his expression distant. For a moment I thought he was staring at something. Then I realized there was simply no one home. His eyes were almost as empty of life as if he had still been dead.
I didn't need to make much noise to alert them to my presence. They were already watchful, more alert than other children would have been. Jumping at shadows. I remembered that too. I forced myself to smile and say hello softly, and then I did something much harder: I forced myself to ignore them. I found a little corner in the room to sit in, and unpacked my herbs and mortar and pestle and went to work. It was difficult not to look up, not to watch them. I could feel three pairs of eyes boring into me, but that was alright. I was an intruder in their little sanctuary, and I suspected it would take a while for them to become accustomed to my presence. In all honesty, it was the absence of the fourth set of eyes that bothered me more.
The first afternoon was the hardest. They were uneasy with my unfamiliar presence, and I didn't blame them. I let them watch me, and tried to relax into my work. My pestle scraped against the mortar again and again, pounding the little dried leaves into fine dust. Every so often I would tip the contents into a little folded envelope or funnel them into a vial and put a few more dried leaves in the bowl. The fair-haired girl--Lissa, as I later learned she was called--showed interest first, but her older brother and sister held her back from investigating, I think. They were suspicious of my presence, and protective of their little sister. I didn't blame them.
Things had settled a little by the time I left. I got a lot done, in those few hours. That first afternoon they relaxed just enough to whisper amongst themselves, but they kept their distance. I didn't mind. I have spent a lot of my life in the solitude of the swamps with only my own thoughts for company. An afternoon of quiet is no great trial to me, and I can be patient when I want to.
The second day was easier. I brought the herbs again, and also some sheets of parchment and inks and quills. There are a few runes I have been having trouble with when scribing, and practicing their forms in mundane ink would do me no harm. They noticed me right away when I came into the room. Well, three of them did. Again, I greeted them quietly, pleasantly, and then got right to work. I could tell they were already more accustomed to me by the way they spoke more freely with each other. I watched them out of the corner of my eye. All three older children were curious today. I tried to hide my smile and waited. It didn't take very long.
What are you doing? I looked up to identify the source of the soft voice. It was the younger girl, Lislea. Lissa, as her siblings called her. I wasn't surprised she was the first to speak to me. Lissa, don't talk to her! the other girl hissed. Rhiannon. Rhia. I am drawing pictures, I told Lissa, ignoring Rhiannon's whispered warning. Do you want to see?
She did.
Every day since has been a little better. I try to go each afternoon, choosing the quietest time of the day. I bring herbs with me, and parchment and inks, and objects I have picked up in my travels. They are responding, slowly. They are no longer wary in my presence, at least, or as guarded. And I can watch them now.
Lissa likes to draw pictures on my parchments in all different colours of ink. They are just a child's drawings, just pictures, but you can read the meaning in them like the symbols on a scroll or a message written in code. Her bright, cheerful butterflies have sharp teeth, and she draws the sun in dark colours. They are troubled pictures. When she draws herself or her brothers and sister, the figures are shaky, as if she is no longer quite sure how to represent them, or herself.
Rhiannon likes to help me with my herbs. I talk to her about them, explaining what each one does and how to use them. I am not sure it matters to her. I think she just likes being able to pound them into dust. She is full of anger, full of more rage than a ten year old child should have to know. Her rage overwhelms her fear, hiding it, but I think it is still there underneath. She is as fierce as a tigress, always talking about revenge.
Finn, the eleven year old, still doesn't quite trust me. He keeps his suspicions largely to himself, but they are there, under the surface. When his parents were killed, he tried to protect his siblings. When they were all killed as well, I think perhaps his faith in humanity was severed for good. He tolerates me ... even seems fond of me. He likes my little illusions, and all the sleight of hand tricks Elmater taught me during our sessions. We have had a little fun together, even. But he is always waiting for the knife in the back, watching for the betrayal.
And Liam, little Liam. He was the first one I saw, the one the half-orc held over the cliff, the one whose neck was snapped with as little remorse as one might slaughter a fowl for supper. The trauma was too much for him. It broke him. Not once, in all my visits, has he said a word or shown any interest in what is happening around him. Most of the time, he is like a silent, living doll, a constant reminder of what the children have endured. I have taken to sitting next to him so he can at least feel my presence, and to signing to him as well as speaking to him. If he ever chooses to communicate again, I am not sure he will use his voice. At least this will give him another option. Right now, the hurdle is not communication of any sort, though. It is sitting up on his own, and chewing his food rather than letting it run down his chin. If there is truly hope for Liam, recovery is a long way away.
And so it goes. I visit nearly every afternoon, not knowing what the day will bring, or if today will be the day they choose to talk about what happened, or their parents. For now, I hope my quiet presence brings them some comfort. At the very least, I will settle for doing these children no more harm.
-
My meeting with Connor and Anna in Spellgard has come and gone, and we have all made our choices about the actions we are prepared to take. They have chosen to judge Laa'ra based on what she is now and not what she was. And I, well, I have chosen to trust them.
Part of me wants to profess I had little choice in the matter but it isn't true. I could have lied or kept so many things to myself, but I did not. Perhaps it is because I am still heartsick over the loss of my friend, as difficult as she has made life for me. Or perhaps it is because Connor and Anna truly seem willing to help without judgment. They only wish to understand, and they will never be able to do that if I can't let down my guard a little.
We were still careful. I do not think Laa'ra means me harm but I cannot be certain all of this isn't a ruse. Connor kept watch with the Sight while we met, and made sure we were not scryed upon. We discussed vampirism at some length again, and how such diseases might be cured. I told him about what was befalling Laa'ra, and it seems there are two possible explanations: either her body is merely making up for lost time and her rapid aging will slow when she is the age she would have been had she never been turned, or it is a consequence of her return to mortality and will continue until it kills her if left unchecked. I don't know which one to hope for. She has already been cheated out of so much time. It is not fair for her to lose any more.
I did not tell Connor about the urns or show him the scroll Laa'ra gave me or her letter, but I did show him the necklace and her feather. I think Anna recognized them for what they were: signs of her love and trust in me. I wonder what she thinks of it all. Connor believes Laa'ra may have left them as a way for me to contact her. I already knew it was possible to scry on her through the feather, as I have heard the Council speak of it. The necklace, if it truly is as dear to her as the letter claims, could also act as a magical focus during a divination attempt. I am relieved I have a way to contact her, but at the same time I am afraid to do so without any hope to offer her. For now, I wait for Connor's contacts to find us a solution, or at least something to gamble on, and continue to pursue my own research into the matter.
Connor gave me another warning, too, and it was one that I was not expecting. It was about Muireann. He told me it was not safe for me to be in that house anymore, and that I should find somewhere else to be if possible. Anna was there and I don't know how much she knows (though I suspect he tells her almost everything--there is an exceptionally strong sense of trust and intimacy between them) so I couldn't question him too much about it. From what I could gather, something has changed in Muir's bond to the planar, and the house is filling with negative energy that might be dangerous. In hindsight, that is probably why all the rooms have seemed so cold lately. Bob's presence is like a shadow falling over the house, and Muireann and any who stay with her will be caught in it. I trust Connor's intentions and believe there is indeed some risk if I choose to ignore his warning, but at the same time I am loathe to leave Muireann alone. She is dearer to me than I care to admit, and other than Donnacadh she has no one now that Shamur is gone.
Unfortunately, I am making no progress in authenticating the urns. It is like beating my head against a wall. There are no open records on things that were kept so secret, and every time I pry I risk tipping my hand. More and more I am convinced I will not be able to fulfill Laa'ra's wishes alone, and time before the meeting is running out. There is one other piece of good news, though: I found the record I was looking for, deep in the Spellgard archives. I almost choked to death on the dust searching for it, but it was worth it for the way my heart skipped a beat when I saw her name there on the page in the faded ink, undeniable: Laa'ra Evanicc'ia. And below, information even more precious. The year of her registration in the school, 1195, and her home city at the time. I know where to look now, when Connor's sources find our answer: Fort of Kings, Alindor.
-
As I am making no progress with the urns and Connor's Spellgard contacts are doing everything they can to search for a cure, I decided to return to Fort Vehl for a while before checking in at home again. On my way to Fort Vehl I stopped in Port Hempstead to hear the news, and ran into the Lady Saida Rothsford again. She tendered me an interesting offer--she wants me to teach in her school.
I haven't decided whether or not to accept yet. On the one hand, I think it might be a waste of my time. I am a student of magic, not a teacher of children. Up until now lessons have been about learning more and increasing my own power, not correcting the diction of snot-nosed noble children. There is no guarantee any of them even have my Gift, anyway. Sorceress powers often manifest on the cusp of adulthood, as mine did. Her students may be too young to show any real potential. Still, there is merit in what she is trying to do, or at least what she claims she is trying to do. She's right--those girls should not have to feel helpless, and magic would allow them to defend themselves. It could also turn them into a little noble enchantress army. Saida is too charming and too good a liar. I trust nothing of what she says, nor her motivations. I do not know what her game is but I don't want to be caught in the middle of it.
Seeing the children again was a strange joy. I found myself thinking of them often when I was in Spellgard, and I think they were part of the reason I made such haste to return. I find myself growing rather attached to them in a strange sort of way, and I think they have grown attached to me too. The older ones seem to look forward to my visits now, and one of the priests said they asked after me when I was away. I did tell them I was going, to be fair. I thought it best to warn them, as they have had enough cruel surprises in their short lives.
I think they are mending, slowly. It is so hard to tell, because it is such a gradual process and there is so much healing to be done. They still don't like to talk about it much, but every so often there's a little hint at how much they keep to themselves. The priests tell me they have nightmares from time to time and still have trouble falling asleep, but I haven't pushed them to talk about it. Finn and Rhiannon are especially reticent, in some ways. I suspect it's harder for them, being older. They don't want Lislea to see their fear or their weakness so it's never discussed. Their unspoken fears coalesce into a big dark demon that lurks in the shadowed corners of every room, watching silently over everything they do. Actually, that's almost how Lissa drew it, the one time she did: a great dark shape surrounded by smaller shapes. It wasn't until I asked her about it and she told me that they were the “bad men who killed mummy and daddy” that I noticed the little figures in the corner of the parchment. Even the smallest of the dark shapes was much bigger than the huddle of little stick people trying to scramble off the page.
I worry for them all, but I worry for Liam the most. Not that the other three don't have their own issues still. Lissa wants to be touched all the time, as if she is afraid of being alone. She seeks comfort wherever she can find it, even from near strangers. And Rhiannon has grown no less angry with the world, and Finn no more trusting of strangers. Liam is without doubt the most wounded, though. He still has not spoken, nor responded to anyone's attempts to communicate. What progress he makes is painfully slow and to strange eyes it must look like he hasn't changed at all, but he has. He does more than lie on his side now. He sits on his own. If you spoon food into his mouth, he will actually chew and swallow without prompting. Small measures of healing, but after fearing there was no hope at all they are like giant leaps and strides.
After seeing the children, I finally went home to Leringard. I moved in with Brian temporarily, until I can determine how much risk I'm in at Muireann's house.. I didn't tell mention anything to him about Muireann's house being cold, or about negative energy and bonded beings. I probably shouldn't have moved in with him at all. I should have found somewhere else, anywhere else, because living with Brian is like living in a cage. There is no air, no space. I lie awake at night in the bed next to him and feel panic clawing at my throat. I can't breathe, can't relax, can't do anything but get up and leave.
The panic starts to ease the moment I am out the door, when Nida sweeps down out of the sky to greet me. She and I have been bonded so long now that she truly understands me, and understands my needs. She knows where I will go the moment she feels me stir and get up from the bed, trying not to wake him. I don't feel completely right until I'm close enough to the ocean to feel the spray on my face, though. I walk the shoreline under the moons, or sometimes I row out to the temple and lie on the edge of the cliffs, poised on the edge. An hour or two before sunrise the boats start to go out. I love to watch them. In the black, they are reduced to little globes of light dancing on the dark water: ship lanterns, swinging gently to the rhythm of the sea. I watch them go, and part of me longs to go with them and be free of all of this.
Brian thinks I am seeing other men when I leave. I am almost certain of it. Strangely, I'm not. There has only been Brian since before Laa'ra left. I am trying so hard, so hard to be good, but it's getting more and more difficult to keep it up. I can't breathe around him. He is always there, watching me. With Muireann, I had space and she never pushed me. Brian can't even stand my leaving at night. Three days ago, when I got back at dawn, he was gone. There was no note, nothing. He still isn't back, so I am going south again. He delivered his message, loud and clear, and now I've given him mine: I left my key on the nightstand.
-
I need to be more careful around Elgon.
It happened at the fire near Hlint the other day. It was an accident, really. He kept trying to get me to open up to him, to comfort me somehow. And so I decided to play with him a little bit.
It was meant to be harmless. I barely touched him, just grazing his side with my fingers, touching his back as I looked into his eyes. It's been too long since I last did this, though. I'd forgotten how powerful the slight touches can be. I only meant to tease him, but as I did so I realized how long it's been since I've seen anyone but Brian.
He resisted. Stoically. Gods, it's almost fun when they resist. Is that wrong? Or is it just nature, that when they run we want to give chase? He desired me, but he resisted. It was right about then that I figured out he had a woman in his life already. They never fight it so hard if there isn't a good reason. It was about five seconds later that his sisters showed up.
I was sorry afterwards, because he was so stiff and embarrassed. And because he's my friend, I think. I want to be friends with him, but I'm not sure how he'll feel about it after this. He left with his sisters. They asked me to come with them, but I let him have his space, having caused enough damage for one night.
I think he understood, though. Right before we pulled away, while I was still looking into his eyes, I saw something there. Sad comprehension, maybe. He understands now what I meant when I said that I'd been alone for too long. He knows it never really ended. I can be as close to someone as two people can be, and yet I am still always, always alone.
-
I went to see Elohanna and took her into my confidence yesterday. I can make excuses as to why I felt I should trust her, but the truth is it was a gamble. Quite simply, I was out of options.
I went to her house in Fort Llast, the urns wrapped in simple brown paper, hidden in my pack. She answered the door herself, clearly surprised to see me. I expected as much. She was clearly uncomfortable to have me there, but I expected that too. Still, she invited me into her house and across her threshold. I'm not sure whether I would have crossed if she hadn't.
We danced around the topic for a while, and she didn't give me much. So I chose. Laa'ra, forgive me, but it is simply too much for me to do alone! I needed her help. I showed her the urn.
Lady of Storms, but it was satisfying to see the look on her face! Probably petty, but oh it was fun to see her eyes widen as she realized what I held. It isn't often you can pinpoint the moment that everything changes. For Elohanna and I, that was the moment, and I knew it then. I got to see comprehension dawn on those elven features as she started to piece it all together.
Even so, I think it was hard to believe. I don't really blame her. Vampire falls in love and is redeemed? It's a cross between an Az'attan parable and an Ilsaran romance! And yet of all of them, she was closest to Laa'ra before she changed back. She might not have been able to deal with her but she didn't hate her as the others did. And like me, she dared to believe that Laa'ra had chosen an act of redemption.
My heart still aches for her. She is dying alone somewhere, far from me. She should not have to die alone. She should not have to die at all. Yes, she sinned, but don't we all? Haven't I? If there is no hope for Laa'ra, there is no hope for me. I want it all to be real. I want the urns to be genuine.
Elohanna agreed to help. I knew she would. More importantly, she agreed to keep this a secret until we were certain. Her simple trust in me astonishes me, for it is such a change. I swear, Alatriel thought she had gone mad when she walked in with the baby and saw me standing there. She seemed quite reluctant to give Clarisse back to her mother while I was still in the house.
It's strange to look into Clarisse's clear little eyes and know that none of this means anything to her. Somewhere my friend is dying, and I am charged with destroying urns that in the wrong hands might resurrect a terrible demon, but her world is so much simpler. Her world is one of light and happiness and love. I feel like a dark shadow in contrast, doubting even Laa'ra's last act of redemption and suspecting a ruse. Elohanna is making arrangements. We will have the urns authenticated in North Point very soon, and then one way or another I will know the truth.
Gods above, I want to believe. I'm just not sure I remember how.
-
Waiting while Elohanna arranges our trip to North Point is quiet torture. Every day, I wonder whether Laa'ra is still alive. Every day, the day of the mysterious meeting regarding Laa'ra ticks closer and closer. I fear they are planning a witch hunt.
Lady Saida Rothsford is certainly a distraction, though I would hesitate to call her a pleasant one. Actually, the woman is one of the most arrogant, self-righteous cows I've ever met. Oh, and she's as beautiful and charming as all hells. It's a strange contradiction. Physically, she's beautiful. When she smiles, she's charming. But in other ways she has the social graces of a clumsy sow! If she were not so naturally charming, I am quite certain she would give deadly offense to some hapless passerby no fewer than seven times a day! I am not sure she would even care, though. Like the worst of nobility, she looks down to everyone who doesn't have social status or position. It isn't judging their worth that bothers me--judgment is natural. It is just such a ludicrous criteria! I have far more respect for some near-penniless sailors than I do for most of the nobles of any given city.
It does make things interesting, though. I am torn between temptation to bait her and the knowledge that I cannot afford to pick a fight right now. So at least for the present, I try not to give offense. I smile, and accept her gifts (the latest was a gorgeous strapless gown of blackened silk from a very expensive and exclusive Katherian tailor), and try to control the urge to slap her across her pretty face. Perhaps I see a little too much of my own inner enchantress in Saida. The ability to control others is a seductive one, and it is easy to slip down a dark path. And yet she is still too entertaining to stay away from! Watching her give Skullcracker Headbang a dressing down the other day is a memory I will cherish.
Elgon and I seem to have forgiven each other. I ran into him on my way to the tailor's shop to pick up the dress Saida had given me. (A few alterations were necessary, as we aren't quite the same size and the gown is very fitted.) He accompanied me, which was convenient since I needed a second pair of eyes. It was ... nice to see him. I'm glad I haven't lost him as a friend yet.
-
I cannot believe it--she was telling the truth. They're genuine. The Aeridinites confirmed it. Oh, my dear Laa'ra, I am so sorry I doubted you! And yet things are almost more confusing now than they were before we came here. Elohanna is gone with the second urn and I have no idea where she's taken it, and the Aeridinites are likely hunting her and watching me.
Let me go back a little, to when I met Elohanna in Spellgard. We went through the portal hand in hand, me carrying both packages under one arm. How odd to think that no one would guess their importance from their plain brown wrappings, and to a passerby we might appear two friends returning from a simple shopping trip or some such errand! The cold of North Point was shocking, as always. The sudden change in temperature reminds one of how powerful the magic of the portals is, I suppose. Luckily it was only a short walk from the portal to the temple.
They were waiting for us inside, and were most courteous. I was glad of Elohanna's presence. They knew why we were there, and it did not take long for them to authenticate the urns. Elohanna and I both held our breath while they confirmed it. I think I've been holding my breath since Laa'ra left them for me in some ways. Elohanna even teared up and became very emotional. I think the idea of Laa'ra's redemption strikes a chord with her for some reason, because she gave me the feather she possessed too. From my count, that leaves one more of Laa'ra's feathers out there somewhere. I have no idea who has it.
The Aeridinites conferred for a little while, which gave us a chance to talk things over. Elohanna knew the plans for the urns, but the Aeridinites, it seemed, objected. I had intended to hold onto both of them until I could actually watch their destruction, but the Aeridinites insisted I leave the first urn in their custody. It seems it is forbidden for me to watch the ceremony of destruction, but they promised to send word when it was done and Laa'ra did charge me with turning over the urn to the church of Aeridin. Reluctantly, I handed it over.
And then they demanded the second as well, and things started to get complicated. It happened very quickly. I've never considered the Aeridinites to be particularly threatening before, but suddenly there was a great deal of tension in the air and a guard or acolyte or someone bearing a morningstar approached us, and they told us that the urns had to be destroyed in tandem. They told us they had the third urn ... but how could that be, when even I could not find it? Surely Clarissa would not have handed it over to them? And why would they want to reunite them, when doing so would surely summon the demon contained within them? And why were they not destroyed in the first place, many years ago? The Aeridinites said they had been foolish, and had thought they might be able to use them as leverage or a weapon against Corath. Suddenly my mind was full of even more questions and doubts, and I made a decision based on a split second judgment.
I had doubted Laa'ra once, and decided I would not do so again. If she had left instructions to hand the second urn over to the church of Toran, then there must be a good reason behind it. I thrust the urn at Elohanna and bid her go, and mercifully she understood my meaning and used her tome to teleport home. My timing couldn't have been any nearer, either, for just in that instant the guard with the morningstar seized me. It was too late, though. Elohanna was gone, and the urn with her.
They let me go, after lecturing me and calling me foolish and selfish. I didn't care. I would rather be wrong about this than to allow the urns to fall into the wrong hands, or be used for some foul purpose. I stormed out of the temple and across the frozen ground to the sea, and shouted my frustration. The task is too hard! It was too much to charge me with, to charge any one person with! It is impossible to know who is telling the truth and who is lying.
I watched the temple for a while, hidden under a veiling illusion. Two groups of armed acolytes and priests left shortly after they released me. One went south, towards Willow's Weep and Dalanthar. The other went through the portal to Spellgard. It is easy to guess who and what they are searching for. I sent a letter, warning Elohanna that the Aeridinites were searching for her. I hope she receives it in time, and takes proper precautions.
-
The day of the meeting draws very near. Elohanna received my warning and, sensibly, has taken measures to avoid the Aeridinites who are searching for her. The second urn resides in the hands of the Toranites. Elohanna confessed to me that she delivered it to the temple in Huangjin herself. I am content with how matters stand, if not pleased. Laa'ra's wishes were fulfilled and the urns are separated still. If the Aeridinites are telling the truth, then I have no doubt they will be able to recover the second urn from the Toranites and destroy them all. If they have some dark design for the urns, better that they are spread out and that another church stands between them and their goal. This may be the only time I ever confess to being grateful for the bureaucratic, uncompromising, stubborn, unreasonable fanaticism of those blasted Toranites. The noble bastards will likely protect that urn with their lives if they catch wind of anything rotten.
Muireann grows no better but for the present time she seems to grow no worse, either. She is still cold and deadly, and the house matches her now. I try to spend as little time there as possible, as I've noticed that the atmosphere sometimes makes me feel physically ill. It seems to be more proximity to the house than to Muireann herself, but I can't bring myself to leave her alone entirely. For now I limit my exposure and deal with the effects. A little nausea isn't enough to motivate me to abandon her, and I am reluctant to entirely give up the room that has become sanctuary to me over the years.
We had an interesting talk the other night, the priestess and I. She confirmed much of what I think I already knew. The planar, Bob, her “bonded”, is slowly killing her by feeding on her, and if it continues she will likely die. In the meantime, his presence fills her with negative energy and shadows the house. I expect it makes Donnachadh as sick as it makes me, though I have never spoken to him about it. As far as I can tell, she has no boarders right now, though, which is a small mercy.
I do not know why she remains bonded to it and shows it such compassion. As much as I care for Muireann, she is not a woman known for her compassion. Simply put, her devotion is disproportionate and out of character in this case. Muireann is not as bitter and unfeeling as Hardragh made her out to be, but she shows that she cares in interesting ways. I know she cares for me, though. How much is hard to say, but at least a little. She asked me about the night I came home a mess and cried for Laa'ra as I wrote the letter. I told her a little. As I expected, she did not judge me. It is the one thing I can count on Muireann for: she has and always will let me make my own decisions. If it surprised her, she didn't show it much.
In truth, sometimes I don't know what to make of her. Muireann is ... complicated. During our discussion we somehow got onto the subject of her past dalliances, and she told me about a Xeenite cleric who allowed her to whip him. She says she finds emotional release in the act of whipping. I told her again about Hedessa, the Xeenite priestess who wants to do the same to me. In my darkest moments I toy with the idea of letting her. Part of me thinks I deserve to be punished for some of the things I have done. I have tortured, killed, betrayed ... and for the most part I live without much guilt over my actions. Whatever pain Hedessa would inflict upon me, I probably deserve it. Muireann was less concerned with that and more curious about whether I thought I would enjoy it. She argued that if I thought it would bring me pleasure (pleasure through pain ... always a delightful contradiction!) that I should acquiesce and give myself to the priestess, as least to see if I liked it. And yet I already know that if I were to suffer that particular act, the hand that held the whip would never be Hedessa's.
I find this conviction difficult to explain but I am very certain. I think it has something to do with the fact she has not yet been able to catch and claim me, though she clearly wants to. Were I to submit to a lash, it would be to a worthy opponent. And I do not think she is my equal.
But Muireann is.
I asked her, actually, whether she would do it if I asked her. Passing curiosity spurred the inquiry rather than any serious contemplation, but her refusal still stung. Such refusals always sting, even when the request was merely hypothetical, and I am not a woman who is used to being refused, especially in matters of the bedroom. My good fortune in matters of appearance has seen to that. Muireann quite flatly refused, though, and I think she would even have refused to tell me why had she not seen the odd and inexplicable effect her rejection had on me. She was oddly gentle with me then, and actually made clear that in no way did she find me wanting. She never gave a truly satisfactory answer, but she did admit that she suspects that she is one of the few people I trust enough to allow that kind of interaction with. And that in the heat of the moment, she is neither merciful nor inclined to hold back, and she will not risk me. In an odd way, it was rather touching. I think it's as close as Muireann's ever come to admitting she cares for me.
-
The meeting regarding Laa'ra has come and gone, and it might as well have been a costume party or a masquerade, for few people came as themselves! Elohanna and I were both in attendance, but due to the watchful eye of a Toranite undead slayer and an Aeridinite paladin we were wary to reveal ourselves. Elohanna came hooded, and in the same robes I had seen her in after she fled from the Aeridinites so I knew her on sight, though most others did not.
My disguise was rather better, I think. And gods above, if I hadn't been worried about Laa'ra it would actually have been fun! My control of the Al'noth was exceptional that day, and I managed to use an illusion to fool people into thinking I was an old woman. Between the illusion, a little voice acting and a good deal of luck, no one spotted me save the nosy Toranite [expletive] who used some kind of blade to “check” everyone at the meeting. Strangely, she didn't give me away, though she looked at me strangely and demanded we speak later. I rather hope she doesn't prove herself a bother later, but if she did I have something that perhaps I can blackmail her with--namely that I caught her in some kind of dalliance with the Aeridinite before the meeting started. Neither of them saw me, but I overheard enough to gather they were lovers at some time. A neat little fact to tuck away in my mind for future use, perhaps.
Turns out Shiff Dragonheart was the one who called the meeting. I should have known that tactless fool was behind this. Only he would so totally lack the subtlety and common sense that would prevent others from posting notices in public places about a meeting regarding a dangerous vampire. Thank the stars that Elohanna got to him before the meeting. If she hadn't, I think it would have been a witch hunt. As it was, most of those in attendance grew so frustrated with Shiff's disinclination towards any action against Laa'ra that they walked out. I managed to get a fairly accurate roster of those at the meeting, though.
Attendance at Shiff's Vampire Meeting
- Anne Ravenwind, Toranite undead slayer and nosy [expletive]
- Harris Lightseeker, Aeridinite. Apparently had some kind of illicit affair with the Toranite, from what I overheard. Potential for blackmail later.
- Shiff Dragonheart
- Caerwyn
- Brian
- Elohanna (in disguise)
- Aerimor Lightbringer, most irritating druid in the world
- Alatriel (for about three seconds, before she ran off to play mommy to Elohanna's children)
- Scias Maratha
- Myself, as harmless old woman
[/i]
Honestly, though the meeting dragged on for hours there is very little to report. The Aeridinite managed to figure out there was no way Laa'ra could still be a vampire, based on the accounts given by the others and the knowledge she had killed her sire. Between that and Shiff's strong advisement that no one take action against her, no one seemed the least inclined to run around with stake, silver potion and a healthy dose of fanaticism save the Toranite slayer who is clearly a little unbalanced. (Alright, more than a little. More even than most Toranites, which is saying something.)
Caerwyn provided an interesting tidbit, namely that Laa'ra's been known to use the alias of Elaidiss Nightingale, and that the term “palemaster” had come up in relation to her several times. I'm not certain why I'd never connected the two, but it's true, she does always wear a dark glove on one hand that reaches up at least above the elbow. As I understand it, palemasters have exceptional control over the necromantic aspects of the Al'Noth, so perhaps I should not be surprised.
All in all, the meeting was rather boring. Until it wasn't, that is. Someone pulled out one of Laa'ra's feathers, and a great debate started over what should be done with it. Some were in favor of scrying on her while others wanted her to be left alone. Brian tried to take the feather for himself, but they snatched it back, and finally it ended up in a brazier, burned to nothing. It is no small relief to know I now possess the only easy means to scry on Laa'ra, should it come to that.
What is the best way to extinguish a fire? Well, there are many ways, I am sure, but one of them is certainly to contain it and let it burn itself out. If any came into the room with a fire lit under their backsides and an itch to go hunting vampires, a few hours of tedious discussion certainly dampened it. It was in my best interests to listen and wait, so that is exactly what I did. It was only later, after the Toranite had stormed out in a fury and almost everyone was so bored by the bureaucracy of the meeting that they were nodding off that I eventually revealed myself--and the fate of the urns. People were surprised, naturally. Who was more surprised than I was to get the letter, or Elohanna when I handed her one of the urns in her living room? It was an unexpected action, and naturally it elicited astonishment and a little suspicion among the cynical. And yet by that point people were ready to believe she was redeemed, and agreed to forswear vengeance on her, just as she had on them. As I do not think she will act rashly, I believe Laa'ra will be safe, at least for the time being.
Safe, but dying that is. I still need to find a way to save her. I will find a way.
The only other thing of note was Brian's particular brand of drama. When he realized that Laa'ra had been gone for some time and I'd had the urns while living with him, and yet I hadn't told him and had let him believe I was still in danger, he sort of lost his grasp on himself. He went to sit in a corner and pulled out a massive dagger and started carving letters into the Toranite meeting table. Part of me really wanted to watch one of the Toranites come out and try to arrest him. Truly, he can be such a child! When he was done scratching the message into the expensive looking table he stuck his knife point first into the wood and just left it there and disappeared. I read what he wrote. I forget the specifics, but it was something like “The last role of man is always as woman's pawn.” As usual, dramatic and inaccurate. And very much Brian. Honestly, I have no patience for the man right now. If he is going to be impossible, he will be impossible on his own. I have no desire to chase after him and soothe his poor, bruised feelings. I have more important things to do.
-
After leaving the meeting in Fort Llast I went straight to Spellgard. Originally I had planned to go with Elohanna to meet the Aeridinites, who demanded at the meeting that I turn over the second urn. I neglected to mention that last time I wrote, because honestly there was just too much going on for me to think clearly. There still is, if I make the mistake of trying to do everything. The Toranites and the Aeridinites can fight over the urns. While it's possible a small group of either might become corrupt it's basically inconceivable that both churches would agree to raise a demon. Therefore, I have simply told myself to stop worrying about that for now and to focus on other things. More important things.
As I said, I went straight to Spellgard, and met with Connor again. Anna was there as well. This time I came clean, and told them both about the urns and my concerns. There is an odd sense of relief that comes from sharing a burden and lightening one's own load. It isn't one I want to indulge in too often, as we should all have the strength to bear our own burdens, but sometimes I think it is too much for any one woman or man to handle. They both agreed to look into things with the urns and the church of Aeridin, and to ensure there was no deception and that the urns will be destroyed. They also fully supported my decision to remove the second urn from the Aeridinite temple when I had suspicions, misguided though those suspicions likely were. It was strangely comforting to hear that Connor agreed with my actions, and thought I had done the right thing. I am surprised to discover that his opinion matters to me.
I am also very glad I asked for his help, for it seems he has brought me some news that engenders at least a small amount of hope within me. It is possible that a colleague of his might be able to find a cure, or at least better direct us how to search for one. The only problem is that to assess where Laa'ra is exactly in her transformation from undead to mortal again, and to determine what is making her ill, Connor's colleague requires a blood sample. Which means finding Laa'ra.
This small flicker of hope seems impossibly dim against the overwhelming odds we have been presented with. I fear that if Laa'ra does not want to be found, there is nothing I will be able to do to locate her. Her control of the Al'Noth far exceeds mine, as she has left me few clues as to where she has gone. I cling to the hope that by “homeland” she means the city she was residing in when she registered as a student in Spellgard, for I have little else to go on. I will start my search in Fort of Kings, Alindor, and continue from there until all hope fades.
I am not certain whether she intended this or whether it was merely an unforeseen consequence of giving me the feather and her necklace, but Laa'ra has provided me with the means to scry on her. Connor has agreed to show me the rudiments of the art before I leave for Alindor, and hopefully the length of the journey will give me some time to practice. He warns me that it is very difficult to learn at first, and requires a degree of focus and concentration to locate the target, as well as to protect oneself if the target senses the effort and tries to resist. He has made it clear that it will take a few days to show me enough of this particular kind of divination for me to have a decent chance of doing more good than harm in any scrying attempt so I have taken lodgings at a small inn in this city. I have stayed here many times before when studying with Aryell and Elmater, and have always found the accommodations to be clean, comfortable and entirely adequate. Most of the patrons are students or visitors to the city on magical business, and the atmosphere is conducive to study. I would have preferred to begin lessons immediately, and I think Connor knows this, but one look at the dark circles under my eyes and he sent me to rest. I suppose he has a point. There is little that can be taught to a student whose mind and senses are dulled by overwhelming exhaustion. We will begin in the morning, and see how quickly I might make something out of this art.
-
For several days now, Connor has been teaching me how to scry. It is exhausting, mentally if not physically, for divination has never come easily to me before and it is not a facet of the Al'Noth that I have studied extensively up until now.
At first, he lectured me on the theoretical aspects of scrying. Many factors in addition to the talent and skill of the diviner can affect the outcome of a scrying attempt, it seems. One of the most important of these is the possession of a scrying focus. Most frequently this focus is something that is part of the person, place or object being scryed upon. It seems this is why Laa'ra's feathers are such powerful scrying tools; they were a part of her body, and retain some connection with her. Although we did not discuss scrying on areas in great detail, I believe soil from a forest floor or a rock from a canyon would work as scrying focuses when scrying on a region. Of course, it is still possible to scry on something without a focus directly from them. In these cases, an object that was with the person for an extended period of time may work just as well as hair or blood, and such objects often have the advantage of not being consumed in the scrying process. Laa'ra's amulet falls under this category of scrying focus, and is what we intend to use. Of course, practiced and talented diviners need not rely on a scrying focus at all, but working without one requires far greater effort and concentration, and is unfortunately beyond my capabilities at the moment.
There are other factors that influence the difficulty of a scrying ritual too, naturally. Connor has taught me both the most ideal methods and those shortcuts that one might be forced to take in a pinch. Ideally, one should use a proper divining pool filled with holy water as a scrying medium. Sprinkling the waters with diamond dust yields the best results, though limited effects may be achieved with alexandrite, and scrying without gem dusts at all is possible too if the situation is dire and none can be found. Like organic components, gem dusts are usually consumed or rendered useless in the process, but the holy water of the pool is capable of enduring multiple uses.
Of course, every detail of the ritual that deviates from ideal also greatly increases the effort needed to achieve the results. Furthermore, the amount of energy I need to pour into each ritualistic attempt at my level of experience means that I am left vulnerable during the scrying process and drained afterwards. Distance also plays a factor in difficulty, and as an amateur my range will likely be much more limited than someone with even passing competence. Connor has stressed several times the danger of scrying on a caster who is capable of detecting and countering a scrying attempt, and I sense he wonders whether Laa'ra will permit such a violation of her privacy, even from me.
After Connor explained the theory of the process to me, he drilled me again and again on the practical aspects of it. At first we attempted to scry a nearby area. There is a beach just out of town that I enjoy walking on sometimes, and we chose that as my first target. Tired does not begin to describe my state after only a short period of this. I am greatly surprised by the level of mental fortitude required to accomplish something like this, and it was tempting to become disheartened, especially at first when it seemed as if all my efforts were in vain and I saw nothing at all. Connor insisted that I keep at it though, forcing me to try again and again. Eventually I collapsed with exhaustion, and we took a break and a meal while I recovered. After the meal, we resumed our work, again and again. Each time he pushed me to the brink of exhaustion, but in the end I believe the persistence yielded some results at least, and I was able to successfully scry on the beach, though I was dissatisfied by the quality of the image, which was blurrier and less detailed than I had hoped. According to Connor this is a symptom of my inexperience, and once I am able to gain more skill in this aspect of divination the images will likely sharpen.
As difficult as scrying on that piece of shoreline was, learning to scry on a more distant place was infinitely harder. At first I thought to try the Spirit Dunes. I had a little sand from the region in my pack, but I could think of nothing specific about the Dunes and I thought perhaps the lack of specificity might hinder my progress, so when Connor asked me for a region I chose the Gnoll Watchtower in the Ire Mountains instead. Although it is within a few days' travel of Spellgard, it was far harder than scrying on the little beach just outside town. Again, Connor pushed me hard, driving me onwards, and again we persisted, despite the difficulty. I went to bed with a throbbing headache that night, and I do not recall what I saw in reverie, so profound was my rest.
We worked all the next day too. He would coax me right to my limit, and only when I was too drained to continue would he let me rest. Betimes I wanted to scream at him and storm out and give up, but then I would think of Laa'ra dying alone and find new resolve. By the end of the second day--or was it really the third? My exhaustion made them all blur together--Connor finally declared that my mediocre results would suffice and that we would move on to scrying on specific people the next day. Well, he didn't say it exactly like that ... I think. To be honest, I really can't recall his precise words. All I remember is relief that we would finally be learning what I might so desperately need to know to find Laa'ra.
We made an early start the next morning, once again. First, Connor explained to me the theory behind using a scrying focus. It is difficult to put to words, but as near as I can describe it involves concentrating on the object and getting the feel for the person, or what Connor called the “imprint” of the subject. After that, it is merely a matter of “asking” the divination magic to help you find the person. If one knows their general location, it is usually advised to try narrowing the search at this point as well, though experienced diviners are able to search over far greater areas than amateurs. As Connor put it, an expert diviner, or even merely a talented one who has had enough practice and possesses a good focus, can find the proverbial needle in the haystack.
After he was quite certain I understood the aim and the method, Connor suggested I try it myself. He asked if I had something that we could use as a scrying focus, and I was startled to realize that I don't really have many personal objects from other people. After a lengthy search through my pack and some debate, we finally settled on a suitable one, and the rest of the day was consumed by mind-breaking practice. I swear to the gods, my head felt numb every time he called for a break. We worked mostly on scrying on people I was familiar with, because Connor says the familiarity makes searching for them with the divination magic much easier. However, Connor is nothing if not thorough in his teaching, and he also showed me how to scry on a person I was less familiar with or a stranger.
Although I am still woefully underprepared, time runs short and Laa'ra's chances lessen every day. For all I know, she could be dead or on her deathbed already. Although part of me would like nothing more than to stay in Spellgard and study and practice this until I could do it without failure, I know it is time to go. I was lucky enough to book passage on a ship making a fairly direct route and I will pray for speed and fair winds. I still worry, though. What if she is not in Fort of Kings? My range is limited, and Connor suggested I get as close as possible before attempting to scry. That and he strongly cautioned me that I will be vulnerable to any backlash or resistance if I scry on her without someone to support and protect me.
In the end, I suppose it comes down to trust. Laa'ra trusted me with the urns, with her necklace, with her feathers ... and though I wanted to believe those were genuine attempts at friendship and goodness, I was suspicious. She has never hurt me and claims to love me. I do not want to invade her privacy, but certainly that is a small cost when compared with the death she inevitably faces if I do nothing? I will practice every day on the journey to hone my abilities, but I will not use them if I can find another way. And if I am forced to scry ... well I hope she loves me enough to forgive the intrusion, and that she does not break my mind in retaliation while I am vulnerable. Once again, I am running short of options.