The Journal of Jaelle Thornwood (Part II)

[Carillon]

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.

[Carillon]

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?

[Carillon]

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.

[Carillon]

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.

[Carillon]

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.

[Carillon]

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.

[Carillon]

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!

[Carillon]

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.

[Carillon]

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.

[Carillon]

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.

[Carillon]

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.

[Carillon]

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.

[Carillon]

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.

[Carillon]

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.

[Carillon]

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.

[Carillon]

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 ...

[Carillon]

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.

[Carillon]

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.

[Carillon]

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.

[Carillon]

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.