The Journal of Jaelle Thornwood

[Carillon]

*There is a large blot of ink as if the writer paused with the quill on the paper for some time before beginning to write*

I hardly know how to describe what I'm feeling. He died, and I was there to witness it. It happened while I was coming back from Krandor. I was passing through the Hallowlight invisible, and heard the sounds of battle. I almost kept walking, but something made me turn and investigate. It was Hardragh, battling those vines. He is so fierce in battle that at first it was almost a joy to watch him. And then, quite abruptly, it all went so wrong. The vines were whipping at his feet, and he suddenly stopped moving. I started to run then, but it all happened so fast, and before I had gone a dozen paces he was dead on the forest floor, broken and bleeding. It was so strange. The world seemed to go still for a moment then, and for an instant I felt as though my heart had ceased to beat with his.

When things began to move again, I thought about going to the body, but I knew there was no way I would be able to carry it. I remembered his body from Vehl then, in sudden and startling detail. Hardragh is so much larger than I am. There was nothing to do but leave him there and keep walking.

Later, feeding chickens in Fort Wayfare, I saw him pass by. He headed out the gates, and I couldn't help but follow. He was fine that time though, and it seemed to ease him to go back to where he fell and slay the accursed vines. I hurried back through the gates when I saw he was in no danger, and was pretending to do business with Sano when he returned. He greeted me in a friendly manner, and I did not let on that I knew of his folly from earlier. I was forced to lie outright when he inquired as to my business there, but thankfully he did not seem to catch the untruth. We parted amiably, and I am sure he will think it nothing more than another chance encounter. And yet, when I close my eyes, I can see him lying there on the ground, the life drained from him, and my heart shudders for a moment once again.

I thought it might divert my attention away from these strange feelings to do some business, so I decided to deliver a package of skullcap leaves to a mage in Hempstead. If only I had known! The mage in question is a dark man, who goes by the name of Magus Del'Mar. Oh, how I wish it had been another who wanted those blasted leaves! When he looked at me, it felt as if his gaze pierced right through me like ice. He saw the scar on my cheek, and must have heard the tale because he knew who had given it to me. He asked my name, and I did not want to tell him. He radiates power as well as malevolence though, and I know that the threats he made if I refused were not empty. And so, weak, I gave my name to him and he took it from me. It is only a name, but I feel as if he has a hold over me now. I fear this will not be the last of our transactions. He gave me the gold and took the leaves, and then suddenly it was dark all around me, and I could see nothing at all, not even my hand in front of me. When the darkness faded, he was gone.

[Carillon]

The scar on my cheek grows fainter each day, but it feels as if the mark is sinking into the skin instead of disappearing. Sometimes at night I find myself jolted from reverie, the skin burning again with phantom pain, as if the mark were the result of a brand instead of a blade.

I have begun to search for the one who gave it to me. I overheard someone in Hempstead say that the goblins between Clover and Vale have been acting strangely, as if under some new direction. I will begin my search there, and if I find him ... woe be to him, and to the man trapped in his true form, for I will show no mercy if I am given the chance to exact my revenge.

[Carillon]

I have found him. He is indeed with the goblins of the Forest of Fog. I discovered this by picking the lock to the gate that surrounds their territory and following one into their stronghold. Despite being concealed by my magic, my heart felt as if it would leap from my chest. Every beat was like a great hammer clanging down on an anvil, sending shivers through my whole body. What is wrong with me? I was never like this before. He will pay for whatever it is he has done to me.

I went through the rooms one by one, pressing myself flat against the walls of the corridors whenever one of the little monsters passed by, but saw no sign of him. Mostly they spoke in their vile tongue, but finally I overheard a pair talking in common. They were discussing their new leader, and it was clear it was Sallaron, or at least the dark soul that wears his body these days. I searched right to the bottom, but there was no sign of him. Before I left, though, I emptied half a dozen vials of the strongest poisons I have ever made into the stewpot in their kitchen. Gods willing, he will die a slow and painful death for what he has done, but if not I hope he at least feels a little of the suffering he has inflicted upon me.

[Carillon]

I saw Hardragh again yesterday, on Dregar. I was on my way to the lookout tower between Prantz and Castle Mask, and met him on the path. He was headed there as well, and we walked together for a while. His heart seemed heavy, and the silence between us weighed us both down. Why is it never easy with my grey eyed stranger? I suppose there is too much between us now.

Nida found me as dusk fell. Hardragh and I were quarreling on the steps of the tower. She picked up on my emotions, as she always does, and I had to send her away. Oh Hardragh, why do you make it so hard?

I remember standing on the cliffs, the wind whipping my hair and cloak and the rain falling on my face, my shoulders. He was staring at the ocean as if it held all the answers to the universe. We stood next to each other, looking out at that restless sea, but our pasts cut a chasm between us I truly thought would be too wide to cross. We are no longer nameless, and the moments of grace have grown few and far between.

And so it was a rare thing and a precious one when he turned to me and took me in his arms. The rain fell all around us as he lay me down on the damp earth. I wish I knew how to make time stop for us, to save these moments for when it feels like I am slipping beneath the surface, but even magic cannot hold back the tide. Time swept by us far too quickly, and soon the sun was rising behind us, chasing the night and what we had shared out into the sea.

Our stolen time ends with the dawn. It always has, from that first night, and these immutable truths of him and I never change. So when he began to stir, I slipped away. I left him a bowl of blackberries and a note, and sat on the very edge of the cliffs, watching the waves under the cover of a spell. He woke a few minutes later. I stayed until he had eaten and left. It didn't take him long, and he never looked back.

I can still see him when I close my eyes, feel his lips on mine ... I feel as if I left a part of myself at the tower. Oh grey eyes, what are you doing to me?

[Carillon]

I have been to the place Hardragh calls home now. What a bitter, frigid land! I have been back in Leringard for a day now, and I cannot seem to warm myself. What happened in that cold place has chilled me to the bone.

I cannot even say what possessed me to come to the Stormcrest Crossroads to hear Fisterion's speaker. I suppose I was curious to hear what the dragon had to say to us. There were so many people there, and many of them that I knew. Even Hardragh was there. It turns out the “king” of dragons wanted us to do his dirty work for him. Another dragon on Bastil was throwing off the balance of power, as a group cultists sought to gain its alliance, and it was put upon us to rectify this potential unbalance before many things were undone.

What place have I meddling in the affairs of dragons? I suffer no illusions as to my place in the world. I knew my life was forfeit from the moment I stepped after him. But, truly, it was never a choice. It is unparalleled foolishness; that I know. But as much as I care for my own skin, it seems there are a few things worth risking it for.

The boat ride from Leringard to Krashin was terrible. The one from Krashin to Bastil was far worse. I have never been at home on the sea, and feeling our boat rocked by the waves, all I could think about was the near-bottomless waters below us. I have never learned how to swim, and I know that should the hull of the boat crack in the strain of a storm or a gust of wind push me overboard, I would sink beneath the waves into those inky depths like a stone. And yet I am dragged in the wake of all of this, following where I should not go.

My magic mattered little in those battles. Even fearsome Hardragh fell to a giant's blow. Oh, to see him lifeless and broken again ... I was glad when he was raised, even if he still did not look his usual self. I did what I could to protect him. The details of those battles blur together, but I remember the green dragon. It flew over us, covering up the sun as it passed. I remember standing on that spotless snow, cold already, when the shadow passed over me. It was like a dagger of ice through the soul, and then there was no time for fear because it was landing, and the snow was churned up and spattered with blood as the air whirred with arrows and the swish of blades. And then that massive shape lay on the ground, the white all around it growing crimson with the spreading stain of its life blood ...

Oh, if only that were all. But it was Snowtooth we were bound to see, and that fleeting moment of  exhilaration at our triumph faded with the light as we entered his lair. I felt like I had stepped into a dark diamond, what light there was reflected a thousand times in those glassy walls of ice. We were just in time, I believe, for the cultists were there before us. And oh, the battle ... how could four stand against so many? But stand they did, more than stand. They sent many to their graves, hurling spells I have never seen, balls of fire that swirl in and blind you with scorching heat and flame and dazzling, searing light. My spells held strong through the first one, though the shadowy man beside me fell, and I thought about running ...

And then he was there again. I had lost sight of him in the battle, and my heart stopped for a moment when I spotted him coming towards me. He stumbled as if blinded, and he was gravely wounded. For an instant all was still. The way behind me was clear. I could have run. I should have run. I was a fool not to run back out into the light, but I ran to him instead. I cast what protection I could upon him, and poured potion after potion on him. I do not even think he felt my hands on him, in all the confusion. And then I heard the next spell screaming towards us, and I began to cast on myself ... and then there was a flash of fire, and then nothing at all for a long while.

He was there beside me, when I opened my eyes, along with the cleric who I am told raised me. To have him see me like that, weak as a kitten, powerless as when Sallaron held his blade to my throat! I would say I burned with shame, but I felt like my blood had been replaced with ice. I shivered through all that long journey back. He spoke to me briefly, on the ship. He asked why I had come. And what could I say? Even I cannot answer that for myself, so I merely told him that some things were so big that you could not stand by and do nothing. We said little else of significance to one another after that. All the talk on the return trip was of the cultists, the green slain, and of Snowtooth, who I never even caught a glimpse of.

My life was forfeit from the moment I went after him, from the moment we stepped into that cold, shadowed icy place.

But he lived.

[Carillon]

I saw Hardragh's priestess today. I was in Hempstead, heading down to the docks to catch a boat to Leringard. I was weaving among the sailors, and then there she was, blonde and fierce and proud. I can see what drew Hardragh to her, I think. She is also cold, though, and took pleasure in trying to make me squirm. I am not angry, though; on the contrary, I am grateful to her, for she told me several important things. I now understand something of the game Hardragh plays with Kali, his redhead, and a little more of the stakes involved. I can understand why he did not tell me. Perhaps it was better to learn of it this way.

[Carillon]

Being invisible should mean one doesn't get caught in places one shouldn't be! And yet it so rarely works out that way. I was just coming into the Arms, and nearly ran headlong into Hardragh as I opened the door. He knew there was someone there, so there was nothing for it but to reveal myself.. He seemed surprised and dismayed to see me there, but at least he didn't learn about the room or the key. He assumed I was there for lunch after a few games of cards, and I let him believe that was the case. He seemed suspicious about how I had gotten in, but I said the door had been ajar. He said he would lock it more securely on his way out. I have to be more careful ... I cannot keep my secret if I bump into Hardragh every time I go to the inn!

I'm still frustrated by my carelessness, and I think it shows. I saw that meddling law official in the square in Hempstead today. Storold. I have him a piece of my mind about those posters. I probably should not have said anything, but I couldn't control myself. He was so smug, defending his actions. He truly did not seem to understand why I was angry! Apparently he is stupid as well as nosy, righteous, opinionated and interfering. He knew I did not wish the matter known, or if he didn't then he should have guessed. And then he posts a description of the event over the better part of two continents! Our little “discussion” drew quite a crowd. He even had the nerve to try to quiet my protests, saying that if I wished to keep the matter from being known I should not be discussing it in a public square at that volume. Ha! As if a few dozen people hearing could make any difference now.

He is stubborn and utterly convinced he can do no wrong, though, and refused to see reason. Eventually I had to walk away, or I might have tried to kill him then and there, in the middle of the square in front of Deliar's Merchant House and the public fountain! I still cannot believe how angry I was. Now I know where the phrase “to have one's blood boil” comes from! Mine felt so hot I thought I burst into flames, as if someone had cast a combust spell on me. If Storold knows what is good for him, next time he'll keep his distance and mind his own affairs!

[Carillon]

My fear came true, and Hardragh spotted me at the Arms again. I was in the main room, playing with that musical contraption, and barely had time to leap away when he came in. I was concealed with magic and tried to slip away, but he must have heard my footsteps for he used some magic book to see through my illusion. Instead of ending in disaster, though, I think this mishap may have been a blessing in disguise. When he saw me there again, he decided we should speak. He seemed to be considering taking me into a room, but eventually he must have concluded keeping me as far away from the redhead's earshot was in his best interests. He took me through the portal to Wayfare, and we sat upon the hill and talked much of the afternoon and into the dusk.

Muireann must have told him she spoke to me on the docks, for he asked about her and what had been said. At first I resisted, and tried to conceal all that had been told, but the secrets started coming out, one by one. He knows now, what happened on Bastil, or at least a little more of it. He knows what I was doing in the moments before I died, and also that I saw him die in the forest. He did not seem pleased about that. I believe he had hoped that no one might learn of the matter. He feels the death shameful, I think.

As the secrets poured out, I could feel things between us changing. We were never meant to learn so much about one another, and the knowledge gets in the way. He cautioned me, telling me I would be better off to stay away from him, and that eventually I would understand why. And so I let one last secret go, and asked if it was because of the boy. Because of Hardragh and Kali's son. From the look on his face, I knew immediately that Muireann had not told him she had warned me of the boy. He looked almost vulnerable for a moment, trying to read me. I think he was trying to figure out how it changed things.

The truth is, I do not think it does. What does it matter that the redhead has a son by him? I do not seek to possess him, or to take from him or the redhead what it is they share. Hardragh is like lightning striking: you cannot plan it, or know when or where it will happen, and I could never make it happen simply by wishing. I ask for very little from him, and he gives me little in return. I suspect that I could ask for much more, and still receive but little, so perhaps it is best this way. We try so hard to preserve our illusions. I do not know how things will be like between Hardragh and I now that so many have been stripped away.

He says time will tell, and we will have to wait and see. I can still feel his lips on mine, the warmth of his body, the roughness of his cheek on my skin ... Yes, we will have to wait and see.

[Carillon]

I have always been good at putting my talents to use in obtaining coin, but up until recently it had not occurred to me that this might include my ability to speak with my hands. However, today I spent the better part of the couple of hours before lunch sitting in the Arms, teaching one of the employees how to spell with his fingers. It was a curious sensation to be within those walls for legitimate reasons for once, but as luck would have it, it was one of the few times Hardragh was nowhere to be seen. At least the redhead and the boy were also notably absent today. In fact, before the lunch crowd it was just Steel and I and a few regular patrons. He's an odd fellow. Even with the mask, you can tell he isn't ... human. That blue skin, his strange ways – but coin is coin. He's a quick enough pupil, if a silent one, and we shall see how he does. I shall be patient and encouraging. It's the best way to get as much coin as I can from this arrangement.

After the lesson, Steel had to go out on some Arms business. I decided to use a little of my coin and stay for lunch at the inn. The food there is good, but it was listening to the conversations that was most amusing. Abigail, Brian's flame, was there speaking dwarven of all languages. She didn't acknowledge me. Perhaps Marcus has poisoned her against me. Actually, almost every cliché possible was there that day, from stout dwarves to an ancient mage, to a red haired man and his wife who gossiped about their disobedient daughter in the Elven tongue. Shortly after my meal arrived, a man even stranger than the others came in. He must have been important, because the others all perked up when he entered, and wanted to speak with him. Apparently he had given out some kind of work regarding werewolves, or “prophets” as they called them. I understood little of the discussion, except that several of those present for lunch had come to pick up their coin for some deed done. And then a chill passed over me, for across the room I spotted an elven woman with flaxen hair whose face I had last seen in a cold cave of ice on Bastil: the cleric who raised me from that place.

I ate slowly, hoping she might break away from the others and give me the chance to speak with her at least, but she did not. Eventually my meal was finished and I had to brave the crowd. I offered a few words of thanks. Sworn to heal or not, a life is no mean gift to give a person, but she seemed to want no boon from me. She told me that I am still very young, and have much of life yet to experience. I find it amusing that I am so often taken for young. I know not my age in seasons, but I am no spring fledgling.

While speaking with her, I learned that these rumors of werewolves are indeed true, and that the cleric –Alleina was her name—actually had two of the beasts cooped up in a rented house down by the docks. That peaked my curiosity, and somehow I managed to insinuate myself into the group. Ironically enough, it was after we left the tavern that Hardragh caught up with the group. I did not learn precisely how he was entangled in the whole affair, except that he had been looking for his share of the payment. He came with us to see the werewolves, who actually did not look anything like wolves at all. Apparently Alleina had managed to cure them of the lycanthropy, much to the chagrin of the woman. She was little more than a girl, and she railed against my companions for keeping her locked up as they did. She was also angry that they had cured her, as it meant losing the strength and vitality associated with the disease.

How strange, to wish to be sick like that! And yet, if I am honest, part of me sympathizes with her. With the werewolf's bite, she was probably strong, cunning, quick, powerful ... lethal. And now she is nothing but another weak young girl, not even Weave-gifted, helpless before those who would try to master her. There was much discussion as to what was to be done with her. Many were in favor of keeping her locked up, but though I had had no part in her capture, I argued passionately for her release. Perhaps she will go back to this “prophet” and perhaps she won't, but either way, living free is better than living a caged-bird life.

[Carillon]

*written in a shaky hand*

He told her. I cannot believe he told her.

I was coming back to the Arms to my room, and stumbled onto Hardragh and his redheaded wench, cuddled on a sofa just by the door. What they were doing holding a private conversation in such a place, I know not. Surely they could have had the decency to have their lovers' talk in their own quarters!

It matters not. It is all over, I think. Hardragh cast a spell on her and she spotted me pressed against the wall in the hallway, trying to slip by. He cast on himself as well, then, and his face changed when he saw me there. We came so close, he and I ...

He said my name, and recognition flickered in her eyes. I did not expect that. I did not expect her to know about me. I do not understand the rules to this game they play. My skin felt like it burned, but with a cold heat, an icy chill that seared right through me. She looked at me and it seemed to me as if she saw an insect to be squashed underfoot. I slunk away then, like a cur with its tail between its legs, but when I went to my room I could not slow the pounding of my heart.

I stayed until I was sure they must have left, and then slipped down again unseen, but they were standing in the doorway still. They were talking about me, I am sure of it. And I was a trivial thing to them.

They spoke of commitment, and of a trip somewhere together, just the two of them, in honor of this growth in their relationship. If I did not know Hardragh, I would assume they had just become betrothed, but I don't think Hardragh will ever take those vows.

I stood frozen in the doorway until I could stand it no longer and fled from that place. I had no destination in mind, and was surprised when I found myself half way to Mist's temple, clutching at the oars of the little dinghy the clergy and faithful use to ferry themselves across the small stretch of sea to the isle.

I stayed there amidst a great storm for hours, as if the rain could wash away the shame and the shock of my discoveries, but it did not. My skin grew numb, but the sting of the looks from their eyes remained: Kali's sharp gaze of understanding, and that nameless flicker deep in Hardragh's grey gaze.

When the storm died down, I went back to the inn and packed everything dear to me. If they will travel, so will I. I will not sit in this place, waiting for them to return. If they go north, I will go east and seek my revenge on the goblin man at last. I do not know how long I will be gone. I left Ellis some coin, just in case.

[Carillon]

So Sallaron shall live. So be it.

The details are inconsequential. The wicked soul who dwelt inside his body and cut me is dead, at least. It couldn't take the transfer back, couldn't take so much magic funneled through its mortal flesh.

Does a seed of that evil remain lodged somewhere in Sallaron's body? I look into his face now, and I don't know what I see. That is the face of my nightmares, and it was more comfortable when the man behind it matched. He seems sorry for my suffering. It is not enough.

The goblin is dead, in body at least. I made sure of that. If he marked me, at least I had the pleasure of looking into his eyes as his life was snuffed out and he crumpled under the force of the magic. After he was dead I scored his cheek with my blade. We are linked, he and I, by what he did to me. My scar will fade. His will endure in death.

It is still not enough.

[Carillon]

Fate weaves a twisting pattern through the loom sometimes, I think. When I ran from Marcus and his redheaded Xeenite, it was into Hardragh's arms. Now I run from Hardragh and his redheaded gypsy and find myself in Brian's.

It was at Corax Lake. I came for the cranberries, picking invisible. He shouldn't have seen me. Hardragh and Kali shouldn't have seen me. So many things shouldn't happen, but they do.

I tried to flee, but he heard me and caught me. He hit me, and pushed me to the ground, demanding I identify myself. We only bend so far before we break, though, and I would not yield to him, not after everything else. He tried to pin my hands, but I cast again. He covered my mouth then, driving the heel of his hand against my lips. I bit him hard, and tasted the copper tang of blood.

First blood to me, perhaps, but he was stronger than me, so much stronger! It was such a little matter for him to hold me to the ground, to hold me powerless, and though he did not hit me again, the sinking fear that brought Sallaron and the Crossroads before my eyes again was like a punch to the gut. I struck out blindly, panicked, and felt something connect. He cursed at me then, but did not yield, not until the spell faded and he saw who I was. Then his eyes snapped open with surprise, and he let me go with alacrity.

I was angry, I admit. Seething, even, and also so afraid still. He wanted to talk, but I walked away. He pursued, and I cast a fireball at him. He was unscathed, though. I cast again and again, but it was as if they didn't touch him. I tasted fear again, the dust of the Crossroads, remembering the dead static in the air that cuts me off from the Weave. And yet the grass around him was black with my magic ...

He says that it is no magic or lack thereof that allows him to remain untouched, but merely an uncanny ability to avoid things aimed at him. He saw fear in my eyes, though, and offered himself up to me like a blood sacrifice to earn my trust. He let me bind his hands while I reveried. I do not know whether he could have slipped out of the bonds, but he never even tried.

I still reverie poorly. The nightmare visions are always just behind my closed eyes, lurking in the red mist of the blood that pulses there. I do not know what he saw on my face as I walked through my memories. I do not want to know. When I came up through the layers of awareness to consciousness again, he was still there.

This time he burned, and I took no joy in the smell of his seared flesh. He bore it well. I think it is true what he says—he has borne a lot of pain already. I do not understand why he willingly chooses to bear more. It confuses and frightens me to think on it too much.

I will not say much on what passed between us, after I rubbed an aloe ointment into his burned flesh. He talked, and I listened. Sometimes I spoke as well. He begged me not to hide from him, and took me to a place that he said might be our private place. It was a lake on the island of Corsain, a lake surrounded by mists below a monastery of some sort.

I do not know why I did it. Why do we run to one thing, or from another? I let him take me across the lake to a small island, though I cannot swim. Like Hardragh, it was easy. Not even a challenge. Whatever they see in my eyes, it is not enough to warn them, not enough to overcome desire. But I was not so cunning this time; Hardragh has really and truly shaken me. I left myself no avenue of escape, and in the morning I was trapped on the island, unable to swim back across the lake without him.

If he takes this mistake for affection, let him. I lead him on, and he follows. I am in control again.

[Carillon]

I see Brian from time to time. I have asked him not to say anything about what passes between us, and thus far he has complied, proof again that men will do nearly anything for you if they desire you enough.

His friend Randi is more perceptive than I gave her credit for, though. I am not sure whether she knows what to make of us. I am almost certain if she knew the whole truth she would disapprove.

We travel together through the desert. I find it a strange place, rich in certain minerals but poor in life, especially plant life. Audira is the brightest jewel in this barren land. The pounding surf is like a heartbeat. It might kill me if I tried myself against it, but it is reassuring nonetheless. Dangerous or not, it is solid, constant. So much else has proved all too mutable.

[Carillon]

I feel like I walk in a dream, and there is no warmth that can remove the chill of solitude from my breast. Solace ... that is all there is. All there has ever been.

There is solace with Brian, who is also so touched by solitude and bears his suffering quietly for the most part. We have spent time together, and if it does not light me up, at least it pushes me no further into the darkness.

But ah! Marcus ... why did you have to come to the fire like that? Why then, with him so close to me, and with Silver following behind? Marcus, who said he would not love either of us. Marcus, who claimed to be too damaged by his grief. And smug Silver, with her satisfied smile, claiming that it looked as if I had found a measure of comfort quickly enough.

She may claim to know my heart, but that does not make it so. Brian took me away then, to Alindor. He saw how shaken I was, and was sorry for it. There is a secluded garden in a forest there which I hear is favored by many musicians and artists. He took me there, and had far too many secrets from my lips for the cost of a bottle of wine. I wish to the heavens I knew all that I had said.

While we dozed among the flowers, a priestess came to us. I marked her for an Aeridinite, though I think Brian took her for an Ilsaran. She spoke to him, and then to us. He still does not speak our tongue well enough to understand all that she said to me, and all that I said in reply.

I suppose I cannot entirely blame her, for there is truth at the heart of her sentiments. Elves and men are ill-suited for love, or at least the love of romances and ballads that so many imagine. We dance to such different tunes that we must always be out of step with one another. My life's blood flows slowly, while his rages like a river run over with melted winter snows--rages with life but flows so quickly to its inevitable conclusion.

I could tell the priestess's words needled Brian, when she condemned our tryst. To me she said merely that I was foolish, and that when he died a part of me would die with him, like a flower cut from the earth. It is she who is foolish. Why should I wither on the vine for him, and mourn the passing of his death at the cost of my own life? We have at least a little time together, if I will it. It is not much, no, but it is safer, knowing I will outlive him, knowing his life will be but a short chapter in my own.

As I told the priestess, I will use these men and their loves. I will use them as stepping stones, crossing from one to the next across the vast expanse of my existence. She understood, then. I think she was surprised to find her quick appraisal of us so amiss.

To Brian I said the same thing, though couched in more eloquent words. To him I said I would rather live a dozen springtimes than an eternal winter.

Unsurprisingly, he did not grasp my meaning.

[Carillon]

Have I erred with Brian? I fear it is so. My grief rendered my blind, and I let too much of myself slip. I found myself falling for him, and that cannot, cannot be. I have done what needs be done.

Ah, Brian ... perhaps I should not have toyed with you in Audira, with Berak. Why do we play these games? It was so easy to do it, so easy to make you snap. A comforting word to Berak, a hand on his knee, all the while playing the angel to him and the devil to you. I knew what it would look like from a distance. I knew what you would do. And yet I did it nonetheless. For a lark, perhaps? A toss of the coin, for the simple pleasure of seeing how it falls?

Brian, you are too easy. Your friend Randi is far more astute, and would be dangerous were her heart not so full of good intent. I think she had more of me in our talk at Corax Lake than you have had in as long as you've known me. I find myself liking her, this redhaired woman. (Why is my life full of redhaired women?) And yet I find myself drawn to this one, and daring to hope we might some day become friends.

Of Brian, my hopes became too dangerous. He feels too strongly for me, and once again I cannot keep my heart from beginning to swell to him in response if I do not go. I cannot believe how he punched Berak in the face, just for that one innocent touch. I scorched him then, and no one thought it unjust.

Why did my heart stop as I saw him fall in the cave? It is too much again. Something calls, but I will not answer. I know I am running away, but I cannot help it. The cost of solace here is too high.

I will go to the Watchtower, and think by the sea.