In a matter of days, the kingdom of Galeyn, formerly jubilant and hopeful in response to the birth of Galeyn’s first two babies in a century, had promptly extinguished that inviting flame of joy in favour of a fog that mirrored deep-seated sadness and fear. Since the day the four victims had been found, the majority of the kingdom had taken to heart Queen Lilica’s advice to keep to their homes as much as possible, and to only venture out should protection--be in the Dawn Guard, the Forbanne, or the now-scattered palace guards--be present. The only exceptions to that rule were the guards and sentries themselves, the Gardeners and healers who could not for any reason step away from their charges, and Queen Lilica herself. While the Galeynian monarch knew better than to abandon her palace for any extended amount of time in search of Rowen Kavanagh or the person presumed to be behind this grotesquely unfolding master plan, Locque, she had of her own volition made sure her presence in the kingdom was known. In a sense, the dark mage had assumed a similar position to that of what Haraldur had recommended for Sigrid: bait. Not untended, and in no way putting herself at direct risk, but she made sure to keep her own guard well hidden so as to provide a false sense of opportunity to Locque or Rowen, should either of them show their faces.
Of course, the Queen of Galeyn also went so far as to ensure that Chara was not left alone, either, especially considering the pattern that appeared to have emerged with these killings--which she refused to believe were at all random, since Haraldur had been attacked. For whatever reason, it did not appear that Rowen or Locque wanted everyone dead, but rather, enough had to die to shake and weaken the resolve of those who remained living. Rowen and Locque, she had surmised in the privacy of the palace council chamber with Chara and her guards present, were specifically targeting the hearts of those who appeared to pose a threat to them. They had learned that cutting off the head of the enemy, so to speak, was not a reliable tactic, since their plan to kill Haraldur had failed. There was far too much support for life, between the healers, the Night Garden, and--much though she was loathe to admit it--the necromancer, who should be returning with Alster any day, now. No, they were doing damage from the inside out, in killing those closest to the hearts of their targets. Cwenha, she had theorized, had not been an attempt on Biery or the Missing Links’ wellbeing; that had been for Rowen’s own brother. To break him, because he obviously knew to much, and to break him was to break the people looking out for him: namely, Briery Frealy. And the only way to break the golden ringleader was to deprive her of the lives she cherished the most… and the one life she had wanted so badly, again and again, to save. It had worked, too; for no one had seen heard from the faoladh since that day. He was gone. And as for the remaining victims…
She could draw no correlation to the carriage driver or the young whore who had only really been known among the Forbanne that she ‘serviced’. Those two had likely been in the wrong place at the wrong time; it was Naimah who had been the next consecutive target. Or, rather… Sigrid. It was no secret as to who wielded the legendary blade Gaolithe, rumoured to have won countless wars in the past and with the promise to wipe out danger in the future. Lilica could not guess what it must take to end a sorceress who had endured for hundreds of years, stewing on revenge, but if any weapon could cut her down, she assumed it must be Gaolithe. So what better way to neutralize that threat than to break the only person able to wield the weapon?
And, as for herself, it was anyone’s guess as to when the sorceress and her young killer protege would attempt to strike the most obvious target--herself. She suspected that it struck the perpetrators that she might be too obvious a target to pursue directly, considering how she remained personally unaffected by this series of attacks, but that did not stop her from insisting that Chara never be alone, in case the sorceress did decide to strike. After all, if she did choose to hone in on Galeyn’s monarch, it would not be her blood that she would seek to spill; it would be her cherished advisor’s.
Lilica was so wrapped up in her hypervigilance that she wasn’t even aware of the moment Alster Rigas and Vitali had safely returned with the caravan that would not be returned anytime soon to its rightful owners. At the time of their arrival, she was wrapped up in a private discussion with Chara, who believed she might be taking precautions too far, perhaps to the point that led her to play right into Locque’s hands. “I know she wants me paranoid. But Chara, too many people have died, and I have reason to believe that if she wants to take me down… she knows exactly how to do it.” Her dark eyes, blazing with determination to protect what--or whom--was most precious to her met Chara’s own intelligent, blue irises. “By targeting me, she will target you. We can try to lure her own, but we cannot let our guard down. I cannot let my guard down…”
“Your Majesty. Lady Chara.” A Galeynian guard knocked on the door, and entered the room once permitted. “Please forgive my disturbance, but Alster Rigas and Vitali Kristeva have returned. They are awaiting your audience at the palace gates.”
“Alster is back?” Lilica exchanged a wide-eyed look with Chara, and neither woman responded with so much as a ‘thank you’ before hurrying from the council chamber and out into the morning sunlight. Sure enough, the familiar caravan was parked nearby, and in the presence of a familiar face. “Alster.” The Queen greeted him with a smile that could only convey relief. After everything that had transpired in the past week, she honestly wondered if he would return alive, at all. Evidently, the Rigas Lord was not interested in formal or trite greetings, however. News of the tragedy would have reached him before finding his way back into the kingdom.
“Yes. Four deaths. As Chara mentioned, we do not believe that the two unfamiliar victims were particularly targeted,” Lilica ventured to clarify, with no vigor in her eyes or voice. “But the others, Cwenha and Naimah… we have reason to believe they were. Especially considering what resulted from their deaths…” She looked past Alster, toward the Night Garden where the dead’s ashes had been spread. “Hadwin, as far as we know, is gone. And Sigrid…” She trailed off. There was no point in explaining what was probably already obvious to the Rigas mage. Anyone who knew Sigrid Sorenson would know how fiercely she had loved Naimah… and how it would affect her to lose her.
However, dwelling on what had come to pass did not move them forward. There were other matters that also happened to require attention; such being the success of Alster’s mission. No sooner had Chara asked after whether Alster had managed to track down and bring back the Alchemist he’d sought that the very person in question emerged from the caravan. This man--Isidor Kristeva--immediately struck Lilica with an eerie sense of both familiarity and strangeness. There was no question that he was, in fact, Vitali’s brother; the same slope to his eyes, the same widow’s peak hairline, the same angular face. Just… taller, longer. Lankier, and with far less muscle mass. He squinted and cringed against the sunlight like a bat out in the day. Seemed as though aversion to the sun was yet another trait that he shared with his necromancer brother. It only made her wonder what other traits the two of them shared…
“Ah… it is a pleasure to meet you both.” Isidor forced a smile, but it came across as painfully obvious that he had rehearsed those very words in his head, over and over. And it didn’t make using them any easier. “Thank you kindly for having me, here, in your home--your kingdom. Especially, well… in light of what is happening.” His dark eyes darted to the right and left, as if on the lookout for danger, and her nervously adjusting the spectacles on the bridge of his nose.
“Alster is a friend. Anyone here to help a friend is welcome,” was all Lilica said, in an impassive tone that neither suggested hostility nor friendliness. While this man appeared markedly different from his brother, she knew the blood that ran in his veins, and until he became less of an enigma, he would remain a stranger.
When the woman named Lady Chara--to his great relief--offered to show him to his room, he did not protest, and quietly bid Alster and Lilica farewell while he rested. While the Master Alchemist’s tower was tall and expansive compared to other single-dwelling abodes, it was nothing compared to the cream and ivory palace with its expansive hallways and rooms upon rooms, all which flooded with light. For someone so used to dwelling in the darkness of a tower, it was enough to give him a headache.
“I… ah, I feel I should say, I am sorry for whatever it was that occurred, here. The deaths that have prompted you and Her Majesty, Queen Lilica to don black…” Silence had never bothered Isidor before, but that was because he’d seldom to never shared a space with anyone else. And walking down the corridor, with only the sound of their footfalls as he trailed closely behind Lady Chara, he felt impelled to speak. To say something out of politesse. “I am sure you have probably heard this already, time and again from more capable people, but if there is anything I can do…” And that was where he stopped; Lady Chara was not responding, in any case. Who did he think he was, offering help when he was quite possibly the least qualified to do anything?
With the departure of the Missing Links, more space had opened up within the palace proper, and they’d had their pick of rooms in which to place Isidor Kristeva. After consulting with the few Galeynian alchemists who inhabited the village proper (and who were very vocal in their dissent with regard to a Master Alchemist setting foot in their already threatened kingdom at all, clearly knowing what it entailed), Lilica and Chara had opted to provide their pending guest with the biggest guest suite available. It contained its own private tub for bathing, along with a space dedicated to work and study, with not one but two large desks carved of oak. They had emptied the numerous bookshelves to ensure Isidor would have enough room for whatever materials he intended to bring.
Everything was necessary--and at the same time, everything was too much. While some suffered claustrophobia, Isidor took issue with wide, open spaces, as was the case with this room when he arrived. Of course, he should be thankful; any other normal mortal on this plane would have been ecstatic to be given such a vast chamber, so he knew well enough to swallow his discomfort and find relief in the fact that his belongings and materials would eventually fill this empty space…
“It is… lovely. More than adequate, of course, and I thank you for this hospitality…” He said, after clearing his throat, and pasting on a nervous smile. No need to mention that there was too much light; that some tasks and transmutation required near complete darkness, and that it might ultimately be necessary to set up an additional workshop somewhere with far fewer windows… He did not want to come across as ungrateful. That was just a bridge he’d have to cross when he came to it. “Well, I suppose it only makes sense to…”
Isidor turned around to find that Lady Chara had already gone. Now that he knew where to find his room, she evidently had more important matters to attend to. Fortunately for him, he had his own task in unloading everything from the caravan to keep him busy; a good excuse as any to otherwise avoid speaking with anyone else who clearly did not want to speak with him.
Taking one last look at the too-big room, the Master Alchemist backed up toward the doorway and turned at the last moment as he stepped out--resulting in a collision with another person. Because of course his luck would have it that that would happen!
“I am… so terribly sorry!” He stammered, realizing he had knocked the poor stranger off their feet. “Are you alright? I should have taken more heed to look where I was going…”
He offered his hand to the girl with a shock of blonde hair, colour tinting his cheeks from embarrassment. Judging by the pointed tips of her ears, this young woman must also be a Rigas. Part of her face appeared to have been badly burned; but that was not what kept him staring. “I… again, I apologize, ah… you are a Rigas, yes? I’ve recently become acquainted with Alster, though I confess I’ve seen more Rigases here than Galeynians since I arrived… just a half hour ago.” Stop. Stop before you make a complete fool of yourself! That voice at the back of his mind cautioned. He had just stumbled into this beautiful young woman; why would she want to stay and listen to his yammering? “...my name is Isidor.” Again, he offered his hand, completely disregarding that voice, only for the fact that he wanted to know her name, as well.
While Isidor was getting settled (or failing horribly; both were entirely plausible outcomes), Lilica obliged Alster’s request to take him to see Elespeth. It was almost better that he’d found out about the murders before she had to sit down and explain it to him; it saved her the heartache. Although, it did not lessen the blow for him, any less… “It was all very unexpected. It is hard to say if Rowen Kavanagh premeditated this down to the day, or if she seized the opportunity, but if Locque is also behind it… she had made our point. And so have we. The Dawn Guard, Forbanne, and Galeynian guard have been scouring this kingdom for days. Anyone out and about is not without eyes on them. Rest assured, Elespeth is safe, and has remained undisturbed. Although… the sanctuary has become a little bit crowded, of late.”
The ghost of a smile crept across the Galeynian Queen’s face. “Vega Sorde’s children were born, recently…a boy and a girl; Kynnet and Klara Sorde, both healthy and developing well. However, according to Elias...” The edges of that smile dimmed. “It was a complicated delivery, to say the least, and the Eyraillian Princess is in the last stages of recovery. She is alive and well, but it has been necessary that the new family seek refuge in the sanctuary for now, until Elias and Daphni have decided that Vega is able to safely get around on her own. Elespeth has not been without company, to say the least.”
When they approached the sanctuary, Lilica rapped lightly on the door, only entering when Haraldur’s voice gave her the go-ahead. “I am sorry to disturb the both of you. But you--and Elespeth--have a visitor…”
“Alster…?” Vega, who was occupied discreetly nursing Klara beneath the blanket of her cot, smiled beatifically to see the face of an old friend. “You’ve been missed. And you missed a lot, in your absence… We are happy to have you back.”
While Chara could justify Lilica’s apprehensive nature, she did not refrain from vocally opposing some of the safety measures that in particular pertained to her. It was not because she thought herself untouchable, immune to the influences of Locque or her loyal, throat-tearing dog. As both an advisor and a leader bereft of any reliable defensive or offensive power of her own, she had no choice but to rely on guards and soldiers to protect her every step. But for Lilica to pile on a small army’s worth of protection, a veritable moving wall of shields and weapons, annoyed her enough to oppose her paranoid lover’s directive.
“My personal guard is more than adequate, Lilica,” she informed her, in protest. It was early in the morning as the two prepared for another day of fortressing the palace and securing the roads coming in and out of the heart of Galeyn. “Please remove your guards and allocate them to a better position. I am unable to move freely when I have a heavily muscled entourage boxing me in on all four corners. It is not a practical solution. I, too, have a job to do, which I cannot perform in these restraining conditions. I am your advisor, true, but I am also acting Rigas Head, and my position demands that I travel to and from the D’Marian village to oversee the welfare of my people. Do I need to take an army with me every time I venture outside, and in doing so, leaving you vulnerable to an attack?”
She ran her fingers through her limp blonde hair, its sorry, stringy state impossible to work with amid the tireless shuffle of organizing experienced soldiers and volunteers into the appropriate roles for their skill levels. She hadn’t any spare time to groom, let alone bathe, aside from minute-quick sponge baths and a hasty splashing of water against her face. “Lilica,” she quit trying to detangle her hair and turned to her counterpart, her mouth parting into a frown. “You fear I am in danger, and that fear is not unfounded. But if we were to look at the killing trend of our wolfish murderer, it is only twice she targeted high-profile people; Councilman Thamon in Braighdath, and Prince Sorde. The majority of her victims were common-folk. This is not to say that their direction will not shift now that they’ve created an opening; Haraldur seems to believe Sigrid is their next target, and I’ve no doubt you’re in the same situation. Be that as it may, I am certainly a somebody, and there will be repercussions for the sorceress and her pet should I become their next victim. I may not have raw power, but I have influence. Besides,” a self-satisfied pull of her lips reversed her frown, “that sorceress cannot break me; I’ve already been broken.”
Their conversation fell into a standstill when a guard knocked on the door of their shared chambers and announced the arrival of Alster and his company. “It took him long enough!” Palatable relief streaked across her face like shooting stars. “As usual, he has the most horrid timing.”
Pulling a black gown over her head and stepping into a coordinating pair of slippers, she and Lilica followed the guard down the hallway and out to the palace’s front gates. Alster stood before the garish caravan, his plainclothes a jarring contrast to the chipped, painted facade of The Missing Links’ abandoned home...a home that, not too long ago, housed her wretched soul for a while. Alster, at least, had the sense not to belabor Chara’s finite patience; he dispensed of proper greetings and revealed what a Galeynian guard told him about the murders, saving her the trouble of recounting it and having to account for his devastated reaction. He was still devastated; while he wore it around his pinched, red eyes and in the cradled position of his overburdened steel prosthesis, he had all last evening to reconcile the truth and scrounge together enough pieces of himself to act coherently. Alster, friend to everyone, was fond of both Cwenha and Naimah, and he considered Sigrid one of his closest companions. He had too great a personal investment not to care so deeply as to throw himself headlong into the throes of depression and guilt, but to his credit, he remained upright, and did not crumble--even as she and Lilica filled him in on the details of the ‘incident,’ and its aftermath.
“I see,” Alster said. “So Hadwin is gone, but he didn’t go with The Missing Links. That man’s not skittish at all, but it sounds like he ran. It would be too much to ask, to enlist him to go against his own sister. He’s too biased; I suppose that’s why he removed himself from the situation. And Sigrid…” Like Lilica, he also struggled to find the words to voice his concerns over her mental state. Luckily, he did not need to finish the thought. Isidor, emerging from the caravan, made a valiant effort to introduce himself. In a bid to appeal to the two leaders, Alster supplemented the alchemist’s introduction with statements of approval.
“Isidor is here of his own volition. He’s answered my earnest request and has promised to contribute his specialized knowledge and skillset to Elespeth’s case. In spite of the distance from his home, he’s traveled all this way to be of assistance. Please show him the best our hospitality has to offer.” His blue eyes sought Chara’s, and the unspoken message rang clear. Don’t hassle him. Or else.
Chara rolled her eyes at Alster’s covert threat. Nonetheless, she plastered on a smile for their ‘honored guest.’ “Very well. Follow me, Isidor. I shall show you to your chambers. You needn’t fret about unloading your contents from the caravan, either. Our assistants will deliver you your personal effects and alchemical materials, momentarily.”
She was going to leave their conversation at that, preferring the methodical click-clacking of her heels against the marble tiles over trite small-talk from a man who looked ready to melt into his own shadow, but for Alster’s sake, she elected to try her best at hospitality. “Yes, thank you. Galeynians do not believe in the concept of mourning, but I am not Galeynian, and Lilica is still learning of her peoples’ customs; she has not fully adopted them for herself. We wear black for solidarity. The deceased deserve our remembrance, even though I did not know them well. Two of them were Alster’s friends--but I am sure he will spare you his grief. He must hold you in high regard, for him to trust you so implicitly with his wife’s care. I do hope you are successful, Isidor. And yes, that is what you can do for me. Succeed. Leave the politics of this kingdom to me and Queen Lilica, while you do what you came here to do.”
As she opened the doors of the spacious guest suite, she felt a stab of deja vu prickle up and down her spine. Isidor, apologetic, polite, seemingly open and willing to help…
Oh dear. I hope you are not as profoundly annoying as Teselin. Please let my first impression be wrong…
Spooked by the thought, (and clearly having better things to do than to supervise a man who made awkwardness into an art form), she handed Isidor the key and spoke a hurried farewell...which he didn’t seem to hear. She didn’t bother to snap for his attention. With an unruffled shrug, she pivoted on her heels and disappeared down the hallway whence she came.
But someone else lingered nearby. Someone who was also rushing forward at Chara’s strident pace. Too preoccupied with reaching her destination, she did not account for the massive blindspot on her left side as she made a straight-on collision with the hidden obstacle. Knocked off her feet, she gave a surprised yelp and landed, with a hard thud, on the floor.
When she looked up at the hand offered to her, the voice associated with it gave off a familiar ring. Tracing her one good eye further upward, she met a bespectacled face, achingly alike to Vitali. His dark, inquisitive eyes, silken strands of inky black hair framing his white, angular face...A reflexive blush colored her cheeks, but it faded when she realized he was staring at her. At...
Mortified, her hand grasped the burned half of her face, which had been exposed in full by her graceless fall. Self-consciously, she smoothed her long fringe of blonde hair over her melted eye, pink, bubbled skin, and the razed patch of scalp that reduced her left side to one large bald spot. She did not take the hand, and climbed to her feet on her own. It was embarrassing enough to collide straight into the man who she was curious to see (hence her running towards the parked caravan for a glimpse), but now, the same man was gawking at her burns like she was some maimed animal caught in a trap.
“Yes. Isidor Kristeva. I know who you are. You are the Master Alchemist who Alster fetched for his wife.” Her tone was sharp, a dismissal. And she would have left it like that, skittering off before the embarrassment threatened to turn her entire face pink and ugly and puffy, but she managed another response. The tatters of her dignity relied on her to make a social recovery. “I’m Tivia Rigas. Do you know if Vitali returned to the farmhouse? No...nevermind. I should already be aware of his location. Well, then,” she fanned out the wrinkles from her gown, “I must get going.” With a parting bob of her head, tilted so that only her good side was exposed, she ambled off in a way that she dearly hoped resembled just an iota of Chara’s distinguished sashay.
As Alster accompanied Lilica to the Night Garden, he felt a little apprehensive about allowing Chara to escort Isidor unaccompanied, considering her tendency to...come off a little strong. However, his worry over the Master Alchemist quickly abated, in favor of more pressing worries, which the Galeynian Queen elucidated.
“I have to agree with you. Locque must be behind this--or they’re working in league with each other. The main trend that I see with these murders is that none of the victims have been Galeynian. I wonder if this is a purposeful tactic on Locque’s part. She or Rowen could have easily killed a Galeynian and it would have sent a more powerful message. Perhaps her goal is not only to resume control of the Night Garden, but to rule over Galeyn and its citizens. It can’t be done if those citizens are dead. But outsiders...they’re fair game. She may want to flush us out entirely. Until a Galeynian dies from either her hand or Rowen’s, we can assume that she won’t harm them--though,” his sorrowed eyes rested on Lilica as he fell in step beside her, “I can’t say the same for you, Lilica. As the queen of this kingdom, you naturally stand in opposition to her. So,” he slowed his pace when they approached the little sanctuary nestled beneath the roots of the giant sentinel tree, “be careful. It’s enough that we’ve lost...” he choked on the names; they refused to land on his tongue, “who we’ve lost. Please know I’ll do everything in my power to protect you, Chara, and everyone who’s here. I’ve been gone too long. I’ll resume my Rigas Head responsibilities as soon as possible. That much, at least, will liberate Chara from juggling her dual roles.”
The somber cloud that rested between them lifted, somewhat, at Lilica’s mention of ‘children’ in the sanctuary. “That’s right. When I left, Vega was almost due. How could I have forgotten?” He laid a palm across his forehead in a playful, physical admonition to himself. “So there is some happy news, after all. And for Elespeth to be surrounded by this new life…” a quirk of a mischievous smile hooked around his lips, “she must be getting no sleep.”
When Lilica knocked at the door and received a verbal go-ahead to enter, she and Alster stepped through the threshold. Immediately, he was greeted by the gurgle of a squirming baby in Haraldur’s arms. A second baby, though not visible, was heard sucking on their mother’s teat. Unsure of where to position his eyes when Vega welcomed him, he stared at the ceiling...in the direction of Elespeth’s bed.
“Vega.” He returned the smile, aiming to smudge away any hint of world-weariness in his expression, “and Haraldur. A belated congratulations on the birth of your children. And I’m happy to see you’re making a quick recovery, Vega. It seems I have missed a lot, both the bad...and the good. When were they born?”
“Eleven days ago,” Haraldur stated proudly, wrestling with the squirming Kynnet as he whined for his turn to feed. “Eleven days and they’ve already drained us. We’ll never see sleep again.”
“You’re in no deficit of people who are willing to ease your burdens, I’m sure. Not that I’m calling your children burdens,” he hurried, “but--”
“--They’re definitely burdens,” Haraldur interjected, with a grin. “Good thing they’re so cute, though. I’ll put them to work once they’re old enough to swing a hammer, so they’ll make up for keeping their parents awake all the time.”
“That’s a good attitude to have,” he scratched the side of his head, “I think. I’ll be honest; I know nothing about children. Rigases don’t exactly have a surplus of them running around.”
“Do you want to start learning?” He lifted the pouting baby, whose swaddles reminded Alster of a seal pup clambering on the shoreline, too encased in blubber to interact with dry land effectively. “Kynnet makes a fuss in the beginning but he calms down more easily than his sister. I’m sure he’d like to meet his guardian.”
“Hm. Guardian,” he nodded, too dazed to comprehend the meaning of the word right away. He blinked, and the implications finally connected. His eyes widened. “...Excuse me. What?”
“We want you and Elespeth to be Kynnet’s guardian. And,” he glanced over his shoulder, at his half-concealed daughter, green eyes wistful, “to be a temporary guardian to Klara. We’ve asked Sigrid and Naimah and they agreed, but that was before...well,” he sighed, “you know what happened, I’m sure.”
“Yes,” he said, echoing Haraldur’s sentiments, but not elaborating on them. Now was not the time. “In that case...I can’t say no. The first babies born in Galeyn in over one hundred years,” he tentatively touched the infant on one of his outstretched fists, “it would be an honor. But...why me? Elespeth, I can understand. She helped to raise her siblings. I, on the other hand,” he croaked out a self-deprecating laugh, “not the most ideal candidate.”
“What are you talking about?” Haraldur raised a skeptical eyebrow. “You saved their lives before they were properly born. Not to mention, you detected magic in their blood. What better guardian for them to learn from than an accomplished caster?”
“If this isn’t a rhetorical question, I can list a few other people--”
“--It’s rhetorical. We won’t have it any other way, Alster. Now...would you like to hold him?”
The Rigas Lord’s smile turned nervous. He raised his prosthetic hand in objection. “This is not baby friendly. I’m effectively one-armed, remember?”
With a hard, deadpan stare, Haraldur effortlessly transferred Kynnet into the crook of one arm.
“...You’re a warrior. Feats of dexterity and strength mean nothing to you.”
“Kynnet weighs half a stone, Alster.”
“You know,” he deflected, “I haven’t even consulted Elespeth, yet. I should probably do that first, before I fully commit.”
Schooling his face to prevent any lines of amusement from showing, Haraldur stepped aside to allow Alster access to the back corner of the sanctuary, where Elespeth slumbered, her relaxed face a rictus of peace. Though pale and a little thin, she did not exhibit any signs of discomfort or distress. The sanctuary kept her aloft in a cozy stasis. As he sat at her bedside, he curled the fingers of his flesh and blood hand into her own. Warm. She was so warm. How he’d been yearning to touch her, again.
“El,” he whispered, kissing her on the forehead. “I’m back, El. I’m back, and I brought help. The alchemist, he’s with me. His name is Isidor. We’re going to heal your heart, ok?” Tears pricked the corners of his eyes. “So much has happened. So much continues to happen. I need you here. I need you awake, and with me. ...They’ve made us guardians. Haraldur and Vega. For their children. Can you imagine me as a guardian?” He snorted, despite his tears. “What do you think, El? Do you want to be a guardian? ...Haraldur’s eyes are boring into my back right now. I can feel it. He wants me to hold his son and the onus is on me if I drop him, or end up slapping him with my metal arm.” He directed his last two words to Haraldur, in case he or anyone in the room was listening in on his not-so-private one-sided conversation.
Tivia. This was her--the Tivia Rigas who had, according to Alser, doted so fondly on his brother? She knew him--she knew him! Well, at the very least, she knew of him.
There was no real reason for him to be so surprised by the news. Galeyn was a small kingdom, as he’d been told, and if it was Vitali who had passed his name on to Alster, so it only stood to reason that she would have been expecting him. Furthermore, it wasn’t as though he and his brother looked dissimilar, and if she had spent so much time in Vitali’s company, of course she could pick out his brother in a crowd. So why, then, was the Master Alchemist so terribly taken off guard, aside from running headlong into the poor girl?
The realization that his staring could be taken the wrong way, of course, registered far too late. Tivia Rigas was disfigured; and although the burned half of her face did not register even the slightest form of pity or disgust, he could only imagine that it was a point of self-consciousness for a proud Rigas. Respectfully, he averted his eyes in an effort to curb her self-consciousness. “I have been told what you did for my brother--saving his life, and all, however much he might or might not have deserved it… but, well, he is still my brother. So you have my thanks, for your kindness toward him…”
Much like Chara Rigas, Tivia did not feel particularly inclined to engage in conversation--which, at any other point in time, would have sat just fine with the introverted alchemist. Why he desired this exchange of words from a stranger, or to learn more about her, was a mystery even to him. And why he suddenly felt disappointed that she only saw fit to ask after his brother. And why wouldn’t she? After all, she was currently the reason for his well-being. “Last evening, before we made it into Galeyn, Vitali took advantage of nightfall and returned to the farmlands on a Night steed,” he explained, after what felt like an awkward pause. “So I imagine he is there, now…”
But Tivia had already made up her mind to be on her way, and dismissed herself without another word to the stranger who had so clumsily run straight into her. It wasn’t until a good, long moment after the fact that he took notice of a swatch of fabric lying on the ground where the Rigas woman had fallen. Bending down to pick it up, he took notice of the initials T.R. beautifully embroidered in gold thread at the corner. About to call out to Tivia that she had left something behind, Isidor noticed all too late that she had already disappeared… which, oddly enough, left him with a strange feeling of satisfaction. It meant he would have to return the item to her, at some point.
It meant that he might see her, again. And the Master Alchemist, in all of his solitary life, had never looked forward to seeing anyone.
Alster spoke reason, and his concern certainly was not unfounded. But the Queen of Galeyn had little to no concern for herself, because as Chara had noted, Rowen Kavanagh had only targeted high-profile people twice. Discerning a pattern or mens rea behind her tendency to kill commoners or people in power was, at best, a shot in the dark strung together only by feasible correlations, but the more she had thought about it, the more it had begun to make sense. Haraldur led the Forbanne, an army of highly skilled and magic-resistant warriors; a perfect barricade to stand in the way of a sorceress like Locque. Likewise, the Dawn Guard--or more specifically, Sigrid Sorenson, who alone wielded the legendary blade Gaolithe, a weapon that was rumoured to have single-handedly ended wars, was just as great a threat. And on top of that, Hadwin, who had his nose in everyone’s business, was too perceptive and knew too much--and if anyone could stop Rowen, it was him. Thamon, of the council of Braighdath, was perhaps the weakest link in that theory, except that his untimely and violent death had plunged Braighdath--the sister city that was Galeyn’s primary defense--into chaos.
None of this was due to the random acts of cruelty of some bloodthirsty murderer. Just because Rowen appeared to kill indiscriminately did not mean it was as it seemed. There were careful tactics in this pattern, and it was one that had forced nations and their leaders to fall in the past. Namely, it appeared that Locque sought to weaken Lilica by gradually cutting down her lines of offense and defense, like severing the arteries that fueled an organ. For all the Galeynian Queen knew, Locque might even be aware that the offensive edge of her magic--the part that had poisoned her for decades--was gone; and without people to fight for her, she was, ultimately, not a threat at all.
“I would sooner have it that you look out for yourself, Alster. Locque herself appears to already have targeted Elespeth; if she has the chance, she will seek to break you, the same way she has broken the Dawn Warrior.” Lilica replied in kind to his concern, dark eyes never veering from the path ahead. “I, on the other hand… she will not target me, because she knows I am not a threat. My strength is in those who surround me; my friends, and my allies. I will be the last to go, because she is inherently more powerful than I am, and knows Galeyn better than I do. So no, I am not fearing for my well-being. I am fearing for you, and… for Chara. Because when the sorceress does decide she wants to take me down, be it through Rowen or some other means… Chara will be first. She will target Chara. Selfish as it is, this is why I have not spoken up to Sigrid’s heavy involvement in finding the culprits; or at least finding Rowen.” Her head dipped a little bit, connoting the shame warring in her body. “Not that anyone could stop her, even if I wanted to, but we have already lost too many people. Especially considering she may well target Haraldur again, and maybe even Vega, at that. They’ve just had their children… I can’t let that happen. One way or another,” conviction shone in her dark eyes, and her hands curled into fists at her sides. “I will put an end to the bloodshed.”
The Galeynian Queen forced herself to let go of her current anxieties the moment she set foot in the sanctuary, however. Haraldur had made it clear that when he was with his family, none of the chaos or stress beyond the sanctuary walls would reach his children. Lilica, of course, respected that, and greeted them with a demure smile--although the new parents were both so pleasantly surprised to see Alster that she wasn’t sure they noticed or cared that she was there at all.
“You were right, too; a boy and a girl. Exactly what we wanted.” Vega commented to the Rigas mage, who appeared noticeably nervous around the two brand new children. “As for their magic… I expect we won’t know how it will manifest until they are older. But… neither myself nor their father is particularly well-versed in magic, so… I hope you will give the offer some thought? To be Kynnet’s guardian?”
“Tell me, Alster… what would your wife say, if she were awake right now? Would she agree to guardianship? And if she did, would you really oppose her desire?” Lilica chimed in with a sly smile on her face, one that both Haraldur and Vega soon mirrored. They knew well enough that he would begrudge his wife nothing; and they all knew Elespeth well enough to know the woman had a maternal streak that was begging to have some limelight. Of course, Alster said nothing, but coloured in his cheeks.
“Really… I had no idea that holding a baby was such an aversive thing, until just the other week.” The Skyknight princess went on, capable cradling Klara in one arm, herself, as the infant contentedly nursed. “Apparently in comprises an entire phobia, and a good lot of you are afflicted.”
“Some of us overcame our… ‘fear’,” Lilica chimed in with an ill-concealed pout. “Hold the baby, Alster. If I didn’t break him, then neither will you. Here.” Moving toward Haraldur, the Galeynian Queen gently lifted the fussy little boy in his swaddling blanket, and helped to position him in the crook of Alster’s organic arm. Kynnet squirmed and fussed at first, but quickly settled when he was positioned just right. “There; see? Just like a loaf of bread. Nothing to it. Elespeth will be proud to hear you held him, when she awakens.”
Vega smiled triumphantly and readjusted little Klara, who had decided she’d had enough, and was deciding to fuss over something else entirely. Oh, the woes of an infant were many… “Be thankful you got the easy one, Alster,” she commented, and adjusted the neckline of her gown for modesty. “Although, according to Chara, you, too, were a hellian as a baby, while she was relatively calm. So perhaps there is a chance the fussy little princess will grow out of it, yet. That said…” Her smile broadened. “Take advantage of getting to know Kynnet while he is still ‘the easy one’. With any luck, your calm demeanor will be a good influence on him.”
After spending a sufficient amount of time holding the child to whom he would be a guardian, young Kynnet’s patience to be fed was quickly beginning to wane, and ultimately the Rigas mage was let off the hook when the baby boy began to wail. Haraldur then relieved Alster of his new ‘burden’ at that point, and he and Vega exchanged fussy babies with a sigh. “I imagine you’ll want a moment alone, with Elespeth, sooner than later,” the Eyraillian princess mentioned, as she held Kynnet against her chest. “We’re just waiting for Elias to decide I am in the clear, and that it is safe for me to return to the palace. It really shouldn’t be more than two days; I’ve been able to move around independently for almost a week, at this point.”
“And however you and the alchemist see fit to fashion this sanctuary to treat Elespeth, you have my full permission to do what is necessary.” Lilica added, glancing at the comatose warrior at the other side of the small room. “I’ve already spoken with the Gardeners; you will have their full cooperation.”
After bidding the new family, as well as Elespeth, goodbye, Alster and Lilica departed the sanctuary, effectively returning to the somewhat somber atmosphere that they had left at the door. It all came back when he mentioned wanting to see Sigrid.
“I’m afraid you will be lucky to find her, at all,” the dark mage sighed with a shake of her head, inky tresses of hair falling over her shoulders. “She has taken to the hunt for Locque and Rowen with the Forbanne soldier helming the operation. Dawn to dusk, no one sees her. Although some of the Gardeners have mentioned that at some point during the night, she can be found… well, let me show you.”
Lilica led Alster to the dedicated area where the ashes of the dead had been scattered to nourish new life. Four separate saplings were already sprouting, measured distances away. “This was planet for Naimah. It will be a tree, someday. The one to the far left… that is for Cwenha. A rose bush; sharp, but beautiful. If you are determined to have any words with Sigrid Sorenson at all, be prepared for it to be one-sided; however, if you are insistent… you may find her here, after dusk. It goes without saying, she has far to go in her grieving…”
The Galeynian Queen was right. While the Dawn Warrior in question could not be found throughout the day, on the move with Kadri and some of the other Forbanne in search of Rowen, she took to the garden much later that evening, after the majority of the kingdom had retired for the night. Sleepless circles stood out like bruises beneath her eyes, insomnia being only one of the many consequences following Naimah’s death. Frankly, it suited her just fine; nightfall provided her the opportunity to sit with what remained of the woman she loved, undisturbed. And the inanimate sapling was about the only thing for which she could find words, these days. “Nothing yet. We’ve been searching long and hard, Naimah… we just haven’t been lucky. But that doesn’t mean we are going to stop.”
Kneeling next to the soil, Sigrid reached out as if to touch the tiny sprout of green that had already risen from Naimah’s ashes, but ultimately didn’t make contact, fearing it was too fragile at this early stage. “We’re going to find your killer. I… I really wasn’t enough, in the end, was I? Not enough to keep you safe…” She exhaled in a shudder. “I can’t undo what has happened. I can’t bring you back. But I will be enough to bring Rowen Kavanagh to justice. You have my word; I owe you that much…”
The Dawn Warrior looked up, then, only to realize she wasn’t alone. “Alster.” Sigrid shot to her feet and brushed off her knees, in an attempt to compose a better presentation of herself, even if only marginally. “I didn’t hear you… how long have you been here? Back in Galeyn, that is? You’ll have to forgive me if I’ve completely overlooked your return… I’ve been preoccupied with other matters.”
Though it was entirely possible he imagined it, in his grasp, Elespeth’s hand twitched, as if responding to his question on Kynnet’s (and Klara’s) guardianship. “Of course you would agree.” While he aimed the good-natured scoff at her, he did not conceal his comment-turned-monologue from the ears of the others. “You’ve had enough practice in the past, not to mention, recently--constantly changing your husband’s diapers every time he soiled himself, and all. That was back when he had two fully functioning arms. But he still let you do it, because he had no trust in his strength. He didn’t even try to hold himself upright. And while you did it, he cried. He always cried. He still does.” He released Elespeth’s hand to wipe away the residue gathering in his eyes. “Case in point,” the weepiness seeped into his throat, causing a tremulous vibrato whenever he spoke. “Your maternal nature is best suited to babies, not grown men. At least...I hope I’ve grown enough. I certainly don’t feel like I have...but you alone would know better than anyone else.”
After a few more moments with his slumbering wife, he pressed a parting kiss on her hand and stood, as straight-backed and determined at his prosthesis-induced stoop would allow. “I’ve consulted Elespeth on the matter. She agrees. Rather...yes; I know she would agree. Before I change my mind,” he beckoned his flesh and bone arm towards the baby, who had changed hands from Haraldur to Lilica, “I’ll hold him. If I’m to be a guardian, then I can’t undermine the importance of physical contact to establish a bond and a relationship.”
As Lilica approached with the wriggling babe, Alster adopted the stance of a statue, save for his proffered arm, which he left to Lilica to pose for him. Once he accepted the warm bundle, he tucked the tiny thing close, securing him against his body, as he’d seen Haraldur do earlier. “I wouldn’t exactly say he’s a loaf of bread. Bread doesn’t...move around.” As Kynnet adjusted to the foreign visitor, Alster held his breath, afraid to sigh and stir the fine hairs on the infant’s head out of place. “Is this a bad time to mention I dropped a puppy, once?” He spoke out of the side of his mouth, aiming his hot air away from Kynnet. “It was a noblewoman’s puppy, and she was so proud to show off its pedigree to her guests. I suppose she thought the touch of a Rigas would transfer blessings unto her prized dog...and I dropped it. And it landed on its head. ...and she’s since blamed its stammering cognitive functions on me. That was thirty years ago, so...the dog is dead, now. But the noblewoman’s been very vocal about her distaste for the Rigas family, lambasting us for decades. She even supported Andalari during our civil war and I feel her ire could have been prevented if I just knew how to…”
“--Shut up, Alster. And sit.” Haraldur took the yammering Rigas Lord by the shoulders and led him to a bed. “You can’t drop a baby when you’re sitting.”
“Yes, yes. You’re right. Lower my center of gravity. If he rolls out of my arms he won’t have far to fall.” With the utmost care, Alster lowered himself on the edge of the cot, minding his skewed sense of balance from the leaden weight of his steel arm. “Is that better?”
Haraldur nodded. “Yes. But do me a favor, and don’t compare my son to a dog.”
“Ah, right. My apologies.” His cheeks flushed a bright red. “I am merely venting my thoughts aloud. I may be an accomplished caster, but my ignorance on all things child-care makes itself abundantly apparent. But it does seem as though little Kynnet has settled.” Daring to make eye contact with his tiny charge, Alster spread his lips into a nervous smile when the bundle settled an inquisitive stare at him. A judgmental stare. “Hello, Kynnet. I’m Alster Rigas. Not that my gibberish matters to you, but your parents seem to think because I had a hand in your survival, that I’m an ideal role model for you.” The baby made a face, and Alster mimicked it. “Yes, I know. Ludicrous, isn’t it? But you’ll love my wife. ...Just don’t get too attached to her. With that look, you’re sure to steal her away from me.”
“I see I’m not the only one who talks to the kids like they understand a word I’m saying,” Haraldur, musing aloud his approval, crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m not decrying your methods. It’s a good fit. You already speak like a father.”
Alster’s titter of a laugh spiked into a wheezy guffaw when Vega offhandedly mentioned something Chara revealed about his disposition, as a baby. “She’s right. I was a bonafide trouble-maker...and nothing satisfied me. I was the pickiest eater. I used to throw my food--in my mother’s face. And I was always bored and running off to figure out the mysteries of life by overturning everything I could find. Again, I reiterate; am I an ideal role model, here?”
“None of us are ideal. I’m the furthest from it, Alster. But these babies have a solid foundation, and I know they’ll be better than I ever was...because their circumstances are better. If I have to,” a flash of the seasoned warrior-turned-commander appeared in Haraldur’s green eyes, “I’ll fight to make sure their favorable circumstances never change.”
Before Alster could reply in the affirmative, the ‘loaf of bread’ in his arm kicked at his swaddles and erupted into impassioned cries. “Ah, my bad influence is already rubbing off on him.”
“You call it ‘bad influence.’ I call it a baby thing.” Haraldur uncrossed his arms. “He’s hungry. You’re hereby free of your responsibility.” Plucking Kynnet out of the Rigas Lord’s arm-cradle, Haraldur traded babies with Vega. The sated and satiated Klara leaned against her father’s broad shoulder, positioned so in case she needed burping.
“Ah, well, there’s no rush,” Alster said in response to Vega’s offer to vacate the sanctuary in haste. “We’ve arrived not even an hour ago. Isidor has barely settled into his new quarters. On top of accounting for his adjustment period, he still needs to determine Elespeth’s condition before making any sort of calculated plan for her operation. Preparations could take days, or weeks. I can’t anticipate the nuances of a Master Alchemist at work. So please, you do not need to rush out of here.”
“Vega’s more than ready to leave.” Haraldur smiled at his wife knowingly. “A day longer and she’ll go stir crazy. You’re doing her a favor; giving her a plentiful excuse for an early release. Don’t dash her hopes.”
“Oh. If that’s so, then...do not hesitate to cite me as a cogent reason for your swift evacuation. Elias likes to overestimate convalescence times, so you were likely deemed stable days ago. Alas, I’m not the one to make that call, in the end. But best of luck to you! Getting out early, that is. Elias is a tough nut to crack.”
With cheerful farewells and promises to return for more baby-holding practice, Alster departed the sanctuary, his spirits high. But as they traversed the garden path, his bolstered mood dampened at the same rate as Lilica. Whether the sanctuary simply did not allow strife to propagate, or whether Haraldur was that determined to allow no stressful news to circulate in his childrens’ vicinity, the more distance Alster bridged between himself and the healing hut, the more reality constricted around his neck with a vising, suffocating pressure. And it was not likely to lessen until he attempted to address some of the hardest-hitting truths that he’d learned since arriving back in Galeyn.
So he asked after Sigrid. Not that he needed to inquire about her wellness; he knew her condition was grave, and omitted questions pertaining to it, expressing interest only in her physical location. It came as no surprise when Lilica’s answer led them to a cemetery--or close to its function, anyhow. Four plots of soil, spaced at equidistant intervals from each other, greeted him--headstones, in the form of tiny saplings. Trees and bushes and plants to be, given time in the nourishing, hallowed earth of the Night Garden.
“So this is where they’ve been laid to rest.” Alster took a sonorous sweep of the memorial garden, walking the length between Naimah’s tree and Cwenha’s rose-bush. Bookends. A morbid part of him wondered if the left-to-right arrangement was sequenced by their deaths. Were that the case...Cwenha had been the first to die, and Naimah, the last. Bookends, indeed. “Yes. The rosebush sounds like an appropriate choice for...for Cwenha. And the tree, for Naimah...she’ll provide ample shade for those who want to sit beneath her boughs, and read, or relax, or…”
Unable to finish his statement, he closed his eyes, and his measured pacing ceased. “...If you don’t mind, I’d like to be alone for a while. I should pay my respects properly. But before you go,” he opened his moistening eyes, and something hard, a stone, lodged itself between the layers of its soft blue ripples, “a reminder, that to look after myself is to look after other people. You have my word, Lilica; once I settle matters with Elespeth’s heart...I’m joining this fight in earnest. I would be a horrible role model for Kynnet, if I did not contribute my influence and power to help the people who helped my people. To help those who’ve helped me. To help you, and Chara, Sigrid...everyone. Besides,” the hard stone glimmered with flecks of petrified fire, “I’ve an invested interest in securing Locque’s downfall. Don’t forget--she attacked Elespeth, first. And for the deaths of Cwenha, and Naimah...I’m ending this. I’m ending this before she and Rowen end more lives. I’ll lend you my power. All of it. So don’t deny me my contribution, Lilica. We need full cooperation for this takedown, and I intend to deliver...because,” and with a snap of confidence that would make Chara herself proud, he proclaimed, “I’m a fucking Rigas with the power of an unkillable foreign entity fueling my magic.”
Unfortunately, his sudden brazenness was as fleeting as a flume of flame sent skyward by the erratic shifting of firewood and an advantageous breeze. A pop, a shower of sparks, and it was gone. After Lilica’s self-dismissal, Alster sabotaged his own fire, dousing it with water, saturating the wood, and reducing the entire site to smoke and ash. “You don’t deserve this. None of you deserved this,” he whispered to the memorial plots, all four of them. “I hear you died in the vicinity of the D’Marian village. A village erected to give my people hope...and all it’s done is attract death like some beacon to a vengeful god. To stomp us down, like the ants we are. But what could’ve been done? How can I save you...when you’re already gone?”
Too distraught to linger, he excused himself from the ‘graves’ and resolved to make himself useful, to someone...anyone. But no one needed help. Chara’s assistants had already unloaded all of Isidor’s wares from the caravan, Isidor had locked the door to his chambers and did not respond to his summons, and the Rigas council was spending the day overseeing progress at the D’Marian village. Not for the first time since embarking on his quest to Nairit--nay, since his forced flight from Braighdath--he felt entirely useless. The power of an unkillable foreign entity? Pah! He was lucky not to become Serpent fodder in the next twenty years. I have nothing but pacifism, healing, and intermittent false bravado...and what has any of it achieved? People are still dying. If the Night Garden can’t help these people...what can I do?
In part because of his adopted nocturnal schedule, in part to stage an encounter with Sigrid, Alster emerged from his chambers late that evening and returned to the four plots of soil. The Dawn Warrior was not present, not yet, so he bowed his head, closed his eyes, and meditated--but it did not persist for long. His ears caught a familiar voice over to his right, towards Naimah’s tree sapling. Veering his head towards the source, he opened his eyes to find his quarry, on her knees, in the middle of a hushed conversation with her late lover’s ashes.
“Sigrid.” He closed the gap between them, approaching with all the conscientiousness reserved for a fearful animal. “You haven’t overlooked much. I returned this morning, and with favorable news. We found the alchemist, and he’s agreed to help restore Elespeth’s heart. But I’m, well, disheartened to hear about what’s happened while I’ve been gone.” He nodded to the monuments. “I’ve thought about laying down some flowers but...that would be redundant, considering their graves are flowers.” A halfhearted attempt at a smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. “I’ve also thought about singing a song for the dead. It’s a custom of Stella D’Mare to throw a celebration. Nothing gauche, mind. A modest affair; feasts, gifts, remembrance, and on occasion, song. So I also thought about composing something for them. But the last time I sang a song for Cwenha, she fled into the woods. And the woods is where she ultimately met her end so...I thought it in bad taste. I’ve concluded that there’s nothing I can do. Funerals are for the living; to help them cope. And all the resulting rituals, flowers, song, visitation, an extension for coping. All I’m doing here is trying to cope. Trying to make sense of the senseless. No ritual at this stage can bring them back to life, and I don’t like it. I don’t like that my magic is so...utterly pointless, here.”
He affixed his tired eyes to Sigrid, “I’ve sworn to bring the killer to justice, too, Sigrid. I don’t want this tragedy to befall anyone else. But since I can’t do anything for those who’ve already passed...my revenge has to be for the living, not for the dead. Because if I dedicate myself to the deceased...then where does that fire and fury go, after I’ve accomplished the deed? Back to the grave, where I borrowed it from? I can’t bury myself. I won’t bury myself. Not prematurely. We need to keep fighting, and we can’t forget the reason why we fight. This,” the tip of his boot nestled a loose clod of dirt back into place, “is a coping strategy, not a reason. But if it’s what you need, presently...then let me help you fight.”
“But first,” he flinched, pulling back the sleeve of his right arm to expose angry, inflamed flesh in the bioluminescent light of the Garden’s pathway, “I’m in a lot of pain. Well...physical pain. Months of hard travel with little reprieve does no favors for an infected arm. Would it be too much to ask for your assistance? I know I’m among a healing Garden and there is an abundance of options for pain relief, but I’ve grown accustomed to your analgesic needle treatment. I daresay my arm is spoiled by your specialized touch.”
It was rather unfortunate that she had to run into Alster, now--or anyone, for that matter. The already introverted Dawn Warrior had transitioned from choosing to engage in social contact periodically to not at all, within the span of just a few days. During daylight, when she accompanied Kadri and the other soldiers in her search for Locque, the words exchanged were few and far-between. Had it been up to her, she’d have continued to hunt completely alone, but Haraldur’s advice, however unsolicited it had been. With a rampant killer on the loose, it was too dangerous to venture off alone, especially when that Killer could take the form of a wolf. Not that Sigrid was incapable of fending off anything aside from humans, but when one was not sure whether they would encounter a human or an animal, it put them at a tactical disadvantage, since you could not fight them in the same manner. As a result, she chose the company of Kadri, who, since Cwenha’s death, appeared to favour conversation less and less. Furthermore, they had something in common; the both of them had been directly affected by the recent tragedy, having lost someone they cared about. He did not judge her sleepless persistence, as others did.
But despite her reluctance for conversation of any sort, she could not help but feel the slightest bit moved by Alster’s sentiments towards the dead, before them. From Alster, she knew all sentiments were genuine, and she didn’t quite have the heart to dismiss him. “Haraldur says there is nothing anyone could have done,” she remarked, in response to the Rigas mage’s helplessness. “Cwenha was in Kadri’s company when she was killed. Just a few moments away from him was all it took, and Naimah…” Her throat tightened, cutting off her voice. The Dawn Warrior cleared her throat to loosen the tension. “I swore to protect her. I told her I wouldn’t let anyone or anything hurt her, ever again. That was my promise to her… and I failed. I failed her because I was not there when she needed me. I wasn’t… I wasn’t enough.” One of her hands curled into a white-knuckled fist. “So you needn’t talk to me about being useless, Alster. You were gone; the oness isn’t on you. I was here… and I was with her, for almost every moment. Except for the moment that mattered the most.”
Sigrid turned her attention to the other floral memorials planted in reverence to the lives lost. She had been spending a lot of time among them, lately; among the dead, instead of among the living. There might have been--no, there was logic to Alster’s decree to fight for the living and not the dead, but that did not change the way the stricken blonde warrior felt. It didn’t change the fact that she couldn’t let go of the woman she loved… or the future she had hoped for. “...when I discovered what Gaolithe had in store for me, I wanted to spend every waking minute with Naimah, to the point where I was certain it drove her crazy. I didn’t want to let her out of my sight, because I never knew when it might be the last time I ever see her. Because I was counting on my life coming to an end… my end. Not hers. I never considered that I would lose her… I wasn’t prepared for that.” She brushed an errant tress of blonde hair from her eyes. Not that she had seen clearly through her tears in days, anyway. “Gaolithe is no longer a problem, by the way. Vega, Haraldur and Naimah managed to confiscate it and remove it from my possession completely. Naimah assured me that in the research you two were doing on my behalf, you concluded that it cannot be a sentient weapon. That it cannot retaliate if I don’t heed its call… and I believed it. Enough that I stopped believing that my life would soon be over. Enough that I started to actually think about my future, and what I wanted it to look like…”
A shuddering sigh escaped her chest. With misty eyes, she turned her attention on the small mound of soil. Somewhere within the earth, what remained of Naimah still lingered. It didn’t feel ridiculous to sit there and talk to her when, in some form, she was there… “Naimah was supposed to be my future, Alster. I was going to ask her to be my wife. I was going to ask her, the day that she…” There was no need to continue that train of thought; they both knew how it ended. That Sigrid would never really know what her answer would have been. That ring had still looked so perfect on her hand…
“So you’ll have to forgive me if I appear to be stuck in a ‘coping strategy’, Alster, but divine providence apparently doesn’t find its way to commoners like Naimah and myself, or Cwenha, or the other whore and the carriage driver. There was no necromancer to tether her soul from her body, or bring her back from the dead. Not like Haraldur and Vega. There was no alchemist to heal her, as there is for Elespeth, and nothing alchemy in itself can do to reverse death. I pledged my loyalty to this Garde and this kingdom, to protect it and revere it… and nothing. It means nothing, because I, we--the dead included… are not of the lucky sort, it seems.” A bite had found its way into her voice, but not one that connoted anger toward any of the aforementioned allies for their favourable fortune. Instead, it connoted just how hurt she was, and how far from healing she stood. “I value the living, and I will fight for the living… as soon as I have my revenge for the dead. For their memory, their legacy… for Naimah. I could not do her life justice when she was alive. I’ll be damned if I cannot do justice to her demise.”
When too many tears clouded her vision and threatened to spill, the Dawn Warrior--if she even belonged to them, anymore--wiped them away with a swipe of her sleeve. It was anyone’s guess as to whether those striking blue eyes were bloodshot from tears, or lack of sleep. “Your fight and my fight aren’t the same, Alster. I beseech you do what you can to help Queen Lilica and Galeyn as a whole… but just because we are fighting for the same thing does not make our fights the same. I cannot… I won’t let Naimah go. Not until I have seen Rowen Kavanagh and the sorceress backing her brought to justice.”
On any other occasion, and under any other circumstances, Sigrid would have been more than happy and quick to be of assistance to her afflicted comrade. The angry red flesh lining the prosthetic arm screamed in need of treatment… but the fact remained that the blonde warrior could not even help herself, let alone anyone else, at this point. “I’m not an expert on that technique, Alster. I did not study to heal among the Dawn Guard. Though some within the encampment on Galeynian soil might be able to be of assistance to you; better than I would be, anyway. I’m not well-rested, I don’t have the mental acuity or dexterity to be dealing with needles, right now… I’d only aggravate your pain further. Please forgive me.”
With limbs heavy from fatigue, and a heart heavy with the bruises Naimah’s passing had left behind, Sigrid Sorenson shook her head slowly and departed the Night Garden, leaving her friend to find another way to treat his pain. It was impossible to address the pain in others when you were already too overwhelmed with your own anguish… and the Dawn Warrior could no longer see through her anger and her tears. Even if she’d felt more inclined to help, she wouldn’t have trusted herself to be enough for Alster, either.
It took a couple of days for Isidor’s belongings to settle in their new, temporary home; as for the alchemist himself, becoming ‘settled’ would be a perpetual work in progress. With the help of some palace attendants, it took relatively little time to transform his chamber into a fully functional workshop, with all of his books organized and put away, and his materials all safe from the elements and contamination. When he rather nervously advised Queen Lilica that another workshop free of sunlight would be necessary, however, that took a bit more time and effort; enough that it was difficult not to see the annoyance written on the dark mage’s features.
“Your accommodations are not to your liking, Isidor?” She asked, upon agreeing to meet with him in the council chambers, Chara ever present at her side. ‘What is it you lack?”
“No--no, that is not the case, your Majesty! It isn’t a matter of ‘liking’, just that… well, depending on what needs to be done for Alster Rigas’s wife, it may be necessary to deal with certain elements in a space completely devoid of light.” Isidor wrung his hands, his heart racing to make this necessary plea. It was a wonder his knees did not give out beneath him. “So I wondered… if there might be unused subterranean space within your palace that you might allow me to make use of, as an alternate workshop.”
Lilica had pressed her lips together and furrowed her brow thoughtfully, before responding. “Only a dungeon that has gone unused for quite some time. I am not sure that it will meet the standards you seek in terms of cleanliness…”
“I am happy to clean it myself, it you will allow it, your Majesty! I wouldn’t dream of being any more of a burden on your helpful staff.”
So it was settled, and the Master Alchemist spent the next handful of days setting up a secondary workshop in an unused cell, several floors below ground level. Oddly enough, those days were the most relaxed he’d found himself; after all, it was the first time since leaving his safe tower that he hadn’t encountered anyone in a number a days, leaving the intensely introverted man to recover from each and every stressful situation that he’d encountered since arriving in this strange kingdom. He hadn’t seen Vitali since his arrival, and though Alster frequently asked after him, he had yet to grant the Rigas Head yet another audience, knowing the weight of the task that was expected of him.
But for all Isidor was a nervous wreck around people, he was not dishonest, and he had come here for a reason. So several days after his arrival, with both workshops set up and no more excuses to avoid anyone and everyone, the Master Alchemist finally obliged the Rigas Head with the request he’d been waiting to hear: that Isidor might finally venture beyond the palace to assess the condition of Lady Elespeth Rigas.
It was a bright and sunny fall morning, when he and the Rigas head left the palace together and headed for the Night Garden. Elias had deemed Vega fit to leave the sanctuary and take the children with her days ago, he’d told the Master Alchemist, likely as a means to have him draw comfort from the fact that there wouldn’t be any need for interactions beyond that of the sleeping Elespeth. And Isidor did take comfort in that small fact. Alster was tolerable and easy on the head; he treated him with kindness, and it even appeared that they had some things in common…
But that was where the kindness began and ended, for Isidor Kristeva in Galeyn; and it almost entirely had to do with his relation to Vitali. If people were not wary of him for his kinship with the notorious necromancer, word of a Master Alchemist in the vicinity had spread to the small, close-knit community of alchemists within the tiny kingdom… and anyone familiar with what it entailed to become a Master Alchemist was fully entitled to their opinion. Frankly, Isidor couldn’t--and didn’t--blame them. So, as was his tactic in dealing with any and all discomforts and fears… he avoided them. He avoided everyone, if he could help it, which was entirely the reason why he’d had yet to meet his own sister.
“So, this garden, it and of itself… heals?” Isidor had been struggling to comprehend the concept of Galeyn’s Night Garden of miracles, it seemed, so suffice it to say he took interest in bearing witness to the place first hand. To touch the leaves of the mystical flora and understand how they differed from anything else he’d known… “It strikes me as odd, then, that it has not been the solution your wife needs… or that it could do nothing for the dead. I do wonder if there might be way to understand its limitations…”
Just as luck would have it, however, the sanctuary was not entirely empty. As Alster led him inside the tiny hut at the heart of the Garden, a small form sat next to Elespeth’s bed, holding the comatose woman’s hand. Tresses of inky, dark hair fell before equally dark eyes as she looked up, startled at arrival of others in a sanctuary that had grown placid once again, since the Eyraillian royalty had returned to the palace. “Alster. I just thought… I’d sit with her. So that she wouldn’t be lonely without Haraldur and Vega to keep her company…”
Teselin Kristeva’s dark eyes drifted to the tall form that accompanied the Rigas Head. Eyes and hair and a face that looked so achingly familiar… “...Isidor. You’re… you’re Isidor.”
The Master Alchemist, taken aback by the waking presence in the room he hadn’t been expecting, looked on, wide-eyed. “Yes, I am Isidor Kristeva…”
“Of course. Of course you are; you look just like Vitali. Well, not exactly, but… it’s there. Of course you’re Isidor. I’m…” Teselin paused, glancing over her shoulder at Elespeth, and sobered, her face losing that temporary spark. She knew him, but Vitali had been right: Isidor didn’t know her, at all. “It doesn’t matter. We can talk later. Please… do what you can to help Elespeth.”
With a quiet nod to Alster, the young summoner slipped past the two, leaving them to the privacy of the quiet sanctuary. Needless to say, it left the Master Alchemist feeling confused and rattled… but he still had a task at hand. And it helped his anxieties to have something to focus on. “So, this… I take it this is your wife?” He indicated the only other occupant of a sanctuary: the sleeping woman in the bed to the far left, who looked as though she hadn’t opened her eyes in quite some time. “May I… take a closer look?”
Based on what he predicted of Sigrid’s patterns of behavior, he didn’t anticipate her to respond so readily to him, in floods of raw, stinging emotion. And since he’d already established that he had no means to help, all he could do was listen, and commiserate in her misery. “It’s easy to believe that we’re never enough for the people we love, Sigrid. To this day, I still believe it.” He raised his flesh and blood hand, at the diamond-studded wedding band fashioned upon his finger. “That I alone can’t heal my wife. That I can’t be present. I can’t provide for her. I can’t be my best self for her. I’m constantly analyzing and reanalyzing how I could have done things differently, as if doing so will give me enough data to plot a fool-proof trajectory for the future; something that even I, faulty as I am, can’t bungle. But that’s not realistic. I can’t account for every wrongdoing. I can’t filter my mistakes and her mistakes and come out of this situation intrinsically knowing that we’re going to be alright. Because no one knows what’s waiting for us on the other side of tomorrow. Not even Tivia. Will she be alive tomorrow? Will I be alive? I don’t know. And that terrifies me.”
Although he was certain she did not mean it, Sigrid’s mention of the research he and Naimah had dedicated to Gaolithe’s destruction caused a shiver to ripple through his body. In reflex, he hugged his prosthesis to his core and sent a warming spell to circulate through his artificial circuits. While it relieved him to hear of the weapon’s disposal, the reminder of his in-earnest search to prevent certain death for his friend paled in comparison to four deaths, reduced to ashes in the ground. These were not deaths promised by a pact with an ancient, god-cursed sword, but deaths spurred on by humanity. Deaths that should have been preventable. In his preoccupations with all things arcane and complex, he’d overlooked the most simplistic causes of human mortality. Curses or no curses, some people...just died. They died from disease. They died from knife wounds or from the jaws of a raging animal. They died as a means to an end.
“Gaolithe can’t retaliate, no. I stand by my conclusion. But...it’s because you are its holder that other people retaliate against you. You can go ahead and say it means the same, in the end, but I disagree. Would they have killed her, Sigrid, if you did not possess the title, ‘Wielder of Gaolithe’? He fiddled with his collar, tracing over the tiny embroidery that denoted the sigil of the House of Rigas: a sinuous S-shape stricken through with a sword. “As long as you’re a somebody, a somebody who poses a threat, your life and the lives of those around you are endangered. It’s the same for Queen Lilica. It’s the same for me, and Prince Sorde, and even Hadwin. If we were to leave, and give this sorceress what she wants, then maybe she, and her accomplice, would not pursue, and we’d be able to search for our own peace, holed away in the forests, somewhere far from civilization...or at least, far from people who know our names and our deeds.While I don’t support his methods, Hadwin had the right approach. Run away. Don’t retaliate. To stay is to fight, and to fight means the possibility of surrender. And if you have something to lose, then you will lose. You’re right, Sigrid; we fight for the same goal, but our fights are both different in nature. Because...you’ve already lost something precious, and I...not yet.”
His attention returned to his wedding band, a physical object representing the bonds of his and Elespeth’s marriage, wound taut through ceremony, ritual, blood, and the fierceness of their commitments to each other. Sigrid never had the opportunity to finalize such a specialized bond with Naimah. A ring was given; a question remained unanswered. Were he in Sigrid’s position...he’d have no ability to cope, at all. His denial would be so grand, he’d resolve to split open the underworld to obtain Elespeth’s soul. All things considered...revenge was a healthier alternative to upsetting the balance between the veil of life and death. Moving-on without Naimah would be difficult, even unbearable, but Sigrid was stepping forward as realistically as possible. She wasn’t coping well, but who expected her to?
“For that, you’re right about one more thing.” Alster lifted his head, to the unobstructed night sky and the binary-star of his namesake its luminosity possible only through the borrowed light from its partner. “Elespeth’s still alive. As long as she’s alive, there’s hope. That’s what makes this tragedy so unfair. When Vega died, Haraldur found the means to revive her. When Haraldur lost himself, he did not need to search for his second chance. So where’s their second chance? I don’t know.” He closed his eyes, blocking the view of the brilliant cosmos overhead. For every star, tens of millions went unrecognized. They sundered into the primordial chaos of the universe, and no one but the most astute astronomers witnessed their passing. Naimah. Cwenha. The carriage driver and the whore. “I don’t know,” he reiterated, “but I’m going to make sure they’re remembered. It may not be a second chance at life, but...they won’t stay as commoners and nobodies. We can show that we will stand up against Locque, and Rowen, because no matter what they do, death won’t erase us--just as Gaolithe won’t erase you, Sigrid. Because no one will allow it to erase you--especially Naimah.”
It was the extent of his capability to wax inspirational before he succumbed to the physical demands of his arm. Even as the inviting heat of his magic vibrated around the steel ports in contact with his flesh, the burdensome arm tugged on his shoulder and agitated the metal pins that were attached to his humerus. “Sigrid...that’s not true,” he said, out of breath from the surge of agonizing spasms which clutched him, helpless, to the spot. “You may not have mastered that technique...but you know exactly how to ease my specific pain. I entrust you with it more than anyone else here.” But she didn’t seem to think so, and he could not convince her otherwise as she began her retreat. “I...understand,” he managed. “I understand. ...Good night. Please don’t forget that I’m here for you--alright?”
No response. No nod of the affirmative. She was already gone, obfuscated by the shadows that, despite the night-glowing radiance of the Garden, did not erase the prominence of inky claws that crawled across the pathway like swatches of true oblivion. Before he drowned by its crushing weight, he withdrew into the palace to find a Gardener to treat his pain. Though he received the proper treatment and went to bed, adequately tranquilized and subdued, he still wished for his friend’s healing touch.
But just like you, Sigrid, I feel so utterly devoid of it. So utterly devoid of healing anyone, when people need it the most…
Alster reserved the next few days for regaining his bearings and catching up on the details of all that had happened in Galeyn while he was away. Aside from the obvious tragedies and the precautions taken to secure the palace, the D’Marian village, and the border, he’d received a few nuggets of good news. However much the good news was tainted by the recent murders, Alster could not discount the facts and figures of success regarding construction of the village. Expenses were kept to a minimum due to the workforce comprising mostly of volunteers and donors--which, surprisingly, had seen increased production in the past week alone. Unlike Braighdath, who retracted aid when encountered by the dual threats of Locque and Rowen, Galeynians had not abandoned their D’Marian guests, nor did they cast any blame for attracting strife and violence to their kingdom. Instead, they gathered together in solidarity and offered their abundance of aid to the D’Marians, who feared the worst over the host of gruesome events that had befallen them since last year. While Queen Lilica’s decree enforced a kingdom-wide lockdown, so long as strong curfew parameters were set, there were exceptions made to the rule. Some people needed to work. They had livelihoods, and principles, that even the threat of a powerful sorceress and a rampaging wolf could not disturb. People did not want to sit idle. They wanted to do something about the tragedies. They wanted to help...just as Alster wanted to help.
Amidst traveling to the D’Marian Village to lend aid (all within the safety of Forbanne and Rigases), the Rigas Lord also joined Chara and Lilica, easing the former’s burden by slowly reintegrating into his Family Head duties. But despite his busy schedule, he always spared some time among Haraldur and Vega’s children, Elespeth, and the grave-sites...with the hope that Sigrid would make an appearance. Since the evening of his return, however, he had not seen the Dawn Warrior at all.
She was not the only person to disappear from his roster of friends and allies. Isidor, similarly, did not respond to Alster’s summons. Though he did not take the alchemist’s rejections personally, he did worry, and often, if Isidor had second-guessed his role in his wife’s recovery, and the silence was his version of saying, “No, I want no part in this.”
Fortunately, the Master Alchemist had emerged from hiding on day four and asked Alster to see Elespeth. More than happy to accept the request, he cleared his schedule for the morning and escorted his new colleague through the flourishing Night Garden, its alien flora impossible for newcomers to ignore. It always elicited a response in people, and the quiet, introverted Isidor was no exception.
“To my understanding, the Night Garden is not at full strength,” he ventured to explain, as they wound down the pathway to the little hut at the Garden’s center. “Queen Lilica awakened it--and the sleeping denizens of Galeyn--after a one-hundred year freeze. Not even a year has passed since its awakening. There is speculation as to how many more years it will take to see its healing potential. While it’s only been able to prevent Elespeth’s heart from worsening ...without the Night Garden, she’d already be…” he trailed off. He didn’t need to voice the implications aloud for Isidor, however oblivious his social cue readability, to understand. The Night Garden was the sole reason for Elespeth’s life. Removal from its curative life-force was not an option.
Once they reached the sanctuary, which the Sorde family vacated days ago, Alster, assuming no one but his comatose wife resided inside, opened the door without knocking, inevitably startling a tiny bundle that was hunched over Elespeth’s sleeping form like some guardian black-cat.
“Teselin--no, sorry for the sudden intrusion. I wasn’t expecting company, but you’re always welcome to sit by Elespeth’s side when no one else is here. Now that the twins have relocated to the palace, it’s...too quiet. No,” he remedied, “not just here. Everywhere I go, it’s...ghostly.” It was his not-so-subtle reference not only to the deaths, but to the absence of Hadwin, a man who brought cacophony wherever he tread ground. “How are you faring? Oh,” he snapped his attention to Isidor, “forgive me. I should introduce--”
But the summoner deemed it unnecessary, at least as of present, and promised for proper greetings later. With a mute nod, Alster stepped aside as Teselin exited the sanctuary, her diminutive, slouching gait whipping away, as though carried off by a stiff breeze. “Isidor, that was…” he paused, thinking on how best to approach the subject, but in favor of the more pressing situation before them, dismissed the topic with the shake of his head. “No, it’s as she said. There’s always later. So this,” he gestured to the serene woman laying in gentle repose on the cot, “is my wife, Elespeth Rigas. Elespeth,” he drew a smile on his lips and sat on the cot’s edge, “we have company. This is the Master Alchemist, Isidor Kristeva. He’s going to take a look at you, ok?” After giving her a gentle squeeze of the wrist, Alster rose from his seat and nodded his consent for Isidor to approach. “Please. By all means.”
The interaction had been a strange one, between himself and that young woman with glaringly familiar dark eyes… She’d looked at Isidor as if she’d expected something of him. No doubt it must have had to do with word spreading of the potential for his help, prior to his arrival in Galeyn, and yet, it seemed like almost more than that. What is it you want from me? His own confused eyes had pleaded, but whatever it was, the girl had deemed it unimportant for the time being, in light of the reason he had ventured to the sanctuary in the first place: to tend to Elespeth. The Rigas Lord’s wife had, after all, been patiently waiting for quite a long time…
“That girl--she is a friend of yours?” The Master Alchemist asked Alster as he approached the sleeping form of Elespeth. “Aside from yourself, she is the first person to acknowledge my presence without… well, scowling.” He forced a nervous laugh, as if it would offset just how off-putting it was to not only have left his safe haven, but to have left it for a place where he was decidedly not welcome--either for the fact that he was a Master Alchemist, or that he was related to Vitali. “Then again, I really haven’t encountered that many other people, aside from your brethren and Queen Lilica’s palace staff…”
Nearing the comatose woman, it was obvious right away that she must have been rendered in this stasis for quite some time. She was thin, and pale, and the only colour in her skin was the pink from the warmth of Teselin’s hand as she’d been previously holding it. With hesitant hands, Isidor rested his fingers atop her wrist, and frowned silently for a moment before withdrawing. “I… I don’t mean to be invasive, or untoward, but I, uh… I need a clearer read of her heart, closer to the organ itself--with your permission, of course! Only with your permission… But, please be aware, this may take some time. To understand the full extent of what she--of what we are faced with.”
Of course, Alster gave him the go-ahead, but it did nothing to assuage just how flustered it made him feel to move aside the collar of her tunic and slip a pale hand just above her breast. Truth be told, this was probably the closest Isidor Kristeva had ever been to a woman, aside from the time he’d run straight into Tivia Rigas… A visible blush spread across his cheeks, but he closed his eyes and focused on the task at hand. It was alarming, how he struggled to find the rhythm of the barely functioning organ at hand. Elespeth Rigas was weak, and the Night Garden seemed like little more than a sheet between life and death. That was what the cells told him, as he sifted through the onslaught of information, focusing only on a particular layer of biology at a time: on the level of flesh, of blood, of muscle, of bone, of the weak electricity that prompted her heart and other organs not to give up the fight just yet. Time didn’t mean anything to him as he made his own mental reports, judging the extent of her strengths and weakness in terms of what her body was capable of on its own, of what it could withstand, and under what duress it could not endure…
By the time he opened his eyes and stepped away, returning his hand to his side, the sun appeared to have changed position outside the tiny sanctuary. Isidor’s mouth settled into a frown. “Your wife’s condition is grave, Alster Rigas. Although I am sure that is not news to you.” The Master Alchemist straightened his posture, which was stiff from the time he’d spent crouched before Elespeth. “I am willing to bet it cannot sustain itself, without the support of the Night Garden. The decline of her heart’s ability to function seems to have put stress on her other organs, as well. Fortunately, it seems that whatever healer you have tending to her has already foreseen this, and has been regularly seeing to it that she is receiving nutrients and supplements to sustain those organs and remind them to continue to function.” He nodded to the tub protruding from Elespeth’s abdomen, which he had been careful to upset during his assessment. “At this point in time, she most definitely appears to be in a functioning stasis, but as is… there is certainly not enough biological activity to support consciousness. Which… well, is obvious.”
Adjusting his spectacles on the bridge of his nose, Isidor struggled for what he hoped came across as a hopeful smile when he turned to Alster. “However, I do see a bright side. Beyond how sickly Elespeth may be at present, I was able to take note of the genetic components of her physiology. She has the making of someone with a strong body; it comes as no surprise to me that she has roots as a warrior and a knight. And this affliction was not borne of a genetic defect or disposition. I can see--well, so to speak, the path of destruction that this substance had on her body. But we are already talking about someone with a strong and durable genetic structure, and I… it may be too early to say this, considering it is all hypothetical, but I must say I do feel confident that the damage can be reversed. That there might be a way to return your wife to a state that is conscious, healthy, and strong, using the method I debriefed back at my tower. Were we to replace just enough damaged heart cells with healthy ones, it may be the push that she needs to promote healing enough that the Night Garden may be able to take care of the rest--if, as you have mentioned, it is still able to expedite healing on more trivial levels for stable patients.”
The relief that registered on Alster’s face was almost startling to the Master Alchemist, such that he feared he might have instilled too much hope in the desperate man. When it came to the poor condition of a loved one, people were apt to want to believe practically anything; grasp at any chance that there might be hope for ill and injured. It left Isidor feeling confused as to how to frame it more accurately: yield to the possibility of hope, or put the risk into perspective? “I know--it does sound like good news. And I do not want to convince you otherwise. But please understand that this is only a primary assessment, and there is a good deal more that I must look into prior to making any such attempts to help you wife. The best course of action is to take this one step at time, and make judgement calls along the way. ” He said, after a moment of thought. At least the Rigas Head appeared to be rational enough to understand that of course, there would be some risk to take into account.
“First and foremost, if you intend to be the donor of those crucial cells that will promote in your wife’s healing, I will need a sample of her blood and your own. I realize you are determined that the two of you are biologically compatible, but if for any reason I find conflict within the structure of her cells and your own, please understand that I must reserve the right to refuse the procedure unless we find another donor. Exchanging incompatible materials through transmutation, or any means for that matter, not only won’t yield the desired result, but it could further put Elespeth--and you--at risk. Although,” he hazarded another smile, fearing that at this point, he was beginning to sound too pessimistic. “Given the support you have garnered in this kingdom, I am confident that even if your own biological makeup is not compatible, we will surely find someone who is. But that is all speculative, for now; based on what I find when I compare your blood, such a contingency plan may not be necessary.”
With the promise to deliver him vials of uncontaminated blood from both him and Elespeth within the next day, Alster seemed more than willing to cooperate in any way that would ensure the best outcome for his wife. Good--this was good. No unrealistic expectations or extra pressure… at least, not at this stage.
After Alster said a brief but heartfelt goodbye to the sleeping woman, the two departed the sanctuary, bound for the palace from where they’d originally departed--at least, that was what Isidor initially thought. But the Rigas Lord seemed to have other ideas. Specifically, he insisted there was someone he should meet. “I… w-who, exactly, did you have in mind?” The socially nervous alchemist asked. He raised a hand to worry the collar of his coat; something that was decidedly too warm for the lingering mild fall weather, but Alster insisted that there was no need to worry, and that this person would receive him warmly. Hard to believe, considering the cold glances and loaded silences Isidor had faced in the short amount of time he’d spent in Galeyn… but the Rigas mage seemed to be an honest man. And he was frankly the only person he felt he could trust in this strange place.
Following her retreat from the sanctuary, Teselin had returned to her room at the palace, but only briefly. It had been a few days since she’d spoken with Tivia; not since the day Queen Lilica and most of Glayen had gathered to acknowledge the victims of the attack. The star seer had been rather preoccupied with Vitalis’ return, paying frequent visits to him at the farmhouse, when she was not trying to make herself useful at the palace, offering any and every inkling of a premonition that she deemed might be of help to Queen Lilica or Chara in keeping an eye out for the murderous culprits. Likewise, the young summoner had also been preoccupied, though… perhaps more discreetly.
She hadn’t seen Hadwin in almost a week, and neither had anyone else, for that matter. There was no confirmation of his absence, save for the suspicious disappearance of a Night steed, which had Teselin clinging to the possibility that maybe--just maybe--if he’d fled, he hadn’t gone far… or that he might yet return. So she frequently checked his usual haunts, which included the forest that surrounded the kingdom; a dangerous move, considering those were the very woods where poor Cwenha had met her end. But the summoner did not fear death; not as much as she still feared herself. And whatever Rowen or Locque thought they could do to her, should she become a target… they had something else coming, if that were the case. And it did not stop her from boldly calling out Hadwin’s name, again and again, in hopes that he was still there, that he would hear her, that he would come back…
It hadn’t seemed fair to involve anyone else in her search or her concerns, but now, with the possibility of his absence without intent to return to Galeyn seeming all the more probable… the young summoner began to think she could no longer pursue this on her own. So she went to the only person who could possibly have any insight into his absence.
“Tivia!” Teselin spotted her sometimes-friend down the hall just outside her own bedchamber. While Tivia appeared to only wish to humour Teselin’s desire for friendship whenever it suited her, the proud young Rigas all the same had expressed her desire to be of help in any way possible with regard to what had happened the day of the mass murders. Wouldn’t Hadwin’s disappearance play into that, even just a little? “About what you said… the day of the funerals. Do you think… has something told you that Hadwin is really gone from the kingdom? And has anything suggested to you, at all, that he might return? I’m… worried. For his well-being. He was a target, however indirectly, and after what happened… with Cwenha, and Naimah… he isn’t okay. Wherever he is, he isn’t okay, and if you see no possibility in the stars of him returning…” I need to go and find him, were the words left unsaid, but they were plain enough on her face--not to mention, it was a predictable move, considering her relationship with the faoladh.
The two were not far into the conversation before they were interrupted by a familiar pair. Teselin had seen the two of them perhaps only an hour ago, though it hadn’t really been the time and place to make conversation. So… Alster had decided to follow up with what should have taken place between the two Kristeva siblings. “Alster. Isidor. I take it all is well with Elespeth?” She asked politely, registering the confused look on Isidor’s face. He really didn’t know… A part of her felt an irrational anger that her own brother wouldn’t recognize their physical similarities. But that wasn’t fair, for a man who had spent most of his life locked away in a tower… against his will, and otherwise.
“Isidor… about earlier. It didn’t seem to be the time or place, but I… my name is Teselin Kristeva.” She tried to smile, but it was hard-pressed, with everything on her mind. All the same, she offered her hand.
“Kristeva? Wait… wait a moment! Vitali, he said…” Realization finally dawned on the Master Alchemist. “You are my sister. My younger sister… a daughter of Solenice? I… please forgive my ignorance. You took me off guard, earlier…” Isidor took her proffered hand--but after a short pause, he pulled away, as if suddenly… disturbed. “I… I am very happy to meet you, Teselin. To know that I’ve a relation aside from Vitali… well, that’s reassuring.”
The young summoner didn’t appear unaffected by the strangeness of their social transaction, however. Her brows knitted together and she looked at her hand, confused as to what could possibly have startled him so terribly. “...Vitali is not without his virtues, believe it or not,” she said to her other estranged brother, her smile fading at the corners. “Tivia, here, will agree.”
“Tivia… right. Of course. I’ve heard of what you’ve done for my--our--brother… it is all very admirable. He is lucky to have a friend in you. Ah…” Visibly flustered by how these social exchanges were unfolding, he withdrew a carefully piece of folded cloth from his pocket and offered it to the Rigas woman with a shy smile. “You dropped this, the other day, when we… when I accidentally upset your center of gravity. I thought you’d like it back…”
At Isidor’s inquiry over his relationship with the summoner, Alster decided that for now, he would choose to keep his responses vague, and replied with a simple, “Yes.” However, he honed in on the alchemist’s half-joking commentary regarding his lukewarm welcome and the ensuing judgement from his peers. Sensitive to the conversations that flourished around him, Alster had caught half-heard snippets, further confirmed and elaborated on by his council--in particular, a Galeynian official in charge of collecting the concerns of the kingdom’s citizens. He reported unease among the alchemical community involving Isidor’s arrival, as well as his associations with the infamous necromancer.
“Let the council recognize that we cannot have any discord among our allies, however ‘shady’ they appear,” Alster had argued during a meeting of D’Marians and Galeynians. “Vitali Kristeva is not our enemy. He is in fact responsible for Prince Sorde’s revival. If my eyewitness accounts of the necromancer’s behavior during our excursion to and from Nairit is of any merit, then please keep a record of it in writing. Our enemies are Locque and Rowen Kavanagh, not Vitali or his brother. If we are to judge people by their blood relations, why is Teselin Kristeva not under suspicion? Or Queen Lilica? Why do we overlook Hadwin Kavanagh, who has admitted his close associations with Rowen, his biological sister? Because no one can locate him to ask for an official statement? Even if we begin to profile these people, there is no reason to point fingers and cast blame on everyone that does not fit our description of ‘innocent.’ Remember, Locque can influence any mind; she influenced my wife into murder. No one is safe; everyone can be a potential victim, a potential aggressor--but that does not mean we need to vilify outsiders. Galeynians are doing great work helping the D’Marians build their village.”
“Let us not open a rift between our alliance. So hear my proposal, council. We need to set the story straight, and push a more positive narrative onto the citizens of this kingdom. By all means, question the merchants that arrive at the Galeynian border, enforce curfews, and do not allow citizens to venture outside designated safety zones unescorted, but let us not abandon this kingdom’s tenets of hospitality towards our expected guests. Isidor Kristeva has my endorsement. His arrival has been cleared by Queen Lilica since before my departure. You do not have to agree with his methods, but do not show any open hostility towards a man whose purpose is to tend to my dying wife.”
While he delivered his speech only yesterday, and it was impossible to gauge its effect (or if it even trickled down to its intended audience), Isidor’s response did not elicit much confidence that anyone would adhere to Alster’s request. Then again, the hermit alchemist did strike him as the type to see the worst in any stranger or strong personality who so much as looked at him funny.
“Chara scowls at everyone--including me--and Queen Lilica has not been in a favorable mood since last week’s tragedy,” Alster said, in hopes of allaying Isidor’s latent anxieties. “Galeyn as a whole has experienced a heavy blow, and are not as receptive to new faces. That girl, however, is the exception--and you’ll know why, in due time. And call me optimistic, but I have a hunch that Elespeth here will take a shine to you, too.” He brushed away a loose strand of long hair from Elespeth’s forehead. During the months of his absence, her chestnut locks had flourished into a cascade of glowing, healthful waves that flowed from her head and all the way past her shoulders. Someone had been combing it, as evidenced by its lack of tangles and snags. Much like the beautiful flora proliferating in the Night Garden, Elespeth, in her silent repose, did not indicate signs of decay, and for that, he had to believe she would not fade. No flowers planted in the Garden’s soil crumbled or died. For how long her roots had woven themselves into the earth, she was effectively growing in the Garden. You can’t die, El. His fingers caught an errant tendril; it wrapped around his hand like vines. You’re simply dormant. Like the Night Garden, when it slept for a century. It never died. You won’t die, either…
While he consented to Isidor’s examination, which drew, out of necessity, his hand against his patient’s naked breast, Alster maintained proximity to his wife, in case her subconsciousness reached out to him for comfort during the alchemist’s invasive scanning of her body. The evaluation was an involved one, and it came as no surprise that close to half an hour elapsed before Isidor stirred out of his meditative state. Swallowing the nervousness out of his mouth, Alster carefully asked the most obvious question. “What is your diagnosis?”
The extent of Isidor’s analysis, thorough, informed, and eloquent, instilled enough confidence in the Rigas Head to inflate from his hunched position on the bed to one radiating with hope for the solution he sought. “I’m aware this is all speculative on your part, Isidor, but your initial conclusions reflect on my suspicions concerning Elespeth’s health. Your second opinion is what bolsters my commitment to proceeding with your proposal. Of course, I understand there are steps we must implement before we operate. You will have my blood. As much of it as you need to determine our compatibility. Even if we’re not a match,” he tried not to twist his face into a rictus of doubt; better to remain impartial on procedures where logic and precision trumped emotion and intuition, “then I will find a match. It’s as you say. I have the support. No request is out of my reach to provide you, Isidor.” Despite his struggle to maintain his mental composure, a smile burst free of its confines to parade vestiges of hope on his face. “It’s too early to celebrate, I know, but you’ve opened the potential for a possibility, and...it’s more than what we had before. So thank you.”
Rising to his feet, he reluctantly withdrew from Elespeth’s bedside, en route to the door. “If you come with me, we’ll meet up with the healer who’s been responsible for my wife’s care. He’ll extract blood samples from her and from me to give you. But first,” his smile returned, “I think we’ll have the time to make someone’s official acquaintance.”
With near constant travel between the farmhouse and the palace, Tivia always felt in a state of flux. So often did she bounce her attention back and forth, back and forth, that she should have liquified into water by now. Despite the stresses of her on-the-go lifestyle, she did not mind it; rather, the busywork helped her to believe that she was actively contributing to the hunt for Locque and Rowen Kavanagh, without sacrificing much of her reunion with Vitali at Galeyn’s outskirts. Too unreliable to be effective, Tivia, nonetheless, offered her star-seer services to Lilica and Chara. If one thing could be said of its unpredictable nature, it, predictably, did not hint at the slightest hiccup of activity. Some members of the Rigas council attributed the lack of star-activity to Locque and her tendency to mask her presence, even from the ancient celestial overseers who saw everything and recorded everything. While it was nice to hear that the Rigases had such unerring faith in her clairvoyance, the obvious reason had to do with the conduit, and not the method. Tivia, fledgling to her rare and accursed ability, had little control over what she heard, sensed and occasionally saw. Her range, far as she understood it, was dictated by blood and affinity. If she concentrated, she could search for each individual Rigas, for Vitali...and for Haraldur. Perhaps she could expand her range, cast a wide net over the kingdom and its citizens…
...If she befriended more people.
The thought filled her with malaise. “Friends” were noisy. Invasive. They would befriend her out of pity, not out of sincere interest. Galeynians avoided her, either disgusted by her appearance, or wary of her disposition, often prone to sudden fits of panic. These “episodes” did not instill confidence in the small populace who fit in the venn diagram of “people likely to approach Tivia Rigas” --which, presently, included anyone with the surname of Kristeva.
Teselin Kristeva, to be precise, sought her in the hallway. The tiny summoner, when the situation called for it, knew how to throw her voice with enough power to startle any unsuspecting passersby into attention. Alarmed by the sudden clap of noise, Tivia turned her heels towards the source, her hand resting over her wildly-fluttering chest.
“Teselin--do not frighten me like that!” At the summoner’s sputtering apology, Tivia slowly lowered her hand to her side. “No...it’s fine. What is it you need? This is about that mongrel, yes?” She didn’t need clairvoyance to suss out the obvious. The wolf and the summoner were inexplicably close, and no doubt, his sudden disappearance had left his protege quite shaken. The depths of her hatred for him notwithstanding, she conceded to her request with a sigh.
“Although I cannot see his star, Teselin, he is....bright. And relentless. Like the sun in summer. He’s touched many lives, for better or for worse. I’ve been able to note some of his movements through his associations with Vitali, Alster, Chara, Haraldur…other Rigases he likes to,” she blanched, “fuck. He...buzzes. Loudly. A wasp who hovers and keeps stinging, and stinging. Through my current observations, there’s been a lack of stinging. Silence. The light has dimmed, because it’s traveled far out of transit, out of orbit.” She added more tufts of hair over the ravaged half of her face, distracting herself with an activity that would allow her to avoid eye contact with the summoner and her intense stare. “He is gone, Teselin. Now, gone does not necessarily mean ‘dead;’ only that he is not in Galeyn. I can’t foresee anything else beyond his absence. Will he return? I do not know. But--”
Whatever she was about to say did not reach Teselin’s ears. Their conversation halted when Alster, followed by another Kristeva, encroached on their space. Alster, realizing his faux pas, dipped his head in apology. “I’m sorry if I’ve interrupted anything. We’re passing through, so we won’t occupy too much of your time, but,” he tilted his head at the Master Alchemist, “I thought we’d continue our introductions from before.” Stepping aside so as not to disrupt the delicate moment, the Rigas Lord gestured to Teselin with his organic hand, signalling her to resume where they last ended off. And all seemed to go well. Isidor, at last realizing his relations with the girl before him, presented his hand to shake. When they made skin-to-skin contact, however, it was as if an electric shock rattled him, for how quickly he withdrew from the physical exchange.
“Yes,” Tivia said warily, also keeping her one, curious eye on the awkward encounter. “I am in full agreement. He has been nothing but decent to me. But there is no need to praise me for acting decent in turn, Isidor.” She twisted her head at an angle that shone its light on the unblemished side of her face. You make it sound like I am being charitable. How saintly I am to befriend such a despicable monster--is that what you are implying?”
“Ah--the two of you have met?” Alster, desperate to deescalate the tension in the atmosphere, insinuated himself into the group, painting on a pleasant smile. “Well, that saves me the need to introduce you.”
“Yes. We crashed into each other in the hallway a few days ago.” Tivia glimpsed the handkerchief that the bumbling alchemist produced from his pocket, her disinterest as obvious as the lines across her furrowed brow. “Keep it. I was never keen on that trifle, anyway. It is a reminder of my good-for-nothing parents. Dispose of it, if you’d like. That’s how little it means to me.”
“Well, as I’ve said, we were just passing through,” Alster dismissed with a laugh. “Isidor believes we have a strong case for Elespeth’s full recovery. We’re off to pay Elias a visit. If I’m to be Elespeth’s donor, we need to reevaluate our blood compatibility.”
“Do not tell me you plan to donate your entire heart, Alster,” Tivia said. “I know you are a love-fool, but to sacrifice your life in the process--”
“--Oh no, Tivia,” he interjected, “nothing so severe. If I did that, Elespeth would enlist Vitali to revive me just so she could kill me, herself. It’s only a transfer of cells, not a heart transplant. It might be best if Isidor were to detail the process. It’s his proposal, after all.”
She shook her head, her lips twitching into a frown. “No. Your explanation was sufficient. There’s no need for a lecture.” Though she did not aim the comment to anyone in particular, her pointed avoidance of the alchemist made her stance quite clear. “We shall not keep you, Alster.”
“We’ll have another opportunity to chat, I’m sure.” Waving farewell to the two women in the hallway, Alster guided Isidor, who seemed to lose the ability to walk--by the elbow, spurring him forward and away from the skin-crawling interaction that the more socially-adjusted Rigas Head deemed awkward.
“Please let me apologize for Tivia,” he said, in hushed tones. “She’s...somewhat prickly. A lot has happened to her in the past year and she’s still adjusting to the changes. Social interactions can make her uncomfortable, and she tends to spring on the defensive. I cannot say our meeting with Elias will be much improved, but he respects intelligence, and he is curious about alchemy, to boot. He will not be so brusque as to dismiss you.”
He paused, not knowing how to broach a potentially delicate subject with tact or finesse, “Teselin...she bears a strong magical signature, doesn’t she? It radiates off her skin. Were you...were you reacting to it? If it took you off guard, please don’t be too alarmed. She bears no ill will; on the contrary, she is very kind, and has been eager to meet you for some time. We can try to speak with her again,” he smirked, “preferably when Tivia is not in the room.”
Tivia, meanwhile, reacted little to the departure of Alster and his pet project. “So that is your brother, hmm?” In a response reminiscent of Chara, she rolled her eye heavenwards. “I think you fared better with the fake one. Speaking of...Alster unintentionally gave me an idea. There is a way to track the whereabouts of your mongrel. If we had his blood, it may be possible. Failing that, the blood of a relative would suffice. But no,” she inserted a chewed fingernail against the corner of her mouth. “That is dangerous. It would require we track Rowen and stab her, which, frankly, sounds like suicide. And even if we could procure a blood-soaked garment from the mongrel, it would be old, dried, and ineffective. Fresh blood works best. Damn,” she smacked her tongue against the roof of her mouth in a loud tsk, “we could be tracking Rowen with blood magic, if Hadwin hadn’t fled. How is it possible he’s causing trouble, still, when he’s not even here?”
When it came to someone like Isidor, who had long since become accustomed to accepting the fact that he was going to completely blunder each and every social interaction that mattered, it really came as no surprise to him when the lovely young Rigas woman did not appear to recall him fondly. After all, he had run straight into her, likely leaving her with a bruise or two… And the saddest part of it was, that hadn’t even been his worst first impression, to date. It did, however, take him off guard when she did not show any interest in having her handkerchief returned. It was ridiculous, the way he had gone over their second encounter over and over in his head, and each time he had refined what he would say, it had all been contingent on the fact that she would be pleased to have her property returned to her. But as theory would have it, what was practiced and anticipated in theory did not necessarily translate quite so well in real life… as was the case this time, it seemed.
While her refusal of the object that was her own rightful property visibly took the Master Alchemist off guard, he managed a weak smile to offset the awkward energy that he felt was practically emanated from his skin. “Ah--you’re sure? I thought you’d like to be reunited with your own rightful property, but… I suppose at the end of the day, it is an object of very little consequence…” Not quite knowing what else to do with the swath of fabric that he’d had no intention of keeping, prior to this revelation that Tivia did not, in fact, want it returned, Isidor carefully tucked it back into the pocket of his coat. “Forgive me, though, I did not mean to imply that you have merely been acting out of charity in your kindness toward my brother… this is the first I’ve ever actually heard of anyone taking a genuine liking to him. Of course, I will also admit that our interactions up into this point have been few and far-between…”
“There is no need to justify your opinion, Isidor.” Teselin shook her head slowly, empathetic that he brother appeared to be on the road to unraveling. “We understand that you among many others have good reason to dislike our brother. Just know that since his arrival in Galeyn, Vitali has already gone above and beyond to redeem himself. Judging someone by the shadows of their past and not on the path they are currently paving for themselves is unfair, at best… If you give him a chance, perhaps he will also prove to you that he is not the same person you remember.”
Isidor scratched the back of his neck in a decidedly nervous and self-conscious gesture. “I suppose there is merit to the fact that he sought me out, and not on his own behalf, but rather, Alster’s… well, I am sure it must have something to do with the good company he keeps, in the both of you. I daresay you must be one of the better things to ever have happened to the necromancer.”
For all his social ineptitude, the Master Alchemist did know enough for him to understand that Tivia, at the very least, was doing her best to dismiss the both of them just short of telling them to go away. Alster must have also picked up on these cues, as he did not make any attempt to continue this conversation. So he moved on down the corridor alongside the Rigas caster, leaving Tivia and the girl called Teselin to resume whatever they had been discussing prior to being interrupted. Isidor cast one final glance over his shoulder at the two, but they’d both seemed to have long forgotten about the rude interruption. “Oh--no, there is no need to apologize on Miss Tivia’s behalf.” The alchemist waved off Alster’s apology with a flippant hand gesture. “The last time we had an encounter, I quite literally ran right into her… and knocked her off her feet. Would you believe it if I told you that that wasn’t even the worst introduction I’ve ever made?”
A flush crept across his cheeks, and he clasped his hands in front of him. His dark eyes fixed on the tips of his boots as if they were suddenly the most interesting things in front of him. “She seems… very nice, on the contrary. I can only imagine what she must have endured, if it has something to do with…” Isidor reached up and touched the side of his face, his smile fading. “Oh--did she think… I hope she did not think that I was staring at… No wonder she reacted in such a way! I did not mean to make her feel so uncomfortable… I was not staring at her perceived imperfections. On the contrary, I think her to be rather lovely...” Realizing the impact of his (unsurprising) social faux-pas, the Master Alchemist took the handkerchief from his pocket and sighed, running his long fingers over the embroidered initials. “I’d ask if you think there might be anything I can do to make it up to Miss Tivia, but I daresay I am sure I would blunder any such attempt…”
Shaking his head, he replaced the handkerchief and pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose. When the topic shifted to Teselin--the girl who’d claimed to be his sister--the Master Alchemist suddenly stiffened. “Yes, Teselin does seem to be a very understanding individual…” The unspoken but hung in the air uncomfortably for a moment, but at last, it weighed far heavier than silence. “She says she is my sister… I really see no reason for her to lie, but then again, I do not know her well. Alster--this may seem like a strange question to ask, and please do not take offense at my untoward curiosity about your friends and comrades, but how… how sure are you that she is who she says she is? That she is a Kristeva? How is Vitali sure of it?”
Realizing how strange that question must come across, the alchemist took a steadying breath and looked up from his shoes to meet Alster’s inquisitive eyes. “It’s not about her magic. I do not mean to alarm you, and my contact with Teselin was only brief, but she… Alster,” the Master Alchemist lowered his voice and dipped his head, in case someone else might hear. “She is not… not entirely human. That much I can tell from just shaking her hand. The composition of her biological materials… This is difficult to explain, for that short amount of time, but it did not feel like quite the same genetic code. There is something… something other in the fabric of her being. Something that neither you nor I nor anyone who might be magically adept, for that matter. It’s foreign. Not… I daresay, not natural.”
Isidor clasped his elbows, as if suddenly feeling chilled by that unexpected circumstance. “I am in no way suggesting that you should be wary of her. Though my judgement of character leaves something to be desired, I am more keen to trust your own judgement, and it is clear that you have a friend in that girl. Not to mention… it strikes me as possible that Teselin may not even be privy to such information that I am able to glean. And it does not mean she wasn’t raised by Solenice, which would make her no less my sister. Gods know that each and every one of Solenice Kristeva’s children has been a mystery to themselves for the better part of their life; I’m sure even Vitali was not spared that.” A flat smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Honestly… forget I said anything. My contact with her was only brief; I could be wrong. That’s the trouble with inherently reading the material of each and every thing you touch… the immediate response is to try to make sense of it.”
Isidor turned his palms up and stared at the pale, almost silver runes inscribed in the fair flesh. Sadly, it was not a skill that he was able to turn off; at best, he could ignore it, when the materials of the fabrics from which his clothes comprised, or the feather quill he was holding were mundane and all too familiar to elicit a reaction or to prompt any thought. But Teselin… As much as the Master Alchemist wanted to be wrong, touching her hand felt akin to grasping at a thick fog. Something so palpable that it almost takes on a physical form, something that you feel you should be able to touch, but when you reach for it, you find there is actually nothing there at all. Such was the composition of his alleged sister’s genetic make-up; familiar-looking and seemingly ordinary, but what he’d expected to feel when their hands met (something he assumed would be similar to those few times he’d touched Vitali) was… missing. And something else was there, in its place, as if she were a picture painted by an entirely different substance compared to his own canvas, or that of the necromancer’s.
If he didn’t know better, he’d have sworn she was a… a… No, that is absurd. Such a likelihood… that would be next to impossible.
After Alster and Isidor departed, turning a corner and leaving Tivia and Teselin alone in the corridor again, the young summoner remained standing where she was and stared at the hand that had shaken Isidor’s. A crestfallen look had washed over her youthful features. “...Vitali said he wouldn’t know me. Of course he wouldn’t, if he’s been locked away in a tower for as long as he has… really, I am not sure what I expected.” She couldn’t help but lightly laugh at her own foolishness. Getting her hopes up when there was no reason for it… Even Vitali had not exactly been pining for a reunion, when at last they’d met again. Why should Isidor be any different? “Am I reading too much into it, or did… did he seem repulsed by me?”
Her hand, pale and dainty (and clean, thank you very much!) offered no answers, and certainly Tivia would not have them either. With a shake of her head, she let her hand drop to her side. “Of course I’m overthinking it. Vitali mentioned that he was… detrimentally shy, in so many words. It isn’t fair to expect too much of him, at this point…” And she wouldn’t; because as nice as it would be to get to know yet another long-lost brother, her mind and heart were not in it right now. Not when Hadwin’s whereabouts and wellbeing were still in question.
“Blood magic… of course. That would be a surefire way to find him…” Teselin’s shoulders drooped and she deflated in a sigh. “Heavens know I’ve seen Hadwin bleed more than once, and dealt with the ruined clothes… of course, it never occurred to me to hold onto any of those in the event that he might flee. I guess I just trusted him too much not to run away…” Pressing her lips together, Teselin sighed. “But if it is as you say--if his start has not gone out… he is still out there, somewhere. And I will… I have to find him. I don’t expect anyone else will be so willing to track him down, but fortunately, I’ve spent most of my life getting by with little to no help. Tivia,” she looked to the star seer again, with hope in her dark eyes. “If anything happens to come to you… If you happen to see anything that could help, before I get together what I need and leave this place--please let me know.”
It just so happened that Elias, Daphni and Senyiah were gathered in one of the rooms that served as the healers’ study and lab when Alster arrived, with a tentative knock on the door. The current conversation (which, incidentally, revolved around the Clematis and Sybaian healer’s own desire to have a child, and the challenges they were facing) faded as soon as a familiar face and a strange face stood in the doorway. Frankly, Daphni was happy to change the subject; the more they discussed options, and the more those options continued to fall through, the more she was beginning to lose hope. “Alster. I’d heard you returned; it is good to see you.” The Sybaian healer greeted him with a warm smile. “And you’ve brought a guest.”
The Rigas mage was happy to introduce Isidor, who could only nervously smile back at the three very established healers. Well… at least one of them appeared to take well to him. The Gardener, he found difficult to read, and Elias, at first glance, did not exactly exude warmth… The best Isidor could prepare for was to roll with the punches.
“So you believe you are able to help restore Elespeth Rigas to health?” Daphni asked, after Alster declared they had come to an agreement on a possible solution. “That is… That’s wonderful news, Isidor. Especially considering the lot of us have exhausted all of our solutions…”
“As a Master Alchemist, I understand, is your expertise in medical alchemy, Isidor Kristeva?” Senyiah asked shortly after; not in such a way that came across as accusatory, but all the same, it put Isidor on the spot. And he could not lie to them.
“Admittedly… no. The majority of my work involves metals and ores.” Isidor confessed, wringing his hands. “However… I do have the skillset required to carry out this task. But because it is not my area of expertise, I most certainly invite the input of healers. This is not something that can be rushed into; before we go any further, I need a sample of both Alster’s and his wife’s blood to ascertain compatibility.”
A crease formed between Senyiah’s eyebrows. “Compatibility… Are you suggesting a transplant, of sorts?”
“No--not at all, in fact. A transplant would only deprive one person of something to provide for another. Alchemy relies on the principle of equivalent exchange. What I am suggesting is a trade on the cellular level; trading just enough damaged cells for healthy ones to render Elespeth Rigas in a state where her own body and the Night Garden can facilitate the rest of the recovery.”
“And you are assuming that the Night Garden will be able to pick up the slack even in that case, in its weakened state.” The Head Gardener shook her head. She looked as though she wanted to have faith, but… “With all due respect, Master Alchemist, you are relying on a lot of assumptions following a procedure that could well leave both Alster and Elespeth sickly, if I understand correctly.”
“Yes--you are entirely right. There are many assumptions and speculations; as mortals, we are only able to exert control over so many variables. I will be the first to admit that there is a chance that even under ideal conditions, both hearts might not agree to this exchange. But, if what Lord Rigas has described to me of his wife’s condition and what has already been attempted is thorough and accurate…” Isidor pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose and sighed, just as frustrated with what he had to say. “This could well be one of Elespeth Rigas’s very last options for a healthy and independent life with her husband.”
By the still-waggling motions of Tivia’s head, she hadn’t yet disregarded from her mind the existence of Vitali’s graceless brother. And while she aimed to navigate their discussion back on the subject of Hadwin (which, oddly, was a topic she preferred), she could also not deny her curiosity in witnessing the ill-fitted exchange between estranged brother and sister. It was easy to write-off Isidor’s reaction as a result of his uninspired social graces, but something...else, had occurred between the two. Be it intuition, a star-seer-induced suspicion (guided by her involvement with Kristevas), or a bit of both, she read more into the handshake than what was presented at face-value. But without more than an infinitesimal glimmer to go by, she did not answer the summoner with any of her half-baked revelations. Besides…she preferred to proverbially rake the alchemist across the coals, a little bit. He was a pathetic specimen, more pathetic than she, at first glimpse, and it felt almost cathartic to acknowledge the man’s shortcomings.
“Vitali wasn’t exaggerating. Your shared brother has a debilitating social condition. Let us pray it isn’t contagious. I would not waste my time worrying about meeting his approval. It does not seem like anything short of a quiet, unpeopled room will win his loyalty. Though he seems to have taken to Alster, that’s not surprising, considering Alster used to be quite similar to Isidor, before the war--and Elespeth--changed him. While he’s less insufferable than in the past, the alchemist will take his place, I’m sure. I look forward to it.” She pursed her lips, the unmarred side, into a sarcastic smirk. “At the very least, this scrawny idiot looks like he has the potential to be useful.”
Her strange glee in ripping apart a lifeform already too weak to stick up for itself had faded, however, when they resumed their discussion on the wolf-man, a subject decidedly too brazen to tease, even if he were too far to hear the choice insults she’d reserved for him. Such a man thrived on the attention, so she would not give him the satisfaction of her outspoken ire. “Frankly, I won’t bother cautioning you against searching for that ungrateful git,” she couldn’t resist one stab, “because you won’t listen, anyway, and I suppose he’s saved your life, and Chara’s...and Elespeth’s...and Alster’s mind.” She snorted, disbelieving her stance. “Yes, I will admit, he has some merits. So now that you know I will not stop you, here is my advice. Wait a little while before you act. I’m not implying that he will return, but,” she massaged the side of her head, at the little sore patch that was first to throb whenever she had the inkling for something she couldn’t quite explain, “an opportunity will come along, shortly. I don’t know what it is, but it may aid in your search.”
Broadening their distance from the ready-to-boil climate had proved somewhat effective in maintaining the mild-mannered alchemist's teetering status quo, in that, while his sickly hue persisted, it did not worsen. No; Isidor endured his gauntlet with a measure of constancy and consistency. It was not aplomb that encouraged his movements, but he demonstrated enough nerve not to run screaming for the closest vacant chamber. For that, he deserved some credit for the bounds he was taking to explore outside his comfort zone. Barring himself and Teselin, the people along Isidor's route did not care for accommodation or friendliness; not when a bigger threat commanded their attention.
However, it surprised Alster to hear that Isidor did not associate the scowling, vitriolic Tivia with the other scowling dissenters that he referenced back when they were assessing Elespeth's condition in the sanctuary. Bafflingly, he called her...nice. Tivia Rigas, the girl who once bullied him, who hadn't stopped aiming inflammatory remarks at his head, was nice? No, no, he immediately expelled his confusion. Perhaps it was not baffling at all. Following Isidor's 'nice' comment, a port-wine blush, glaringly noticeable on his ashen cheeks, tinted his face with much-needed color. And Alster was beginning to understand why.
"I'll trade you a horror story, Isidor." He cupped a hand beneath his chin, to capture his whisper and prevent it from echoing against the reverberative hallway. "My worst introduction involved projectile vomit and a ruined noblewoman's very expensive dress. During her debutante ball. If you can outmaneuver my social nightmare with one on par with or more mortifying, then please, do share. But if the worst you've done with another woman is bowl her over in the hallway, and she was your only audience, then your offense is a mild one. But Tivia, I will have to admit," he transferred his hand to sweep some sandy hair from his forehead, "is sensitive. She is socially-conscious, and young, for a Rigas. She associates her appearance with her self-worth. I'm afraid that any glimpse aimed at her, however well-intentioned, she will interpret negatively.”
“Apart from her physical bearing, her magic has recently awakened with a new ability.” He lowered his arm; it bounced against his steel prosthesis in a brusque smack of energy, faltering his steps for a moment. To prevent its wild, leaden swings, he hefted the arm, tucking it into its sling. “She is a fledgling star-seer, in direct contact with the stars and their infinite wisdom. Unfortunately, cavorting with the universe has an adverse impact on her psyche. It affects her hearing; she's often plagued by high-keening, screeching auditory hallucinations, and it can sometimes affect her vision with intense, white-hot light. Since she's at such a formative time in her life, none of these changes have done her any favors. If you think of how to approach Tivia that meets her approval...tell me how you did it. I've tried reaching out to her for a while, and I daresay I haven't had any luck. I think she still dislikes me. Most everyone, really.”
He didn't think much of his innocent enough inquiry into Isidor's official interaction with his half-sister, but inevitably, there was more going on beneath the surface than Alster had surmised. While it had something to do with the dense pockets of magic that comprised her living fabric, the alchemist's readings based on their simple handshake detailed more than a strong influx of magic. "You are suggesting...? I...I have not thought of that, before." Certainly, it made sense. Why Teselin never suffered any blowback or physical repercussions after wielding immense magic. Why Mollengard failed to extract her magic. Why nullifying chambers sickened her, to the point of near-death. She needed magic to survive. The inner core that they traveled to in her mind, a knotwork of energy so impressive, it brought to his attention the cosmic storms he'd glimpsed in a telescope, stuck out as a chief example. It was the kind that destroyed galaxies.
But to conclude that she did not possess all traits that made her human, was as much as a curiosity as it was disturbing. He could not dispute Isidor's gift in breaking down the compositions of organic and inorganic matter, but the human in Alster wanted to defend the summoner and her outward humanness, as though to preserve her integrity. Whatever components created her, whether she were a homunculus, a cluster of energy folded into a pouch of flesh, bones, and sinew, or a foreign entity on par with the Serpent, she did not suffer any deficiencies in being human, as defined by civilization. Wasn't that what mattered? Alster shared his inner pathways with the Serpent, sacrificing some of the parts that he'd developed in the womb. He shed some of his mammalian ancestry like snakeskin; it could explain why he always felt cold, as of late. Why he needed warmth. Why the tiniest of chills impelled him to drive heat spells through his prosthesis. Regardless of the changes he underwent in his bond with an alien lifeform and its ostensibly reptilian appearance, he was still human. Teselin was no exception.
"It would be worth investigating," he ended up saying, more an afterthought than the cumulation of his knee-jerk feelings. "With her consent. I know she's been wanting to learn about her magic and how to control it responsibly, but your evaluation of her," he hesitated, "otherness, may cause her extreme upset. This is a sensitive subject to broach with her. Sometimes we're...better off not knowing the truth, much as I'm an advocate for it. But she...she should know. It has to be done delicately, and not now. She already has much on her mind, after losing her..." he paused, choosing his words carefully. Using the term 'brother-figure' seemed indelicate beside her biological brother (despite his evidence to the contrary), but it was the most accurate representation of Hadwin's association with the summoner. "...Hadwin Kavanagh. He left, over a week ago. He saved her life. They're very close. ...You wouldn't like him," he elected for a smirk. "Imagine a boisterous Vitali with no respect for personal space. That's him. Digression aside," he scraped the bottom of his throat to follow-suit with the alchemist's respectable level of whispering, "if you say Teselin does possess some humanness, if she's the biological daughter of Solenice, wouldn't you be able to fact-check your relationship with her through that specific strain? Unless you're suggesting she's not...Solenice's daughter at all? Or not born from the womb..."
He shook his head, cutting short their discussion that neither he nor Isidor seemed particularly keen on. Not that they had the liberty to speculate or reevaluate the alchemist's first-impression analysis, when Elespeth Rigas' case took utmost precedence.
Moments later, they reached the door to the healers' study. After a soft but purposeful knock, and at the verbal go-ahead to enter, Alster stepped through the threshold, Isidor close behind his heels.
"Ah, perfect. I thought the three of you would be gathered here. It's nice to see you again, Daphni. Elias. Senyiah." With a pleasant smile, Alster bowed his head. Closing the door behind him, he swept his good hand outward, to indicate the guest who had relocated to his right-hand side. "May I introduce Master Alchemist, Isidor Kristeva. He is making great strides in determining the best course of action for Elespeth's procedure. I daresay he has the most promising plan, going forward."
"Does he?" Elias, who slammed a medical journal closed, stood from his seat, his expression clipped, but professional. "Please, Isidor Kristeva. Enlighten us."
"While he does not have the medical expertise, I can vouch for his ability," Alster added, at Senyiah's well-meaning query.
"And have you witnessed a demonstration of Isidor's enviable skill-set, Alster?" Elias raised an eyebrow.
Like Isidor beside him, Alster elected to be truthful. "No. But I have seen him determine the chemical compositions of any organic and inorganic substance through touch. So please, do not let my lack of evidence sway you in a negative direction." He tilted his head to one side. "I seem to recall that you took a chance on me, Elias, when I expressed interest in becoming a healer. Do you regret my contributions to the community? Have I disappointed anyone?"
The red-clad Clematis healer shook his head. "No."
"It’s as Isidor says. We don't have a plethora of options to explore, nor the luxury to wait until the Night Garden grows to full strength. That could take decades. A century. Even with the sanctuary preserving Elespeth’s life, she still requires supervision by an attentive healer, the nutrients to sustain her body long-term, the tubing, the close monitoring of her physical condition--not to mention, the Night Garden cannot account for her multiplicative avenues of deterioration." Though he tried to control his emotions, they sputtered out of him in a tumble of frustration and desperation. Red spots blotted before his eyes, bursting with sickening pops, disturbing his balance, his reason, and his propriety. Gone was the Rigas Lord; in his place was a pathetic wretch of a person, the final threads of his patience exposed bare. "Are you suggesting she become a semi-permanent fixture and be given a dedicated healer, an inexhaustive budget of time, money, and resources, and indefinite residency in the corner of the sanctuary for possibly the rest of her life?"
Elias shook his head a second time. "Again, no."
"As Elespeth's husband, I ultimately determine the best option for her recovery. She entrusted me with finding a solution, and this holds the most promise. If I compromise my health in the process, then it is of little incident!" His prosthesis burst out of its sling, gesticulating wildly. "I'll lose another arm if I have to. Replace my heart with one of steel. It's nothing to me. As long as she's alive, and I'm alive, and we're conscious, and functioning, we can individually tackle the lingering cell damage. I can do it, even! Expedite the process, using the Night Garden as my battery and insurance. And with your collective cooperation, we're sure to make a full recovery."
"For the love of--I am not arguing with you, Alster," Elias snapped. "You have my cooperation. What good would denying you do? I am fully aware we do not have the specific techniques available to heal your wife. I am not apt to allow a patient to remain in a vegetative state, either. It is ludicrous not to follow-through with every possibility as they present themselves to us. Of course, it is at the discretion of the physician to accept or reject the proposal depending on the percentage of success versus failure--but it is impossible to determine the correct action if we reject every proposal without considering its viability. How we do so is through ample research and study."
Alster, out of breath from his outburst, gasped to formulate words in Elias' direction. "You...you agree with me?"
"Of course I do. I'm not bloody daft." He turned his curiosity-veiled eyes to Isidor. "You will have your blood samples, Kristeva. I am about to head to the sanctuary for Elespeth's routine check-up, anyhow. But first--there is something I must assess." Snatching a bilious purple vial from his work-table, the Clematis healer approached Isidor and pressed it into his hand. "Tell me the exact composition of this elixir. This is my own formula, so I will know it if you fabricate the results. Prove to me you are worthy of my endorsement, alchemist, and I will work with you. Do keep in mind I can always rescind my support if I find that you do not satisfy the bare minimum of my expectations.”
Isidor had fully come prepared to explain himself, to a room full of healers who were more likely to successfully treat any patient than he was, himself. At least… he had come prepared for the fact that they might not think his skills adequate to address the dire concerns surrounding the health of a decidedly high-profile woman. Frankly, this was how he chose to approach any and all social situations: by expecting the worst, it at the very least set you up so that there was no possible way to be disappointed when you already expected people to think little of you. Many would argue that this certainly was not a healthy coping mechanism for anyone nervous in the company of others, but… well, at the end of the day, it was all he really knew. And it got him through the best and the worst of encounters.
That, paired with how Alster had already warned him of Elias’s demeanor was enough that at least he was not painfully taken off guard when his capabilities were called into question. He didn’t blame them; he had no credibility to his name, aside from Alster’s glowing and hopeful endorsement, but even he could not vouch for his skillset. It was all speculative, and yes, his proposal was not without its risks… And yet, fortunately, the hard-to-please Clematis healer called Elias was in full agreement to Isidor’s involvement in Elespeth Rigas’s recovery. Good--that was good. Because while the Master Alchemist miserably failed to appeal to anyone on an emotional level, it was difficult to completely deny the logic of the fact that Alster’s wife had all but run out of other options. Even if that was the only reason the three healers came to accept his involvement, it was enough.
“Thank you very much.” The awkward alchemist said with a smile, and bowed his head in gratitude to the Clematis healer. “You cooperation is greatly appreciated. I am determined not to let you or Alster down…”
He didn’t have time to finish the thought before Elias shoved something into his hand. A clear vial containing what appeared to be a deep purple-coloured serum sloshed about inside, leaving a gleaming residue where it hit the walls of the glass. Immediately, Daphni let out a deep sigh. “Elias, there is no need to harass the man.” She chided the Clematis healer, before turning an apologetic eye on Isidor. “I’m sorry, Isidor. I have full faith that you are able to perform as capably as you claim…”
“Not to worry; I don’t mind.” The Master Alchemist smiled with a small sigh of his own. “It really isn’t a bother. I’ve rather come to expect that people will demand to bear witness to this skill when they learn I am a Master Alchemist… this isn’t the first time it has been asked of me.” Isidor turned the vial around in his hands a few times, and peered curiously at the oddly coloured liquid. “This is… am I right in assuming this is used to treat pain? Eight percent white willow bark, four percent valerian root, about nineteen-point-four percent cat’s claw and eleven percent boswellia… dissolved in a solution of spring water? The rest… admittedly, this seems to contain substances with which I am unfamiliar, such as that which lends the deep purple coloration. Could it be…” Realization dawned on him as he looked up from the vial in his hand. “Have you used substances from the Night Garden? I only made my first venture into it earlier today, but alas, it was only with the purpose to see Elespeth, and I hadn’t the time to become familiar with the foreign flora… frankly, that is the only reason I can think as to why some of the components in this vial remain unfamiliar to me. If I haven’t come into contact with them before, then I have no real frame of reference for what I don’t yet know…”
The three healers exchanged astonished glances, which was enough to reassure Isidor that he wasn’t wrong in his appraisal of the substance in the vial. Daphni shook her head in amazement. “You have your answer, Elias. Now let’s not pressure this poor man to continue to prove himself. My apologies, Isidor.” The Sybaian healer took the vial from the alchemist’s hand and offered a regretful smile. “We really mean no offense.”
“I assure you, no offense is taken.” Isidor nodded with a nervous smile. “In any case. The sooner I can get blood from Alster and his wife, the sooner I’ll be able to contemplate the next step. If it is a viable match, Alster,” he turned to the Rigas mage, “I’ll need a healer to examine you, prior to any procedure I might implement. You absolutely must be in peak health, not only for your own safety, but for Elespeth’s. Even something as minor as a case of the sniffles or elevated blood pressure will not only have a negative bearing on the result.”
“Well, fortunately, there is no shortage of capable healers in Galeyn.” Senyiah mentioned, no longer in such a tone that suggested suspicion or doubt, but neither did the Head Gardener appear entirely convinced that this was a good idea. At least she had the grace to recognize that at this point, her opinion held no real weight. “If your deem it safe to proceed after an analysis of the blood, you have our word we will ascertain Alster is in top form to be part of the procedure.”
“I appreciate your cooperation.” The Master Alchemist bowed his head humbly. “I won’t take up any more of your time. I’ll go and prepare my workshop for the blood analysis.”
With no more words exchanged, both the alchemist and the Rigas lord left the healers and ventured back into the corridor. The first few steps succumbed to silence, but it was Isidor who finally broke it with a request. “Alster. About my… my sister. I am willing to bet she is not privy to this… well, to what I gleaned. Unless Solenice happened to explain the circumstances of her creation to her, which, knowing what I do about my mother, I highly doubt.” His mouth set in the same unimpressed line that Vitali’s did when discussing the topic of the infamous Solenice Kristeva, a mother of three very powerful offspring, for whom she did nothing. “I do recognize that bit of Solenice in her. It is the same that I feel within myself, and in Vitali, but she… I am willing to bet she never had a father. And if it is as you say--if she is struggling to comprehend magical prowess that is far greater than herself… this leads me to believe that her otherness is magic, of sorts. Filling in the gaps where a father’s genetic makeup would otherwise do the work. Not one hundred percent a homunculus, if she did develop in a womb, which is possible, just… tricky. Not something that often yields successful results. Regardless of what she is or isn’t, though, I digress.”
The Master Alchemist shook his head and adjusted his spectacles. “I don’t mean to ramble; but I think… it is a topic that should only be addressed with Teselin should she ask directly. Even knowing the details of her origins may not help her to better understand her magic; there is no way to predict how it would’ve manifested. So to make a long story very short… I’d appreciate it if you did not tell her what I told you. Not unless she asks, in which case, feel free to redirect her to me. I’ll happily tell her what I can glean, if that is what she wants. Otherwise… well, based on what you’ve told me about this individual worrying her who is somehow even worse than my brother,” the flat line of his mouth curled into a small smile, “it seems as though she has more important matters to focus on, for the time being. And finding out she isn’t human certainly won’t help her with any of that.”
Promising to have the results for Alster by the end of the day, as soon as he received the requested samples of blood, Isidor soon after parted ways with the Rigas mage and returned to his workshop. Alster and the healers had certainly made good on their cooperation; within the next couple of hours, Alster himself delivered the two carefully labeled vials (and Isidor even managed not to look too sick at the sight of the blood he’d soon be working with), and then declared not one, but a couple of healers would assess his health in order to ensure a consensus from two different viewpoints that he was suitable for the procedure, should the blood samples turn up as a good match. Several hours later, after rigorous testing and retesting to ascertain stability of results, Isidor had his answer.
The Master Alchemist braved the corridors (where he could run into ANYONE, it seemed) to knock on Alster’s door as soon as the sun had set. The Rigas lord answered almost immediately, and he looked as though he’d literally been holding his breath, this entire time. “Alster, I have good news. After using every last drop of that blood to perform every possible compatibility test I can imagine, you are a match for your wife. I couldn’t find any red flags or anomalies that would suggest failure or hindrance to my suggested procedure. Did you manage to--”
Before he could even finish his sentence, Alster proclaimed that not only Elias, but Daphni AND Senyiah had all come to the conclusion that he was in excellent physical health, and that Isidor was free to follow up with them if he wanted to hear it from the source. “No--of course, that won’t be necessary. I believe you; you care too much for your wife to put her at risk with any aliments you might have. Well, if that is the case, then…”
“Isidor--Alster.” Both men turned their attention to a familiar small-framed girl. Teselin stood just a few feet away, a shawl draped over her shoulders and the very tip of her nose pink, as if she’d been spending time outside in the cool autumn night. “Vitali sent me to retrieve both of you. I wouldn’t think to bother you if I did not believe it was important, but he… he said that he has found something that might be of help to Elespeth. To bringing her back, that is.”
Naturally, Isidor frowned at the idea that Vitali would be so selfless as to offer any help whatsoever. It left him understandably skeptical. “I’ve been here almost a week, and he waits until now to decide to tell me this? We’ve just confirmed that it is safe to proceed with my proposal…”
“I’ll be honest, I don’t really understand what he means to tell you; he did not get into details. But, well,” she spread her arms, “he saw fit to send me to retrieve you, because Tivia cannot be bothered with trivial errands. It may be worth at least listening to what he has to say.”
That’s right… Tivia and vitali cohabitated in the farmhouse on the outskirts of the kingdom. There was a chance she would be there… “...I suppose she is right.” He mentioned to Alster, in what was a decidedly noticeable change of heart from the skepticism in his voice just seconds ago. “We should not turn a blind eye to anything that might feasibly be of help to Elespeth. If the necromancer is aware of an alternative that would not require you to surrender some of your own health, Alster, then we should hear him out.”
So it was settled in moments. The Rigas mage, the alchemist, and the young summoner all congregated in the carriage awaiting them just outside the palace, powered by a duo of Night steeds (and with a Forbanne soldier sitting next to the carriage driver--for obvious reasons, given the tragedy that had taken place the week before). It was not a particularly long ride to the outskirts of the kingdom by nightfall (not more than an hour, really), but the atmosphere inside the coach was decidedly heavy, for a number of reasons. For one, the topic of Elespeth Rigas and her prognosis was in itself sensitive, but across from the two men sat a girl whom they now knew was not entirely human, something entirely unbeknownst to her. In addition, the concerned shape of Teselin Kristeva’s mouth, and the way her intense, dark gaze was fixed on one of the windows suggested she was struggling with her own troubles, none of which Alster or Isidor could help her with.
Nonetheless, it left Isidor feeling guilty about their previous encounter, and he wanted to make up for it. “Teselin, how long have you been acquainted with Vitali, exactly?” He asked, at a loss of anything else to talk about that they might have in common, aside from a shared brother and mother. “You clearly seem to know him for better than I do. Truth be told, our encounters have only ever been brief, few and far-between.” And wretched, he wanted to add, but thought better of it. Teselin did not share in his opinion of Vitali.
“Hm? Oh… well, not long, myself.” The summoner seemed to snap out of whatever trance had engulfed her and shifted to face her brother on the seat across from her. “But he helped me when I was very young. I never forgot that. I’ve always known there was some good in him.”
“That is… well, not something I’d ever have thought of him. But as our lives are different, so are our experiences. I…” Was there even a polite way to say, Sorry I never knew you existed? “It is nice to finally meet. To know that I Vitali is not my only sibling. If only we could have met sooner…”
Teselin smiled, but it seemed… distracted. “Well… I suppose meeting new people, even if they are family, can be difficult, if you spend your life in a tower.”
Although her tone in no way connoted a mean-spirited demeanor, or any real criticism of his lifestyle, the conversation died at that point, and the trio rode out the rest of their time in transit in silence. Dusk had crept into full on night by the time they arrived at the farmhouse. The place was only dimly lit with candles, enough for Tivia to get around. Only now did the alchemist realize just how great a threat light was to his brother’s well-being. “Ah--so you did manage to convince them to pay me a visit. My thanks, Teselin.” The infamous necromancer was up and about, and far more energized than anyone else at this time of night, due to his divergent circadian rhythm.
“Vitali. Teselin says you have something pertinent to tell us that may be crucial to Elespeth’s revival.” Since Tivia was also present, sitting at the table at the far end of the open kitchen, Isidor made an effort to keep the suspicion from leaking into his voice. “We’ve already determined that Alster is ideal for the procedure and that the outlook is fairly promising, though; I am not sure what it is you think you have to add.”
“Oh, don’t worry yourself; you can keep to your plan. I have far better things to do than to steal your limelight, little brother.” Vitali chuckled and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his violet waistcoat; one that he’d procured just recently by reminding Lilica over and over again of just how helpful he’d been, of late, and wouldn’t it be nice to dress a little more regally once again? So she had one made in the likeness of his old one, long since ruined, to shut him up. “I merely came across something I’d completely forgotten I had. Frankly, it is of no use to me, and while it could certainly fetch a pretty coin even within the confines of this kingdom… I wondered if perhaps it could first be useful to you.”
From his pocket, he withdrew something smooth and irregularly shaped. It was difficult for the average person to make out the exact colour in the dim room, but Isidor recognized it right away--and recoiled. “Vitali, where… where in hell did you get that?!” Forgetting all about maintaining his composure in front of Tivia, he hissed the words. “You shouldn’t have that--no one should have one of those!”
“I know, I know. If it falls into the wrong hands, and all. But here I am offering to put it in your responsible hands, Isidor. Literally--I am handing you the key to success in reviving Elespeth Rigas. And Alster wouldn’t even have to suffer for it.”
“No--no, he wouldn’t. But someone else would. Don’t pretend like you don’t know that.” Taking in the baffled looks of not only Alster, but Tivia and Teselin as well, Isidor took a breath to compose himself and explain. “It’s an alchemist stone. It lends the ability to perform absolutely any form of transmutation with absolute success, without going through the trouble of finding a willing and compatible donor, especially for organic materials…”
“But, that… isn’t that ideal, Isidor?” The young summoner asked, her brows still furrowed in confusion. “Guaranteed success, with no one else affected?”
“No. No, that is not it, Teselin. That is not it at all. Alchemy depends on the principle of equivalent exchange; a perfect give and take. This talisman… it finds the perfect match. Somewhere--anywhere. Alster,” he turned to the Rigas mage, visibly shaken, and looking no more willing to take that stone from his brother. “You must understand… if I were to use this to restore Elespeth to health, there is no telling where the stone will find the necessary material. It may take it from you, after all. Or, someone with even greater compatibility, on the other side of this world. What I am trying to say is, by using it, it could very well lead to someone else’s demise… or, worse, an irreversible change that they never should have had to endure. Please understand that I… this is why I cannot use it on your wife. Even if it guarantees her recovery.”
The necromancer probably rolled his eyes beneath his blindfold. “Of course you would bring your moral framework into it. Nevermind what was required of you to become a Master Alchemist, Isidor. Rather hypocritical--”
“I know, Vitali! Believe me, the community of alchemists in this kingdom want me to be very aware of what it cost to have my rank. But that doesn’t mean it must continue to be that way.” With the utmost reluctance, the Master Alchemist outstretched his hand. “...if you were going to give it to me anyway, then I will take it. If for no other reason than so that no one else will get their hands on it and misuse it.”
The necromancer shrugged his shoulders and tossed the small stone in his brother, who awkwardly caught it with both hands. “Well… don’t say I didn’t try to be helpful. My apologies, Alster. It really didn’t occur to me that my brother would value a complete stranger’s life over your dear wife’s.”
Isidor pressed his lips into a thin line. “We are going to proceed with the original plan--and it is going to work. And not at anyone else’s expense.”
“...I trust you, Isidor. Whatever you think is best--I know you will be successful.” It was Teselin who spoke up for the frazzled alchemist. In the dim room, she even offered a small smile. “But I think it is only fair to acknowledge that, Vitali… well, I know this was your way of offering help. Even if not everyone’s outlook aligns with yours.”
“Leave it to you, little sister, not to leave a good deed unrecognized.” The necromancer patted her shoulder appreciatively. “Well, I’m sorry to have brought the two of you out here, only to waste your precious time. Next time I’ll think twice before offering unsolicited aid. I seem to be better received when I am asking for compensation in return.”
You absolutely must be in peak physical health....
Peak physical health...Not a day in his centenarian life passed without the sickly Alster Rigas reacting to some disease. He hid it well, but the truth never escaped his attention; that he carried his malaise in the pit of his stomach. A congenital condition, causing flare-ups of the intestines, frequent vomiting after meals, sensitivity to meat, spices, anything too rich, too doughy, too sweet, too much...A compromised immune system exacerbated his symptoms, inducing other inconveniences: migraines, joint pain, inflammatory infections, shortness of breath, the inability to cross a certain weight threshold, and a near-constant fatigue that weighed on his bones. Add the complications of his prosthetic arm, an operation that only succeeded through forced magical intervention, and his remission of Mariana’s disease, a degenerative response from the body housing more magic than it could handle, and it was a wonder anyone considered the underweight and malnourished Alster an ideal heart-donor for his wife. The hopeful half of him hadn’t even reasoned that his health, aside from his blood and the organ, itself, required such an intense screening process. But thoroughness was key. He did not, nor did anyone else, for that matter, want to be responsible for pumping toxins into his wife’s body. So why did he think he was enough? Why did he think he and all his broken, barely functional parts were ever enough?
He had no choice. He had to be enough. And it had to be him.
I’ll make sure that it’s me…
After the healers were informed of the plan, and after he sent Isidor on his way with the blood samples and promises to not only manage his health but their secret involving Teselin, Alster retired early to his chambers, too troubled by his physical examination to focus on any of his other duties. And when the blood-test results came back positive, like he innately knew they would, the inevitable next step in the process would occur...tomorrow.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow. Not enough time! He could ask for an extension. A week. Two weeks. A month. No one could afford the risk of his wavering health, if it would bungle the procedure. But postponing the operation might prove a risk, regardless. The longer they waited, the higher the percentage of failure. The Night Garden sustained Elespeth; it did not preserve her, as he had mistakenly thought. While it slowed the rate of her mortality, the fact remained that she was crawling into death. They had waited long enough, and the likelihood of finding another willing donor in so narrow a window of time...despite his host of supportive allies, there was a slim chance.
It has to be me…
He could seek the aid of the Night Garden and its cultivators, the Gardeners, but his numerous health disorders were an ongoing issue, present since birth. According to Isidor, congenital diseases saw fewer successes in treating than ones obtained later in life. The Gardeners could develop a regimen for him, prescribe the correct dosages of Night Garden herbs and veer him towards a better lifestyle that, eventually, would show favorable results in all the right places, but he could not afford to play the long game. He needed something instantaneous. A force of will. He needed magic.
Luckily, he had magic. In spades.
It took him the better part of the evening to concoct the best strategy, and the best method of approach. Through exhaustive calculations, mental preparations, and the whispered self-assurances that however inane, however utterly deranged the ritual he was about to perform, he was amid the powerful healing energies of the Night Garden, and he would not fail.
And no one would have to know. Not right away.
After hyping himself up for the plan, Alster set out to make the proper arrangements. In his chambers, he placed a heated water basin, a clean pile of wash-rags, a bottle of antiseptic, gauze pads, a tourniquet, and a dagger, its edge whetted to a point so thin and lethal, the lightest of pressures could slice the carotid artery in twain. Pulling a chair beside the table, he spread one of the largest of the rags over a wide swath of floor before it, sat down, kicked off his boots, rolled up his trousers to expose his feet...and let out the longest, depressurizing sigh he could manage.
"I can do this." He dipped a wash-rag into the water and scrubbed his left foot, thoroughly, making sure to scrub between the toes. "I said I would do it, El." Wiping away the clinging droplets of water, he hauled his leg over the rag-shrouded table, and spread his toes to full view. "Lose a limb...it doesn't matter to me." His voice wavered. He bit on his lip to calm the nerves. "I've done this before. Not to this capacity...but I've done this, before."
His chthonic magic, apt and able to siphon dead, dying, and diseased energies, had lifted the shroud from Vega's womb, healed the lesions on Briery's uterus, encouraged the regrowth of damaged nerve tissue in Vitali's afflicted arm, and delayed the incapacitating lung disease of Severin's father, the Miller. He could remove toxins from their bodies on a cellular level and take them into himself, feed the decaying energies to the Serpent, and flush it out of his system. But there was no flushing out of his system the birth defects, the weakened immune system, or the parade of infections that affected him. Not through the avenues that led to the Serpent, anyhow. He could not go into himself to heal his impurities when it required an atomic folding of space and time, a leap into the universe of the self, which would only compromise his positioning in the greater universe. It posed problems in continuity and spatial consistency. He'd create a dimensional rift, an error, a split, or worse, rub himself out of existence. It was essentially a division by zero, with himself as the component.
But while he could not go into himself to siphon the sickly aura out of his body, he could gather it all up like a giant magnet and transfer it to one concentrated point in an area of his choice. Like his little toe. Though once gathered, it could not be allowed the chance to spread back to its places of origin. It required excising. An amputation.
It was all a temporary solution. Removing the toxins did not free them from his body indefinitely. Given time--two weeks, a month--a new set would bloom, proliferate, and wreak its familiar havoc in all the most popular haunts. But he only needed to be healthy for the operation, so it would be enough.
He'd underestimated the amount of miasma floating in his body. When he stirred from his meditative trance, he observed not one, but two of his smaller toes, black with necrosis. The conveyance of damaged, decaying matter from one place to another had been been a success, and yet...
Two toes. He would lose two toes.
There was nothing to do about it, now. Before wrapping the affected toes in tourniquets, he stuffed a gag into his mouth, not only to stifle the screams, but to protect his tongue from an unsanctioned amputation. Even with the addition of a numbing solution, when he brought the dagger down, and the sickening slash lopped off the two digits in a clean cleave, he howled against the gag, seizing from the all-encompassing agony. Everything was on fire. Everything was coming apart.
But he cut off the disease. He cut it off. For now, it was gone. For now...he was the picture of health.
"Something is not right, here."
"What do you mean?"
Elias sat back in his chair, removing his hands from the attachments of steel around Alster's arm. Where yesterday, puffy swatches of infected skin had collected in uneven patches, today the area appeared smooth and flush, the scar tissue a distant, pink memory mapped across his upper arm--visible, but hardly noticeable.
"I realize I have not given you a physical examination in some time, Alster, not since before the addition of your steel prosthesis. But from my scanning of your internal organs, I've concluded that you are healthy..."
"Healthy?" Alster's lips spread into a smile. "That's great news, then! So what's the problem?"
"The problem is you're not healthy, Alster."
"But you just said--"
"Do not play dumb with me." Elias rose from his chair, peeled off his gloves, and dipped them into the closest washbasin. "I am sure Daphni and Senyiah can corroborate my concerns with the sudden disappearance of your persistent spate of health issues. I have in my files of you, from when you were my patient," he recited the list from memory, "a congenital inflammation of the intestinal tract, low immunoglobulin levels, an insufficient immune system, susceptibility to infection, an allergy list too long and dense to recall verbatim, and other such complications that present as side-effects to your present conditions." He scrubbed his hands clean with a rag. "So I must ask, before we can proceed any further--what did you do to miraculously avail yourself of disease? Because as a pathologist, I am very curious to know your formula for success so that I can replicate the results for myself."
"No formula," Alster dismissed glibly. "It must be my long-time exposure to the Night Garden. Perhaps my magic attracts healing energies, Elias. Or," he cupped his chin with his flesh and blood fingers, pausing as though to think, "it could be my bond with the Serpent. Through blood, we are linked. If I had not made that arrangement when I did, my magic would still be nipping away at my poor physical stamina. It's possible the Serpent also siphoned away some of my other ailments, over time."
Elias' furrowed brow did not indicate he was, in any way, swayed by Alster’s suppositions. "Something still does not add up. But I wash my hands of it. You know the risks; we've briefed you on them." He waved the Rigas Lord out of the chair and gestured to the door leading out of the healers' lounge. "Go ahead, Alster, and be the sacrificial lamb that you were always meant to embody."
Alster stood in one fluid motion, as he practiced that morning. Bereft of two toes on his left foot, he compensated by favoring his right side, which no one questioned, considering the battering ram of steel that skewed his balance into a half-distributed teeter. "Whatever you think I did, Elias, it's all for Elespeth's benefit. It won't kill me. I do what I do so that we both survive."
"Everything is always for Elespeth's benefit with you," he grumbled. "One of these days, you will go too far, and it actually will kill you."
Shaking his head, Alster said nothing more before heading out the door.
That evening, at the insistence of Teselin, Alster and Isidor joined her on a hasty expedition to the farmhouse. Though relieved by the double positives as they related to his donor status, Alster, in spite of his glowing health, felt...spent. During the carriage ride, an expedited trip, even with the bulk of their added entourage, he could not concentrate on the short-lived conversation between Isidor and Teselin. Like the summoner across from him, he stared out the window for the duration, hiding nothing of the world-weariness that afflicted him greater than any illness. With half-lidded eyes, he separated from reality and did not engage, or care to engage, until the carriage rolled to a stop.
Tivia greeted the trio as they collected inside the candle-lit farmhouse, though her greeting translated more into a garbled 'hello.’ She did not linger for the response before retreating to the small wooden table to continue sipping her tea.
"Good evening, Vitali." Alster dipped into a polite, yet strained nod. "I see you've readjusted to your lifestyle quicker than I have. I'm not surprised.” He rotated his left foot, resting it on the heel. "What information do you have for us?"
He eyed the stone as Vitali fetched it from his pocket. Nothing about its mundane appearance suggested anything out of the ordinary, but Alster knew better than to believe, coming from the necromancer, that it was innocuous. Judging by Isidor's visceral reaction, the rock held more sinister connotations than positive ones. Alster, nonetheless, kept an open mind. He'd surrounded himself in enough cursed, enchanted objects as of late, than to balk at the presentation of an alchemist stone. In his cursory readings of alchemical practices, he'd heard of them. Not enough to glean the details of how they were constructed or used, but Isidor's scandalized explanation of its attributes suggested nothing good could come of it. And he was inclined to agree.
"I find it hard to believe you've only now realized you possess such a powerful object, Vitali." He regarded the nondescript piece of ore like a dead rat a cat proudly presented to its owner. Vitali--the cat--dragged in something he deemed useful to them, and Alster would be remiss not to 'praise' the necromancer for attempting to do a good deed. "But you've brought it to our attention and that's what matters, I suppose. It's for the best that we know of it now, and not sooner. If you'd alerted me to this stone prior to our trip to Nairit, I'd be tempted to activate the stone's power, and..." he lowered his eyes to his feet, in particular, to his mangled toes, "I'm afraid I'd do it. But, if given the choice between assigning a random person to suffer, or myself...it's always going to be me. I'll gladly suffer if it means reviving Elespeth to full health. So the original plan still stands. Isidor," he turned his head to address the fidgeting alchemist, "I trust you." A subdued smile chased away some of the shadows that flickered across his face. "It will work."
"Vitali, I told you Alster would prefer to sacrifice himself over doing harm to a stranger he is likely never to meet." Tivia, having finished her tea, pushed aside her chair to join the gathering in the next room. "But Isidor," her luminous gray eye honed in on him, "what is your reasoning behind refusing to use the stone? What horrors did you need to perform to earn your rank as Master? Can it be you regret what you were made to do, and as a result, are desperate to cause as little harm as possible?"
"Please--that's enough, Tivia." Alster silenced her with a pointed gaze. "Isidor's reasons are his own. We're going through with the procedure, as discussed." Before the younger Rigas could open her mouth and resume her verbal attacks, he gestured to both the necromancer and the alchemist--whoever could answer his posed question the best. "Indulge me. What else can this stone do? What are its limitations? Can it only heal the living? Or can it also coax a long-gone spirit back from the dead?" He swung towards Vitali, the suddenness of movement catching him temporarily off-balance. Despite the discomfort, he flattened his left boot, heel to sole, over the floorboards. "I know your necromancy has limitations, Vitali. Once a spirit crosses a certain threshold, you can't guarantee its return--especially when they don't have a body to return to. Can the stone circumvent all those parameters? Provide the materials from some poor victim's body elsewhere, and house the soul? Since the stone searches for a perfect match, it's less likely to produce a body that is incompatible with the soul. But I'm no necromancer, nor am I an alchemist, and my wonderings are purely hypothetical at this point, but my question is--is it possible?"
“I assure you, Alster, it is not for convenience that I did not bring up the possibility of this little trinket sooner. I knew I had it; I’ve had it for quite some time, in fact. But I am a man who comes to possess a wide array of useful items over time, by virtue of my trade.” The necromancer flippantly brushed aside the Rigas mage’s suspicions with a passive gesture of his hand. “The trouble is, when you acquire such a collection of useful tools, it is not uncommon to forget their whereabouts. So I do apologize that I could not make my entirely useless offer to you sooner. Truth be told, that stone was always intended with you in mind, Isidor. What is different is that I’d originally intended for it to come at a price. And here I am, now, just giving it away to someone who cannot even appreciate its multitude of usefulness.” He heaved a dramatic sigh and shook his head. “Well, it is yours, now. Regardless that you’d have it sit around and collect dust. Happy early birthday, or something.”
It only barely took the edge off the cutting atmosphere that Alster still felt strongly about the original plan. Isidor couldn’t blame him; he had never been in love, never married--hells, he had never so much as even toyed with the idea of a significant other. But that was what love made you do, wasn’t it? It made you do anything. It justified putting anyone and anything at risk, if only to ascertain that ever-desired happily ever after. In fact, Alster had already made a sacrifice in favour of this procedure. When their hands had briefly touched, while the Rigas lord had held the door of the carriage for him, something startling had registered in the Master Alchemist’s sixth sense. Alster Rigas was… different, in that he was no longer whole. He had lost something, most likely on purpose, and that had almost been enough for him to decide to actually seek Elias’s approval of the mage’s health for himself. In fact, he’d been toying with the idea at the back of his mind all evening… until just now. Until Vitali had presented an alternative. He did not blame Alster for his confession pertaining to putting that stone to use, had he the opportunity, prior to their initial meeting. But if he were to deny the desperately hopeful Rigas lord now…
Something told him that that wretched stone would not remain dormant. And that, through some clever convincing (Isidor was not so foolish as to believe he was beyond gullibility), it would become the alternative to their initial plan. He couldn’t let that happen…
“Alster, Teselin… I do appreciate your vote of confidence. And your understanding. I…” The Master Alchemist was interrupted when Tivia spoke up from her casual seat the table. Isidor… she’d used his name. Was she actually speaking directly to him? For some reason, it made his heart accelerate… until she fleshed out her question. Or, it was rather more of an accusation…
Hopefully it was not so noticeable in the darkened room, the way Isidor suddenly wilted. A monster. She must think I am a monster… no wonder she had responded to me only with coldness. The worst part was that she was completely justified in that opinion, just as the alchemical community within Galeyn was. Just as was everyone who had brushed him off with a cold shoulder, since his arrival. I can’t blame them. I can’t blame her… after all, I am not so enamored of myself, either. “No, Alster, it’s fine.” Somehow, the alchemist managed a ghost of a smile. He adjusted his spectacles thoughtfully, but his hand remained on the rim of the lenses, as if the thoughts that pervaded his mind caused him to forget what he had just been doing. “Tivia is entirely entitled to her opinion. There is a reason Master Alchemy is also doubly-named as Dark Alchemy… which is, perhaps, a far more accurate term. There is a reason that people like me are not welcomed within alchemical social circles…” He dared to turn his eyes in Tivia’s direction, meeting her venom full on with a look of apology. “To answer your question, Tivia, this path of life… it was not what I had intended for myself. It was a field into which my mother saw fit to throw me, for her own profit. I’ve done… I know I’ve done terrible things, to earn this rank. Truthfully, the details are lost on me, probably because I would rather forget them. But my mentor, the man who trained me--the man who bought me…” He shuddered. It never failed to unsettle him, that reminder that his worth meant little beyond that initial transaction. He was someone’s tool, once; and now, he was no one’s tool, in that he belonged to no one, but… at the end of the day, his usefulness began and ended with his skillset. “He’d have killed--literally killed for an alchemist stone. You are justified to think ill of me, but Zenech, I believe, was the embodiment of pure evil. The least that I can do in my own questionable existence is defy anything and everything that might make me similar to him. Defying his ideals… it may not be enough to absolve me of what was required of me to become what I am. But it is at least enough that I will not become like him. And I know for a fact he would never do what I have agreed to do without demanding an absurd price, so… here we are, I suppose.” With a sigh, he spread his hands, as if out of the belief that saving Elespeth Rigas was not--and would never be--enough for him to forgive himself. “Call it an attempt at redemption. If lives had to suffer for me to acquire the skills that I have… the least I can do is save or restore a life, in turn.”
“Now, I cannot believe I am saying this, but… I’m afraid I must agree with Alster, Tivia.” Vitali, much to everyone’s surprise, spoke up and turned heads. “While you have my complete approval in poking fun at my little brother, I’ve come to realize that the topic of his coming-of-age and the man that put him through hell is rather a sore spot. Poke at it too much and he may not prove to be useful for the reason that he was brought here in the first place. We can’t have him second-guess his skills too much, or else our dear Rigas lord may never hear his wife’s voice, again.”
Isidor frowned at his brother. “I do not doubt my skills. Alster is a perfect match for this procedure; I do not intend to fail.”
“Does anyone ever really intend to fail, little brother? But to answer your question, Alster… well, our resident Master Alchemist, here, knows the properties of that stone far more intimately than myself. But I can tell you this much, as a necromancer.” He nodded at the stone that Isidor still clutched in one of his hands. “Alchemy and necromancy can in fact be two very complementary disciplines, but they are far from one and the same. There are ways to attract a spirit back to a body, and I am not sure that that stone possesses such a capability. It cannot find a suitable body for a detached soul if the original body is long gone, because theory has it that the only body that will permanently accept a soul is the body into which it was born. However, as far as replicating that body…” He almost seemed to look down his nose at his brother as a wide grin spread across his face. “That is the work of a Master Alchemist; and it has been done, before. Isidor may be able to tell you more about how a stone such as that might facilitate his part of the job. I’ve said it before, dear brother; with my ties to the spirits and your ties to the grounded elements of this word, we could make quite the unstoppable team--”
“This conversation is over.” Isidor cut his brother off before he could finish that oh-so-predictable train of thought, and pocketed the wretched stone. “I’m sorry, but we must be going. There are more preparations to be made if our procedure is to take place in a couple of days.”
Teselin, out of her own innocent curiosity, couldn’t help but speak up. “A few days? But why wait, Isidor? If Alster is a perfect match, as you’ve said, couldn’t you start as early as tomorrow?”
“I could; and it would hinder the procedure’s rate of success.” The Master Alchemist explained wearily as he made for the door. “This will be a very delicate and precise task, compared to others. My body will be a conduit for this exchange; as such, it is most beneficial for it to be as purified and as empty as humanly possible, to ensure a more positive outlook.”
“So it is true. I’ve always heard tell of Master Alchemist’s starving themselves for days before taking on some exorbitant feat.” Vitali mentioned thoughtfully, the corner of his mouth tugged into a teasing grin. “That must be why you’re as thin as a rail.”
“Goodnight, Vitali… Teselin. Tivia.” Isidor managed a small smile in the Rigas woman’s direction. Whatever she thought of him, it somehow did not change the... Warmth, he felt, when looking at her. “Alster; we should be on our way.”
The carriage ride home was spent in relative silence, save for Alster’s well-meaning concern with regard to Vitali’s final comment concerning certain alchemical practices. “It is nothing to be concerned about, Alster. The human body can survive a few days without any food. Water and some purifying teas will make me a suitable conduit to perform this procedure. I am already nervous enough that I don’t really feel inclined to eat, anyway.” A self-deprecating smile formed on his lips. “I promised you success; and I intend to deliver, if you’ll allow me to take every possible avenue of precaution. Trust me, I’ll be fine.”
And he was. For the next two days, the Master Alchemist spent little to no time around anyone, and sustained himself on water and his own unique brew of teas that left him feeling light-headed and nauseated, and forced him to expel any and all waste from his body far more frequently than what was healthy. Finally, on the third day, when the sanctuary had been amply set up for what was going to take place, Isidor met Alster there, looking far paler, weaker, and more tired than before. “Are you ready, Alster? I know I’ve explained the risks, but should we go over them again, just to be clear?”
But Alster was ready, and he couldn’t care less for the risks to himself. With that said, they set him up on a bed close to Elespeth’s, with a stool for Isidor to sit on just between the two beds. “You realize that when you awaken, you are going to be unwell, because you will be bearing the burden of Elespeth’s damaged cells. The both of you should remain here until you recover; do not leave even a moment sooner. Though I am sure these fine healers will see to that.” He offered a smile to Daphni and Elias, who had agreed to supervise this procedure and to act only if something appeared to go horribly wrong. “Oh--and I suppose the both of you should also note… Upon completion of this task, I myself will be very tired and weak. I am going to need rest, and you can expect that I will probably be asleep for several days. I cannot guarantee how easy it will be to wake me to see that I eat something or take fluids, but I will leave that to your expert judgment, to intervene should you see it necessary.”
“We would also ask that you remain here as well, in that case, Isidor.” Daphni gently requested, nodding to one of the empty beds. “We will be monitoring the three of you very closely in the coming days. You will all be cared for and treated as is needed.”
“Understood.” Isidor nodded, and moved to the stool between Alster and Elespeth’s bed. “When you awaken, Alster… so, too, should your wife. You have that to look forward to.” With that final comment, he allowed Elias to put the Rigas mage under sedation; a necessary requirement to ensure success, especially considering that everything could go terribly wrong if Alster reacted to discomfort or pain. “Let no one else into this space. I must remain completely undisturbed for the duration of this procedure… and it will take some time. No fewer than twenty-four hours.”
With the healers’ agreement to his terms and requirements, the Master Alchemist took a break and looked at the palms of his hands. This runes were earned with blood and lives; may they compensate for their evil by restoring a life…
From the perspective of a layperson, it did not look as though Isidor were doing anything at all. With one hand over Elespeth’s heart, and the other over Alster’s, the Master Alchemist slipped into a trance-like state for hours upon hours. One cell at a time, he was the tool that facilitated the exchange, and maintained the balance. Not too much at once, and not to fast, the exchange of cells took place at their leisure, ensuring the least damage as possible as they rewrote themselves upon opposite hearts. It was a tenuous juggling act that required Isidor’s complete concentration, in spite of fatigue and gnawing under and his light-headed condition. The morning came and went, as did the night, and it wasn’t until the afternoon of the next day that Isidor finally stirred, and removed his hands from the sleeping couple. “...it’s done.” He whispered, his eyes barely able to focus on what was in front of him. “It was… successful. It felt successful. Let them awaken naturally. They will…”
As soon as he attempted to stand up from the stool, the Master Alchemist swayed on his feet, and only avoided collapsing when Elias--who was currently on shift while Daphni rested, as they had been switching on and off for the past thirty or so hours--caught him by the arm. “...apologies. I’m fine, really…” But he was barely conscious by the time the Clematis healer led him to a bed, and he was out before his head so much as hit the pillow.
It was about twelve hours later when Elespeth Rigas opened her eyes for the first time in over a month.
At first, it took some time for her to so much as realize she was awake, and it was only when Elias spoke to her that she realized she was able to respond. This wasn’t a dream; she was awake. “...what is… what happened? Elias, where…” Though disoriented and confused (and still far from peak health), the former knight sat up with a little help and looked around the room. The first person she locked eyes with was that of her husband. “...Alster. Alster, did you…” It was coming back to her, slowly but surely. Their plan, what Alster had set out to do, something involving an Alchemist… and she was awake. Did that mean… it had worked? “Am I--Alster, are… are we alright?”
Vitali’s admonition hit Tivia like a hammer to the chest. She’d stumbled back a step and clutched her heart, as though reeling from a physical blow. “My...my apologies,” she stammered, her visible cheek pinkening to a cherry red. Luckily, the poor lighting quality dimmed visibility, manipulating the colors in alternating streaks of muted shadow and candle-yellow saturation. She hung her head, a curtain of blonde hair shuttering away both sides of her face--drawing shut. While she never admitted it aloud, being in the necromancer’s presence empowered her. Alongside him, she felt invincible. Untouchable. She could say whatever she wanted, without repercussions, because at least one person accepted her mean-spirited jibes. He never chastised her on the correct way to behave; not like Alster, a do-gooder with no right to ask the same of others, considering all the damage he caused to Stella D’Mare and the Rigas legacy. By existing, he ruined homes, families--hell, he committed patricide--but because he wanted to be better, everyone treated him as some kindhearted scion of hope and altruism. He was saintly, untouchable. He committed so many wrongs, and yet people conveniently forgot his hand in disaster, because he deflected his transgressions (of which there were many) through his constant willingness to help, a helpfulness people actually found useful, and not hindering. It was always genuine, it was inspiring, it was so goddamned unattainable for someone like Tivia to achieve, let alone adopt as her own model.
While Alster’s affinity for healing heralded him as the prodigal son wherever he went, Tivia, by the nature of her burdensome ability, embodied bad news. When people saw the manic look in her star-touched (a D’Marian term for ‘mad’) eye, she did not instill hope; she instilled fear, elicited pity. Her discomfort made others uncomfortable, and they tended not to mingle near, in case proximity would trigger in the volatile, disfigured girl an episode of lunacy so acute, it might spread like a contagion and infect the normal crowd. And because Tivia would never be normal, she had to contend with the abnormal crowd, a fit that she never wanted for herself or her tragic life. It meant that she, a fellow misfit, would never know peace. Or romance on her terms. Or a mind that was her own, one not constantly commandeered by an infinitude of noise and light housed inside the tiniest of amphitheatres. Amid her designated spot among the misfits, were people who tried so hard to go beyond ‘good enough.’ People like Alster, like Teselin, like Isidor--they refused to accept the culpability within themselves and wear the darkness on their sleeves, along with the light.
But Vitali...he’d accepted himself. He did not need to try. He did not need to present as some champion fighting for the benefit of humanity. He lived for himself, caring not for what others thought of him. And it was...so refreshing. In his company, Tivia did not worry about the expectation of goodness, or the pressure to be a certain way, to a certain group of people. Together, Tivia and Vitali were a team, maintaining a farm, just...living. But now, with the growing crowd, with the addition of Isidor, whose similarities to Alster could not be ignored, the dynamic shifted irreparably in the other direction. No longer did she have a safe space where she could do as she pleased. Everything had consequences--and people expected things of her, now. Even Vitali. They wanted her hospitality. Her best behavior. Her sudden acceptance of the wiry, abhorrent alchemist and his desperation to be good. It was sickening. Why do you have to be anything? She wanted to yell at him. Isn’t it enough to live for yourself? To be both good and wicked? Accept it. Like Vitali, why don’t you accept that you’ve done wrong, instead of blaming it on life and its unfair circumstances? Instead of scapegoating your ‘evil’ master? Instead of refusing to remember what you’ve done?
But she didn’t voice her opinions out loud. Her opinions were unwanted. Both Alster and Vitali had made it quite clear that they could not interfere with his shaky confidence, lest they render his services completely insufficient. What a laugh, that even the likes of Vitali believed someone so pathetic could save Elespeth.
And yet...he will. The stars have deemed it so. Elespeth...she will awaken. They will not fail.
She daren’t speak her insights aloud. They didn’t know what she knew. Besides--she delivered bad news. Not positive news. Should she change her entire aesthetic, surely, she’d taint the good news...and kill Elespeth with her words.
So she said nothing, and did nothing else but retire to the kitchen table, refill her tea, and slump over her chair with her back turned to everyone. And when Alster and Isidor at last bid their goodnights and departed for the carriage that would return them to the heart of Galeyn, Tivia excused herself from Vitali and Teselin, too upset to remain in their company. Skipping dinner, she made a beeline for the bed in the curtained-off corner of the farmhouse. It was there--she hoped--the stars would let her rest, in a black, dreamless, quiet void.
Without trying to arouse suspicion, Alster waved Isidor ahead of him to the carriage. Once the alchemist’s back was turned, he slowed his limping pace and took his time to reach the door to the coach. Though he’d healed the stumps where his toes used to be, they were tender to the touch. Any application of pressure activated shoots of phantom pain up his foot and leg, creating another stability challenge that his heavy steel prosthesis had first aggravated. Despite the added struggle, he swept inside the tiny carriage and sat upon the cushions, indicating no obvious distress, pain, or discomfort. Once everyone settled down, the driver pulled the reins and the Night steeds clopped forward.
“I must apologize for earlier, Isidor,” Alster spoke up, after the carriage turned onto the main road and the ride had smoothed, somewhat. “I did not mean to suggest I value the alchemist stone over your irreplaceable services, but curiosity demanded I ask. My friends have lost two precious lives to them, and if they could be resurrected, through some means...I suppose I needed to know if any options existed. But I will not be greedy. Vitali claims you can ‘create’ a body, even without the need for the stone, but I also resolve to keep my promises to you. I’ve recruited you for this task alone. Once you’ve completed your objective, you’re free to do as you please, or go where you please. You could return to your tower, if that’s what you want. While I’ll be sorry to see you go...I won’t stop you, either.”
“But,” crossed one leg over the other, lifting his stubby foot off the rumbling floor, “I would ask that you extend your visit to Galeyn until after I recover. I’ve promised to escort you back to Nairit. Besides, I cannot in good conscience allow you to leave without doing something for you in return—especially now, in light of the knowledge you’ve shared regarding the demands this procedure will sap from your health and wellness. As we’re both fully entrenched in seeing nothing but a full recovery for Elespeth, all I can say is this: be careful, alright? I’d hate to see you bedridden indefinitely for your part in this operation.”
They rode the rest of the way in silence. At their return to the palace gates, they bid each other a good night and went on their separate paths, to bedchambers on opposite sides of the hallway. They did not see each other again until the day of the procedure. While they did not have a set date in mind, Elias asked Alster to remain on stand-by, to which he readily agreed. With apologies to Chara and Lilica for outsourcing his responsibilities, yet again, upon their capable yet encumbered soldiers, the Rigas Lord spent the majority of the time relearning how to walk. Not for clandestine reasons; he was not aiming to hide his new disability from his peers. If they hadn’t already suspected it, they would, in the near future. But if he was to live with it, better to master his compromised balance now, while given a moment to focus on his health, away from stressful environs and desperate requests for his attention and aid. I’ll return, he promised the people, D’Marians and Galeynians alike. I haven’t forsaken anyone, yet. But you must understand; I can’t forsake the one person who helped shape who I am, today. Without her...there would be no me. Please wait...and I will return, soon as I’m able.
Two mornings after his visit to the farmhouse, Elias knocked on Alster’s door with the fortuitous news: “Isidor is ready. Come with me to the sanctuary.”
He almost fell headlong out of the door, then, half in excitement and half in struggle to follow the Clematis healer’s grueling pace through the palace corridors. By Elias’ refusal to adjust his speed, Alster suspected that he was made aware of his latest body ‘redesign.’ If he did, however, he said nothing. Upon reaching the sanctuary, the red-clad healer directed him to the cot opposite Elespeth’s. Before proceeding, Elias scanned his patient a second time, waving his hands over key problem areas--stomach, arm, chest, throat--that, since Alster’s “emergency” operation, did not pose any health troubles or risks to either the donor or the recipient. The glow of health had not yet waned in Alster, to which he was bottomlessly thankful. He couldn’t afford to lose more toes.
“I know the risks,” he assured Isidor and the two healers, as he reclined on the cot, laying his head on the pillow. “But we’ll be fine, Isidor. And so will you.” He managed a hopeful smile. “We’re not going to fail, remember? I’ve done my part--now it’s up to you. Remember--above a stone, it’s you I trust.” He rolled head towards the comatose Elespeth sharing for her the same smile. “I’ll see you when you wake, El. I’ll see you when I wake.”
He was right to put his faith in Isidor. When his eyes flickered open of their own accord, the first thing he noticed was the heaviness of his heart, as though it had been submerged deep into an ocean trench, assailed on all sides by tons of water pressure. His heartbeats sounded from faraway, sickly throbs with an irregular cadence. Muscles ached. His head ached. Sucking in a breath weighed against his chest, agitating the afflicted organ to the extent where his exhale blew noisily from his mouth in sputters and weak coughs. As he wriggled his way into a sitting position, supporting his chest as he moved, he turned his head...and saw her.
Elespeth. Eyes open. Conscious. Aware. Looking at him. Talking to him. He froze when she addressed him, uncertain of reality. Uncertain of anything. “El-Elespeth,” he managed, with a croak. “Is this...happening? If so, then...it worked. It actually...worked.” He raised his eyes to Elias for confirmation.
“Indeed.” The Clematis healer nodded. “Though I cannot consider this outcome a surprise, Alster. Your harebrained schemes, somehow, tilt the odds in your favor. Isidor has given his approval.” He gestured to the bed across the sanctuary, where the Master Alchemist slumbered, still as death. “All has gone according to plan. He rests, now.”
“We did not fail...We did it. We...did it. El--” he extended his left arm to her, stretching across the narrow gulf from his bed to her bed. “It’s going to be alright, now.”
“Ah, doesn’t this reek of deja vu?” Elias snorted. “I recall another time when the two of you were recovering from twin heart conditions. Your shared fates tend to recycle the same content.”
“Y-yes. It seems that way, doesn’t it?” Alster smiled, but it was short-lived. Tears collected beneath his ocean-bright eyes. “Elespeth, we found the alchemist and he agreed to help. He is right there.” He lifted his steel arm, directing it to the unconscious figure on the other side of the sanctuary. “His name is Isidor. He proposed that if we exchange some of your damaged cells with healthy ones, the Night Garden will facilitate the rest of your recovery. To do this, we needed a compatible donor with a healthy heart. So I volunteered. El,” he tucked his prosthetic arm against his chest, “you really do have my heart. Literally. Pieces of it. And I, yours. Together, we’ll heal. We’re surrounded by healing energies, and your condition is no longer too dire for the Night Garden.”
“Do not get ahead of yourself, Alster,” Elias warned. “That is to be decided by me, through ample observation and monitoring. Get comfortable; this sanctuary will be your home for quite a while.”
“I am fine with that.” Alster, who had devolved into full-on weeping, drew his organic hand from his wife to wipe away at the errant tears that drenched his cheeks and stained the collar of his tunic. “Because we’ll get through this, like we always do. Together.” Before the Clematis healer could roll his eyes at the gagworthy dialogue from a hopeless romantic in his natural habitat, the Rigas Lord redirected his attention to him. “Please...whenever Isidor awakens, let me know. I owe him so much. He may not accept any of my gratitude, but I don’t care. I’ll heap it on him, regardless.”
“Noted. However,” Elias relocated to the alchemist’s bedside, cupping his wrist to check his pulse, “he may be out of sorts, for the next few days. He has been unconscious for about twelve hours, so far, and he apparently understands that his short coma may persist for longer. But there is no need to fret. He was aware of the risks just as you were--but he has no shortage of assistance. He, too, will recover. So please--worry about your own health. On second thought, no, you will not listen to me.” Instead, he made eye contact with Elespeth. “If you can, look after your husband’s health. He has been quite reckless with it, as of late.”
Alster nodded so fervently, it reminded him of the pangs that fired off in his chest. But there was too much to celebrate to even register his weakened constitution. After wiping away the tear-strewn residue from his hand, he returned it to Elespeth’s bedside in earnest, and pressed her warm palm against his own. “Welcome back, Elespeth. I missed you...so much.”
“As I must interject, love alone will nor sustain you.” Elias delivered the insufferable couple two tins full of water. “You are dehydrated. While I have been supplementing you with the nutrition solutions, Elespeth, it is imperative you transition to the oral intake of both food and liquids as soon as your body makes its proper adjustments. You can test for me your ability to swallow water, first—and only then will I allow you to swallow your husband’s tongue.”
He’d done… he’d actually done it. It wasn’t just some passing, farfetched possibility anymore; Alster, and the man he’d sought to help them, had been… successful. But I still feel out of sorts, a little voice at the back of her mind criticized. Am I really any better than before? And Alster… why do you look so unwell? Elespeth’s struggle with hope had endured through her long and extended sleep. That ultimate acceptance of her irreversible condition clung to her as tightly as her self-inflicted heart condition, which appeared to linger, despite that she was awake. Although… something did feel different from before. She was still tired, still weak, and desperately hungry and parched, but unlike before, her legs--useless to her for months--were itching to...move. Certainly, they were thin for mass loss of muscle, but if she needed to stand, the task did not feel as though it would be quite so exhausting as before…
Her husband was thankfully quick to explain exactly what had taken place, and it all made sense at that point. This alchemist--the sleeping man across the room who she could hardly see--had managed to successfully exchange cells between the two of them, swapping healthy for unhealthy, and vice versa. She was better, in that sense, but Alster… he was far worse off. “You took some of my symptoms upon yourself, before… I should have known you’d resort to something so drastic.” The former knight wanted to laugh, but she felt too winded for the task; and it wasn’t exactly a laughing matter. “Will you forever insist on sacrificing pieces of yourself on my behalf?” She asked, reaching a hand across her cot to touch Alster’s own. “But this means… this means I can get better? We can get better?”
Elias confirmed her question, declaring that the alchemist had declared the procedure successful. If this Isidor had managed to divide the damage between two hearts, not only was that less of a burden on her body, but also less of a burden on the Night Garden, which would pick up the slack and expedite the remainder of her--of their--healing. This was the solution they had sought, the absolute best case scenario, and they’d done it. Isidor had done it, and as soon as they recovered, they could continue to live their lives as a couple. Moreover, she could likewise continue her life with independence, no longer reliant on others for her mobility. She could move again. She could fight again, she could be strong again…
“I’ll be able to pick up my sword again, won’t I?” Tears were contagious, and had also gathered in the corners of her eyes. She wiped them away with the sleeve of her tunic. “I’ll be strong again. Strong on my own. I can’t… I can hardly believe this was possible.”
Choosing to ignore Elias’s snide remark, Elespeth accepted the tin of water from the red-clad healer and began to drink. She drank and drank and in fact didn’t stop until the tin was empty, but the intake of water had been so fast that she suffered a terrible coughing fit, for which Elias was quick to admonish her. “I’m fine… I need more. I can’t remember… the last time I was so thirsty.” That was a lie; she could remember the last time her mouth and throat had been so parched. It was after Hadwin had saved her from… well, herself. When Alster had been nursing her back to health.
And she was determined that this was the last time she would ever feel so desperately thirsty.
Elias agreed, and refilled the small tin for her on the condition that she take her time while drinking. This time around, she obliged, and resorted to smaller sips at a far slower pace. “How long… how long has it been, since I… What have I missed?”
A lot, apparently. Only a month, and according to Alster and the Clematis healer, a month was all it took for two new, healthy babies to be born… and for four innocent people to die, needlessly. A deluge of heavy emotions descended on the former Atvanian warrior. Cwenha and Naimah… Such a significant loss for their close comrades. So Briery and the Missing Links had left, and Sigrid… “...how is Sigrid faring?” She asked her husband, reaching for his hand again. “Is she… alright?”
Far from it, apparently. No one had seen the stricken Dawn Warrior in days; the last time that Alster had exchanged words with her, she seemed to be far from well, and not at all ready to make peace with Naimah’s death. Alster also informed her that she had been planning on asking Naimah for her hand in marriage… It all made perfect sense. Were she in the same position, she wasn’t sure she would be too eager to heal from such a wound, either. “That’s awful. Sigrid… doesn’t deserve that. She’s been nothing but helpful to us, I was so happy for her when she found Naimah... she deserves to be happy. And Hadwin… you’re certain he is gone? Teselin must… she must be devastated.”
More tears gathered in the corners of her eyes, for which Elias had the gall to chide her; it wouldn’t do to lose vital liquids when she was already dehydrated… “I’m sorry. I just… so much has happened. I wasn’t awake for any of it, and I can be of no help to anyone in the aftermath. It is beyond disheartening…” Drying her eyes with the corner of her sleeve, she tried to smile for Alster. For the man who had gone above and beyond to ensure they lived the life together that they deserved. He had not willingly taken on literally half of her affliction only to have her pine for what could have been; what could have happened, if she had been awake, and healthy enough to be of help. You could have. Had you not let the knight in you die, you could’ve done something. That voice… that voice at the back of her mind; it hadn’t gone away. You made yourself sick, and you made yourself useless. You only have yourself to blame.
“Elias. Can you… can Alster and I just have a moment alone, please? Well, relatively?” Nothing could be done about the dormant alchemist who was himself recovering from a procedure that had taken its toll on him almost as much as it had taken its toll on Alster. The Clematis healer agreed to step out only briefly, declaring it was crucial that all three of his current patients be carefully monitored throughout the next twenty-four hours. “I’m sorry. It’s been so long… longer even for you, since we last spoke. There is no concept of time when we sleep. There will be time later to dwell on the negative. For now…” Elespeth laid back against the pillows, still clutching Alster’s hand. “Tell me something--anything--positive. Something that has gone right. I’ve only just come out of a coma… I don’t want to lose hope, just yet.”
In the days that passed, both Elias and Senyiah were able to attest to Isidor’s original theory: that in sharing the burden of an affliction that was all too much for the Night Garden to handle, it lessened the severity in each individual enough that their bodies, with the proper care, were in fact healing at an expedited rate with the Garden’s added support.
In just two days, Elespeth was even back on her feet; or, at least, she wanted to be, and was able to move around the sanctuary on her own when the healers were not watching them like hawks. Although she had suffered obvious muscle atrophy from months of remaining immobile, and was once again in a position where she had to put on weight before her wedding ring would properly fit her finger, the desire to regain her strength was unstoppable--much to the healers’ chagrin. “Elias, how much longer until I can have real food again?” She complained that morning, when she was presented only with a thick soup of pureed vegetables. At the very least, it was a step up from the broth she’d been stuck with, the other day. “I can’t even begin to describe how damned hungry I am. As much as I appreciate what you’re doing, this isn’t going to give me any strength.”
“We implore you be patient with your recovery, Elespeth Rigas.” Senyiah, who had been working closely alongside Elias to ensure the Night Garden energies were reaching the three patients, came to his defense at the stir-crazy Rigas woman’s disappointment. “You haven’t taken in solid food in a month; you’ll make yourself sick if you reintroduce it too quickly.”
“I’ve been hungry for days; that can’t be good for me, either!”
“We are gradually increasing your mass intake; and anyway, this was cooked with vegetables from the Night Garden, itself. You’ll have all of the nutrients you need to put on fat and muscle, again.”
She was not in any position to argue with the people seeing to her health, especially since she too had noticed a marked improvement in her health that she had not felt in a long time. Energy; she had energy, and she wanted to do something about it! “If Galeyn was resplendent in wild game to hunt, I think I’d take my chances right about now and go catch my own meal.” The former knight huffed, as soon as the healers were through with assessing her and Alster’s progress, and had moved onto Isidor. Two and a half days; at least sixty hours, and the Master Alchemist had yet to stir from his own deep slumber. At this point, he appeared to be more of a concern to them than the Rigas couple. Elespeth had taken note of a tube protruding from his arm that Elias had set up to ensure he was still getting necessary fluids, since he’d been unable to awaken the man to get him to drink something. She was beginning to fret that whatever Isidor had done to help her had caused him to trade places; one soul awakened to the world of the living, while another dwelled in the dark land of slumber. At one point, she’d even overheard all three healers discussing the possibility to distributing nutrients to his sleeping for the same way they had for Elespeth, if he did not awaken soon.
“A few more days, but after that… well, he has given you permission to do what is necessary.” Senyiah declared quietly after they took Isidor’s vitals, then quietly left the sanctuary. Elespeth’s green eyes remained on the sleeping man, who upon closer inspection, did eerily resemble Vitali in a lot of ways. Admittedly, that alone made it difficult for her to warm to him… though it wasn’t at all fair to judge based on his relation to the notorious necromancer. Especially after what he had done for her--and for Alster.
“So… is he anything at all like Vitali?” She couldn’t help but ask Alster out of curiosity, as she all but inhaled her meager meal of soup that she knew would still leave her feeling ravenous. Evidently, the Master Alchemist was as far a cry from his brother as was humanly possibly. Alster described him as gentle and good-hearted, although detrimentally shy and nervous around practically everyone. That said, the fact he’d agreed to leave his safe tower and perform such a feat for a complete stranger spoke the loudest to his character. “And… he knew this would happen to him, if he helped us? I do hope he recovers. You said he will not accept any sort of compensation, but I do hope that we can do something for our gratitude…”
Her thoughts were interrupted when the door of sanctuary opened again. Elespeth expected one of the healers had left something behind, but it was not Senyiah, nor Daphni, nor Elias who stepped over the threshold, but Haraldur and Vega Sorde; and two brand-new looking humans in their arms. “...Elespeth! When we heard you were awake, we wanted to see you right away, but the healers wouldn’t let us set foot in this place.” Vega practically beamed with happiness and relief that the Rigas couple appeared alive and well--and awake, at that. Holding Kynnet to her shoulder, she made her way across the room and took a seat at the foot of the former knight’s bed.
“...your babies. Vega, you had your children.” Elespeth’s eyes widened and her breath completely left her at the sight of the two infants. She probably hadn’t heard a single word Vega said.
“Yes; Klara and Kynnet. You were right here with me when they were born, Elespeth.” Vega smiled warmly and laid a hand on the former knight’s arm. “It wasn’t an easy delivery; they wouldn’t let anyone else in the room, but you were here for all of it. Listen, we already spoke to Alster who spoke on your behalf, but we were hoping… that you would agree to be Kynnet’s guardian, and also temporarily a guardian to Klara? If you’re not comfortable--”
“Of course we will accept guardianship! We’d be more than happy.” Elespeth exclaimed before Vega could finish her sentence. “Can I… may I hold him?”
“Aside from the Galeynians, you are the first of our friends to actually ask to hold our children.” The Skyknight mentioned, and cast a pointed look in Alster’s direction as she transferred a rather mellow Kynnet to Elespeth’s arms.
The former knight began to tear up almost immediately, when the small bundle of life settled in her arms. “I can’t recall the last time I held a baby… especially one so young. Your children are perfect, Vega. I knew they would be.” Not so discreetly, she lifted the crook of her arm to wipe away a single errant tear, but there was no holding back the emotions that surfaced at holding the new children of two of her closest friends.
In spite of Elias’ off-color comment (though it classed as nothing out of the ordinary for the choleric healer), Alster’s limbs ached to fly out of bed and join Elespeth for more than a mere bridging of hands. Her awakening had not quelled his wife-centric desperation that was building over the past two months; consequently, it only increased his fervor, his wild desire to reunite with physicality and fervent kisses, curmudgeonly company be damned.
But his passionate urges were too impractical--and dangerous--to act on, in light of their shared ailments and Elespeth’s restricted mobility, among numerous other factors. He, though not as bad off as his wife, also needed to contend with dehydration, hunger, and the resurgence of a poor heart that he’d experienced before, but to a somewhat lesser degree. Neither of them was in any state to do more than exist, side by side, hold hands, talk, and stare into the other’s eyes--a decidedly romantic thing to do, though lacking in the full-on embrace he’d envisioned for their reunion. ...A preposterous vision, really. What did he expect upon awakening? Instant recovery? His fantasies did not align with reality, no, but his greatest realistic fantasy did come to pass. Elespeth...was awake. Aware. En route to complete convalescence, with him at her side.
“El...you should know by now that there’s nothing I wouldn’t sacrifice, if it ensures your survival.” Beneath his sheets, he curled his toes, what remained of them, into tight balls. Though both his right and left feet were bound by gauze wraps, his makeshift concealment did not supplement the illusion of wholeness. If one were to inspect him closely, they would notice a significant chunk missing from the left side of his left foot. One day, he would tell her what else he sacrificed, but in keeping mindfulness towards her recovery, there was no need to saddle her with too much information at once. Too much tragedy flourished outside the sanctuary; though wholly unrealistic to banish the grim, he wanted to fill Elespeth’s cup with nothing but the best of humanity, and hope, and good tidings.
“Yes, Elespeth. We’ll get better. We’ll get better, and soon, you’ll stand, and move about, and fight with your sword. Meanwhile, I’ll stand and bumble around like the top-heavy suit of armor I’ve become.” In lieu of laughter (also a difficult endeavor for one with a delicate heart), he grinned wide with a sunniness nearly bright enough to evaporate his tears. Almost.
Unfortunately, the brilliance between them had encountered an unavoidable patch of lowering gray clouds. They oversaturated the sky, depleting the world of its color. She wanted to know what happened. Everything that had happened during her coma.
“I,” he stroked his fingers along the notches of the tin cup’s uneven surface. While undeniably parched, himself, he was more concerned over Elespeth’s condition to partake in his drink right away. ...Until Elias flashed his hazel eyes of warning at him and he soundlessly acquiesced, sipping rather than gulping the contents of the cup.
“The last thing we need is for you to choke to death, Elespeth,” the Clematis healer admonished, words firm, yet not unkind. “We have a surplus of water; your race to slide it down your gullet will not influence its efficacy any more than intermittent sips will. Try it again.” He handed her a full cup, and did not leave her bedside until he deemed her methods appropriate to his standards.
Alster, hoping the water conundrum had distracted her from her inquiries, wilted in his bed when she broached the subject anew. There was no avoiding it. Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on the perspective), the tactless Elias contributed most to the summarization of events which had happened in her “absence.” As predicted, the onslaught of both merry and gut-wrenching news had left her quite shaken.
“I’m fairly certain Hadwin is gone,” he added, cautiously. “Seeing as his sister is the culprit behind the four murders. The hunt for Rowen Kavanagh, and,” he hesitated, “Locque...is afoot. Before...their deaths,” he set aside his tin to wrap both arms around his burdened chest, “Naimah, Haraldur and Teselin saw fit to ‘hide’ Gaolithe from Sigrid so that she will be spared its nefarious fate for her, at least.” He did not believe it would stay hidden, but that was another concern for a more appropriate time. “She’s not doing well at all, I’m afraid. While I can’t blame her, she...she’s isolating herself, which is the worst thing she can do, not only for her mental state, but for her potential to be Locque and Rowen’s next target. It’s,” his shallow breath wisped out a tiny sigh, “it’s been hard for everyone. Naimah and Cwenha...they were my friends, too. And I wasn’t there for them…”
Whether aware of the heady turn in the already heavy subject, Elespeth requested Elias to give them space, to which the surly healer reluctantly agreed. Once the sanctuary door closed shut, leaving them in (relative) privacy, Alster tried to nod away the negative, but it hung around him like a funereal shroud, dimming his disposition from the white-hot star it radiated moments ago. “I’m sorry, El. I...didn’t want to discuss this with you at all. I wanted to celebrate our fortune. A good thing happened, and that should be our focus. I need the reprieve as much as you do. So,” he closed his eyes and scrounged for the back-up reserves to his cheer, a scraping of a bowl against mushed-up grains of sticky rice and charred bits of gristle. “I may not have a tale as positive to impart as that of Haraldur and Vega’s children, but,” he unfurled his organic arm and closed it over Elespeth’s hand anew, “I can tell you about my trip to Nairit. We were so bored, Vitali and I played card games, and bonded, in a sense--it was quite surreal. Worth the share, I daresay. And then,” he directed his gaze to the unresponsive alchemist in the next row of beds, “I can tell you about Isidor.”
They did not spend too much time alone, however, before Senyiah and several of her Gardener assistants entered the sanctuary, checking on their vitals, planning out a food regimen for Elespeth, who, for weeks, had relied on an all-liquid diet received through her abdomen, and discussing other bits of housekeeping that would occur between the three patients over the next few days. They were instructed to sleep, and sleep often, which put a damper on his and Elespeth’s chatty reunions, as the two had not yet synchronized their sleeping patterns. Alster was loath to close his eyes and miss his opportunity to bask in his wife’s sorely longed-for company, but an entire community of opinionated healers fought against their wishes, their arsenal packed with well-reasoned arguments that neither he nor Elespeth could dispute, without facing dire repercussions. So for the following two days, they rested, drank, ate, and partook in light stretches to encourage blood flow and muscle strength. Nothing too onerous, as their hearts still dictated the extent of how much they could move about, but it was progress, nonetheless.
Evidently, Elespeth did not see their steps to recovery as “progress.”
As Alster opened his eyes and blinked away latent sleep, his wife was in the middle of an argument between the Head Gardener and Elias. Knowing how much she abhorred illness-related stagnancy, he understood her concerns came from a place of urgency. She was eager to make up for the lost time, thinking that by expediting her convalescence, she could compensate for the expenses she had incurred over the past few weeks. Alas, the road to recovery was rarely as immediate as excising the infections from the body with one perfectly executed swipe to...to…
He buried his toes under an extra layer of sheets.
While Elespeth happily explored life outside her bed at every opportunity, Alster, in contrast, preferred to stay sedentary. Only when she slept did he dare to emerge, using the lack of monitoring to change the wrappings around his feet and to experiment on the best methods of unsuspicious perambulation. Most sessions ended with a few stumbles.
“Elespeth--you’re loud,” Alster, stretching a wide yawn, slowly sat upright. “You’re like my morning alarm. In place of a rooster, I have you.” If she took offense by his comment, he responded with a disarming smile. “And it’s a very pleasant sound to wake to--because that means I know you’re active and ready for anything. It’s a return to normalcy.”
“Ah, Alster, spare the saccharine sentiments until after I vacate to the other side of the room,” Elias scoffed. “Though, now that you are awake, I’ll leave it to you to convince your darling wife to adhere to the strict plans we have for her successful recovery.”
After the Clematis healer accompanied Senyiah to Isidor’s bedside, Alster nodded his agreement. “It’s annoying, but he’s right, El. The closer we stick to their regimen, the quicker we’ll recover, and the sooner we’ll be able to leave the sanctuary. But if you’re having trouble managing your excess energy…” a mischevious smile dominated his face, “...there can be some safe practices we can explore, together. ...When the healers leave.”
However, the hushed whispers of the healers as they congregated around Isidor’s bed had killed the mood for Alster. Craning his neck to see above his heads, he could only vaguely make out the traces of the Master Alchemist’s rail-thin figure, his shallow breaths, and his milk-white complexion. He looked more ready for the grave than for an awakening. I told you to be careful, Isidor, he thought, reluctantly turning away from the bedridden man. If you’ve rendered yourself into the same condition as Elespeth…
He reminded himself to breathe. No need to generate worst-case scenarios, just yet.
“No,” he said, remembering that Elespeth asked him a question. “Nothing like him. He’s unassuming. Mild-mannered as they come. Horribly shy around a crowd of any size, though that’s to be expected, considering his living conditions for the majority of his life. His status as a Master Alchemist connotes a sinister background, but he is not a sinister person. He, like me, resolves to make amends. He wants to help. He wants to heal. He’s a highly-intelligent man...and he’s kind. And,” he stared at his uneaten bowl of porridge, swirling the spool around the rim, “there’s so much he still wants to do. If he doesn’t awaken on his own, then I will--”
He startled out of whatever plans he was formulating out loud when the door swung open, revealing two tired parents and their tiny twin bundles of tears and mayhem. “Vega. Haraldur. I was wondering when the healers would let the two of you inside.” Setting aside his bowl of porridge, he greeted the family with a hearty wave.
“The babies miss their old stomping grounds, apparently.” Haraldur, who held the ever-spirited Klara Sorde, a wobble of energy and vocalizations, in his arms, kicked the door closed and rounded on Elespeth’s bed. “Plus, they wanted to see their Uncle and Aunt in person.”
As Vega explained the significance of Haraldur’s comment, Alster cursed in his head. He forgot to mention to Elespeth about their guardianship! Fortunately, she responded to the request without a second of hesitation, and willingly opened her arms to accept little Kynnet Sorde.
“It’s true,” Haraldur wore a lopsided grin. Klara, disinterested in the proceedings around her, used her tiny fists to grabble her father’s fingers, as though she wanted to wrestle with them. “Alster made his stance quite clear, last week.”
“I didn’t grow up in a baby-rich environment,” Alster said defensively, aiming a mock glare at both Haraldur and Vega. “It’s all new to me. At least one of us is more than prepared to take on the mantle of ‘auntie.’” But if Elespeth heard him, she did not respond, too preoccupied with the tiny thing to pay him any heed, overtaken by tears of joy. A baby could do that for her...but not him. “I’ve gotten a little practice in, besides.” With less enthusiasm as his wife, he stretched out his organic arm. “Here, let me hold Klara. Or I’ll never live it down.”
“She’s a handful, Alster. But alright.” Haraldur obliged, placing the squirming child in the crook of his guardian’s arm. His limited experience had not waned in the slightest, resulting in a wary smile and a hesitating battle to keep her moored against his sickly chest. But it was as if she heard the uneven heartbeat, for she opened her rather large mouth (for a baby) and wailed for her father’s attention.
“Well--I tried,” he shrugged, as Haraldur scooped the uneasy child back into his embrace.
“You can give this little helion some of your attention, too, Elespeth, once you’re done with the calmer one,” Haraldur carefully bounced the whining baby up and down, the severity of her siren scream lessening with every gentle oscillation. “That will be the real challenge.” When she referred to their babies as ‘perfect,’ he nodded towards the door that led to outside. “All of Galeyn--and I’m talking, all of Galeyn, thinks so, too. They threw a party in their honor, mere hours after they were born. I was forced to attend,” he rolled his eyes at Vega. “They swarmed me. Things have...died down, somewhat,” the residual cheer faded from his voice, “but they’re more than eager to spend some time with the twins.”
“In other words, Haraldur is saying that we should feel incredibly honored that we’ve been selected over so many other candidates,” Alster’s smile turned sly. “Right?”
Not taking Alster’s teasing bait, Haraldur answered straight. “I’m sure the Galeynians are all nice people, but I don’t know them, and baby fever has swept this kingdom. So many people, desperate to surround themselves with new life. While I don’t blame them--it’s been over hundred years since Galeyn experienced a birth, who’s to say,” he dropped into a whisper, “that there won’t be any abductions, if we place our faith in the wrong people?”
“No...it’s a fair concern.” Alster agreed. “Not to speak ill of anyone, of course. And with the current threat that’s out there--”
Either Alster overstepped, or Haraldur naturally segued into another subject. He was still whispering, but he directed the whisper to the unconscious figure on the other side of the room. “Is that the alchemist? ...The necromancer’s brother?”
“I hear in you the question you’re eager to ask, Haraldur. In short--no.” He rested the weight of his steel arm across his lap. Sometimes he liked to pretend the arm belonged to someone else. When he pumped a spell of heating through the metal tubes, it was easier to imagine it as Elespeth’s arm, warming his cold, clammy body that shivered in want of her. “No,” he reiterated. “Isidor is nothing like Vitali. Your family doesn’t have to worry. He’s…” and he spoke the words he hadn’t yet admitted out loud, to anyone, until now, “he’s my friend. And I owe him everything--and more.”
“I am. I am honoured that you would ask us to accept guardianship of your children…” Elespeth breathed, marveling at Kynnet’s tiny, perfect form. To think, that neither he nor Klara had existed, when she had first met Haraldur and Vega. That they hadn’t so much as been a passing thought in their parents’ minds, and now, months and months later, here they were, boasting existences of their own. Crying and wailing and fussing and making an impact on the world and the people around them. The last Elespeth had seen, the twins had been a pending event, waiting to be born from their mothers’ womb… and here they were, now. Tiny individuals in their own rights. Up until now, childbirth had been nothing more than a commonality among mundane couples, but here, holding her good friends’ new son… she understood the miracle that it was. And despite all of the sadness that had befallen Galeyn during her long sleep, she couldn’t be happier for the Eyraillian Prince and Princess.
“Klara and Kynnet… what lovely names. Haraldur, I’ll trade you your son for your daughter; she still isn’t the fussiest baby I’ve seen. There have been much worse.” Eager to have an equal amount of time with both sweet twins, the former knight swapped the calm little boy for the animated girl, who was none too happy for the transfer of arms. “Really, Klara Sorde--is this any way to introduce yourself to your Aunt Elespeth?” She chided the infant in good humor, bouncing her gently in her arms. “You’ve got your mother’s fire and your father’s stubbornness, I see. Good luck with this one, you two.”
“So we’ve been told.” Vega blew air from between her lips. It wasn’t the first time someone had commented on how their infant daughter appeared to have inherited her parents’ more dominant and assertive traits, while Kynnet had been left with the softer qualities. It did make her wonder if Chara was right, and if that would ever change. At Haraldur’s interest in the person occupying the bed across the room, the Skyknight also turned her attention to the painfully familiar-looking figure, who lay still as death upon the cot. So this was the necromancer’s brother… direct blood of the person who had caused so many problems in their lives, while simultaneously managing to somehow make amends and clean up messes that hadn’t even been his own. Vega was not sure that she fully forgave Vitali for his nature and tendency for being the catalyst of destruction and chaos, but given that he was the reason both she and Haraldur walked among the living, and that both of them were alive and well to raise their children… it was difficult to hate him with quite as much fervor. And this man, it seemed, the Master Alchemist, had done nothing but help their friends. He certainly was not deserving of anyone’s ire.
“Is he well?” She ventured to ask, noting the way his undisturbed form looked to have been sleeping for days. Elespeth glanced at Alster for a response, given that he knew far more about what it was the alchemist had done to awaken her, and the toll it had taken on him. Her husband explained something along the lines of the necessity for depriving himself of food for days before performing the task, and how his body had in and of itself been the conduit to incite this change. It all sounded very strange to her, someone who neither understood magic nor alchemy, and it seemed that Vega and Haraldur shared in that mysticism.
Reaching over to take Klara from Elespeth, since the little girl had refused to cease her fussing, Vega held the infant close to her chest and turned back to Alster. “Well, anyone who helps a friend is also a friend of mine. Although I have yet to decide on where this alchemist’s brother stands, on that note.” She twisted her mouth in an uncertain smile. “Well, when he awakens, we will have to return to thank him ourselves for bringing you back, Elespeth. It is the least we can do, to welcome him into our company… however uninviting some of us are determined to be.” She frowned playfully at fussy baby in her arms and rolled her eyes. “Well, I’d hoped that we could catch up a little more to make up for lost time, but it appears not all of us were quite so eager to leave the comfort of our room, today. We’d better get the little ones back before Kynnet takes a hint from his sister; the only thing worse than one infant in a fit is two of them going at it simultaneously. If our alchemist friend is able to sleep through a screaming baby… well, I do worry for his health. Not to mention,” she offered an apologetic smile to Elespeth, “you could probably use some rest.”
“I’m fine; it doesn’t bother me at all,” Elespeth interjected, before she realized that the two new parents, boasting dark circles under their sleepless eyes, were in fact making excuses not for their children or for the sake of the three patients in the sanctuary, but for themselves. “...perhaps another time, then. Elias and Senyiah don’t seem particularly keen on letting me out of this place, anytime soon. You know where to find me.”
Bidding their friends goodbye for now, with the promise that the Eyraillian prince and princess would come and visit them on the morrow with (hopefully) better-behaved children, Elespeth sat back against the pillows of her cot and sighed almost wistfully. “You know, when I first got to know Vega, I never saw her as someone who would take up the mantle of motherhood. We’re really alike; both of us sought paths that are not typically welcoming of women, despite that we were not well-received. I suppose… it never actually occurred to me that we could have it both ways: being true to ourselves, while also seeking more ‘expected’ conventions, like starting a family. But being a mother doesn’t make her any less of a Skyknight, does it? If anything, she is stronger for it, and commands even more respect, leading her kingdom’s aerial forces while raising not one but two children… that is damned commendable. Admittedly, Sigrid once struck me as what I’d consider my ‘ideal’, for her commitment to her role as a warrior, but I think… I think what I consider ‘ideal’ has changed.”
And it had; because in holding the Eyraillian Prince and Princess’s infant babies, seeing how capable their parents were with the brand new lives they’d made, while still commanding the respect of warriors and of royalty… it made Elespeth wonder if the same could ever be said for her. If she and Alster could one day have what Haraldur and Vega had. She and Alster had never discussed the topic of children for themselves, however, and… well, now did not appear to be the right time. The former Atvanian warrior had taken note of the shift in her husband’s demeanor upon their friend’s arrival. How he had looked to withdraw, even when he took little Klara in his arms to prove a point. Elespeth knew him too well; they were far too connected at this point, through magic and through blood and now through the very fabric of their hearts that he couldn’t hide any such conflicting feelings from her.
“You really aren’t comfortable around children, are you?” She hazarded a teasing grin, and placed a hand on his flesh and blood arm. “I guess that’s where we differ… I came from a huge family. Not only brothers and sisters, but several cousins, too. There was practically a new baby every year, and I was one of the oldest girls; they didn’t really give me a choice but to help care for and raise them. Believe me, Kynnet and Klara Sorde are not the most difficult twins I’ve laid eyes on.”
Her smile softened a bit, until it could hardly be considered a smile. Alster had once mentioned that Rigas families tended to be small: no more than one child permitted, although there was still the expectation to have children. During that brief discussion, her hadn’t really provided any indication as to the specifics of his feelings regarding such a convention. Or whether that convention would even endure, given the loss the Rigases and D’Marians had endured since their exodus from their home--and, before even that, the war… so many lives lost, such a huge dent in a legacy. But none of that would matter to someone who simply wasn’t interested in raising children.
And, for someone who was… that was not ideal. But at least she had guardianship over a newborn. She might as well count her blessings.
“...you’ll have to forgive me. I didn’t mean to get so emotional. I’m just so happy for Haraldur and Vega.” She said after a moment, hoping to retract from the connotations of her earlier statement, which had heavily suggested she wanted exactly what Haraldur and Vega had. That wasn’t a choice in which she alone had a say; and unless both parties were completely on board… it wasn’t even much of a possibility. “I hope you don’t mind that I may end up making some frequent trips to Eyraille, when all is said and done. If we’re to be Kynnet’s guardian, we cannot possibly remain strange faces to the little one. I take my guardianship very seriously. But… we can work out the details later. I am curious…”
A mischievous glint sparkled in the former knight’s green eyes, and she swung her legs over the sides of her bed to face her husband. Leaning forward, she rested both hands on his prosthetic arm, head tilted . “You mentioned something about some ‘safe practices’ to remedy restlessness? Well I’m about to sneak out of this place and see how far I can get before someone catches me; unless… you’d like to change my mind?”
Elespeth tilted her head down and turned her eyes upward in a decidedly seductive fashion, despite being painfully aware of how likely un-sexy her too-thin body must be, without enough fat and muscle to give it shape. So long as Alster didn’t mind… she wouldn’t, either.
The couple didn’t get much further than a kiss before a sound at the other end of the room drew their attention rapidly away from one another. It wasn’t even a loud sound; just a rustling of fabric, the distinct shift of a body against a mattress and sheets. And coming from a corner that had remained all too silent since Elespeth and Alster had awakened…
Elespeth and Alster stood up simultaneously and turned toward the third form occupying the room. He was stirring; Isidor Kristeva, the Master Alchemist responsible for successfully reuniting the couple, was finally waking up, after almost three days of uninterrupted slumber. “He’s coming to; Alster, grab some water from that tin. The poor man will probably need it.” With their frisky escapades sadly postponed (as if it hadn’t been long enough since they’d basked in one another’s intimate touch), the former knight’s weakened legs managed to carry her all the way to the other side of the room, where she crouched near Isidor’s bed. “Isidor… are you awake? Can you hear me?”
The alchemist’s brow was furrowed, and his body shifted, as if suddenly realizing the stiff discomfort of laying in the same position for so long. He emitted a soft groan from his throat, before one of his arms moved to touch his face--reaching for glasses that were not there. The healers had removed them days ago and set them aside for safe keeping. “...is it… what is going on…” His voice had the dry, scratchy quality of one that hadn’t been used for quite some time, and as he sat up with a little bit of difficulty, it became obvious that he was disoriented. “...where am… I?”
“You’re in the kingdom of Galeyn. In the Night Garden--or the sanctuary, to be more specific. Here,” Elespeth picked up the angular spectacles from the bedside table and placed them in the exhausted man’s hands. “I take it these are yours?”
Pressing one hand to his temple, a sure sign he must have been suffering a headache, Isidor murmured a barely intelligible ‘thank you’ before placing the spectacles on his face, and squinted against the sunlight spilling into the room. It was a solid minute of staring at Elespeth’s face while his slow brain pieced together who this woman was and why she looked so familiar before he ventured to speak again. “...wait. You’re… her. The woman who… Alster Rigas’s wife…”
“Elespeth. My name is Elespeth… I’m able to tell you this, myself, thanks to what you did for me. Isidor, is it?” The former Atvanian warrior smiled kindly and sat back on her heels to give the alchemist room. “Alster has told me about you. About how you agreed to travel all the way from Nairit to help complete strangers…”
“...is there… what is in my arm?” Whether or not he’d heard a word Elespeth said remained undetermined. Isidor’s attention was suddenly very intently fixed on the tubing protruding from his arm, which Elias had responsibly affixed not long after he’d lost consciousness. “Tell me… tell me it isn’t really there… in my skin... I might vomit.”
“How about you focus on rehydrating instead?” Elespeth took the cup full of water from Alster’s hands and carefully placed them into Isidor’s, which were shaking every so slightly. “You’ve been out for several days, no food or water… believe me, I know the feeling, and it isn’t pleasant.” Craning her neck to look at Alster, a sly grin stretched across her lips. “Well? Is this an ample excuse for me to leave this claustrophobic dwelling and find a Gardener to go fetch Elias?”
There was no hiding the complete shift in Elespeth’s demeanor, upon her pleasant encounter with not one, but two infant babies. Within her, a glow escaped from her pores, casting an iridescent sheen across her pale white skin. Revival from her long coma had not ‘awakened,’ her, per se; nor did his enduring company. Not to the same extent as two young lives and their tiny, tremulous forms--for they had truly brought color to her cheeks; verve and life and spirit so strong, he felt it in her heartbeat. At that moment, he could not compete for a place alongside her joyful pulse.
In truth, he hadn’t seen her happier. Not for a long, long while. Not since their impromptu wedding, which even then, acted as a brief escape from a battlefield of tragedies too clamorous to ignore. Amid their temporary haven, she still donned the lines of fatigue on her painted face, wore burdens among the tulle flowers of her spring-green wedding gown, and carried a sputtering heart, too weak to handle the ceremony of their love for more than a moment. Comparatively, Elespeth, although shriveled in body and muscle mass, bedridden and anxious and fighting the same heart condition, albeit its remnants, occupied a realm, however brief, of untouchable purity. She embodied its hope, wonder, and simplicity--a life buffed clean from the collective rust of their shared hardships.
And all it took to clear the rust...was children. A brief glimpse, a susurrus of an embrace, and there was no doubt; she wanted them, too. To feel fulfilled. To feel whole. ...Because he wasn’t enough, and never would be enough. Not to her. Not to anyone. Not to himself. Not to a child. A hypothetical son or daughter. He was already failing Klara and Kynnet, as their guardian. As a father…
There’s too little of me left to give. Any child I sire...will never know me.
As Vega and Haraldur gathered the babies in their arms with vows to return as soon as tomorrow, the residual gloom hadn’t lifted from Alster. He was certain the strain manifested around his eyes, and a smile couldn’t confuse it for wrinkle lines of happiness. While happy for Elespeth, the feeling was bittersweet..because he could not grant her what she wanted most, at present.
“It is commendable,” Alster shared in his wife’s praises to their friend, though he found any additional insights lacking. “Raising not one, but two children, far from home, amidst a crisis, whilst retaining command over armies...no wonder both Vega and Haraldur’s exhaustion is too acute to measure. Vega initially hadn’t given thought to starting a family, and Haraldur dismissed his desires as an impossible dream. But here they are; beloved parents, surrounded by so much love and support.” Perhaps...a stray thought surfaced, it is feasible for me. For us. Somewhere in the future. But not now…
“Uncomfortable around children? What ever gave me away?” He responded to her good-natured lambasting with a self-deprecating smile. “Contrary to what you might have previously believed, my patience has a limit..and children, well, they happen to know exactly where to look for it. But no need to worry for me, Elespeth; Haraldur and Vega are determined to craft me into a worthy-enough guardian for the twins--though you will have to excuse me if my role is confined more to their physical wellbeing. It is why I believe Haraldur convinced Vega to name me as a guardian. They trust in my abilities to protect them from danger...and not to saddle them with bottomless affection. They have you for that, El. And themselves. And all of Galeyn, for that matter. However much I squirm in their presence, though, I also take my guardianship role seriously. I will not allow any harm to befall the twins. That is my solemn vow.”
Alster removed the radiating warmth of his steel prosthesis from his lap, in time for Elespeth to grasp it in her two emaciated, yet steady hands. While it was not a direct touch, her by-proxy physical contact garnered in him both shivers of yearning and guilt. “Elespeth,” his voice dropped, wavering with hesitation and uncertainty. His eyes slid downward, too ashamed to seek his wife’s captive attention. “I…” his tongue stuck to his bottom teeth, disinterested in delivering even a modicum of cheerless news. How would unsolicited honesty help Elespeth to recover full functionality of her heart? What would declaring, I do not want children, do to her smile, the exuberance of her aura, her revived love of the world and all its small, innocent creatures? I would do anything to make you happy, El. But you would not be happy...if I bore no love for our child. If I considered them a nuisance, distracting me from my unending tower of responsibilities. If I treated them in any way like my mother. If I abandoned them, as my father did in my early youth. You would not be happy...and I cannot do that to you.
Fortunately, he did not have to voice aloud his uncomfortable truths. Elespeth, as if sensing the sour notes in his few spoken words, changed the subject, focusing their attention on more...carnal pursuits. Grateful for the distraction, Alster happily obliged. “I wouldn’t let you get far, Elespeth,” he almost purred, leaning so close to his wife that their noses touched. “You’d have to get past me, first.” Closing his eyes, he laid against her lips their first kiss in months, an inviting shock that opened every receptor of pleasure. He buzzed, sensitive to the hiss of energy that enveloped them, hyper-aware of his body and her body, their elevated breathing, the erratic, yet syncopated skips of their healing hearts…
It made the sudden, soft shuffle from the corner of the room all the more startling.
“Isidor,” he breathed through the side of his mouth, equal parts relieved and frustrated that the Master Alchemist would choose now, of all moments, to awaken. Allowing Elespeth a headstart, Alster took advantage of her preoccupations to slide on his boots, concealing the gauzy-wrapped evidence of his missing toes which, were she to lower her head to observe the floor, would notice a glaring deficit in her husband’s feet.
Tin of water in hand, Alster stumbled to join Elespeth at the stirring alchemist’s bedside, his jaunty, uncoordinated waltz not too out of the ordinary, for one consigned to the bed for the last few days.
“Isidor--you’re awake.” Alighting, finally, at Elespeth’s side, Alster reserved a smile for his friend and handed him some water. “We were beginning to worry about you. Going for so long without food or drink is bound to cause some complications to one’s physiognomy, but you can be assured we’ve kept you hydrated intravenously. As you can see,” he planted a loving arm upon Elespeth’s shoulder, “your procedure was a success! Isidor, you’ve managed to--”
But the alchemist, stuck on the word ‘intravenous,’ as well as the evidence attached to his arm, filtered out his and Elespeth’s admirations to focus on the unwelcome protuberance that consumed his attention. “Just this once,” he whispered to his wife, “I’ll let you pass. Do remember to return, El; I’ll know where to find you.”
No further persuasion was necessary; in seconds, Elespeth was hobbling out the door, delighted to search for a healer, or for anyone, so long as it excused her from the boxed-in walls of the place that condemned her to convalesce, indefinitely. As a hopeful distraction from Isidor’s sickly fixation, the Rigas Lord took his opposite arm, one not attached to any tubing, and pressed both organic and metal hands against the alchemist’s translucent skin. Bowing his head, he dropped to one knee, strategically positioning himself as a physical blockade and concealing the path of the intravenous tubing, which slithered from the bed, crossed the floor, and wound over to a large funnel, fed by a half-empty water jug.
“Thank you, Isidor,” Alster said, his tone too emphatic to ignore. He squeezed the man’s hands in his grip. “You’ve saved her life. The healers have said she is well on her way to a full recovery--and it's because of you! I knew I could trust you. Whatever you want, whatever you need--never hesitate to ask me. You will have it; you will have it all.” Tears sprang into the corners of his eyes. He realized his proximity and his intense displays of emotion could create some discomfort in the severely introverted alchemist, but whatever distracted from the tubing in his arm was worth the twofold embarrassment. “For what you’ve done, you have my loyalty, Isidor. And my unwavering friendship--should you desire it.”
Find her, Bronwyn. Find Rowena. Do not return unless you do.
They were the last words her father, Chief Orin Kavanagh, spoke, before directing the clan to safe haven underground. Mollengard’s invading forces did not know of the tunnels that the faoladh had built since the early days of their persecution, which had not seen much use in well over a century, but Rowen, privy to the clan’s secret escape routes, would, they feared, be tortured into revealing her family’s location to the enemy. Bronwyn’s youngest sister had gone off to the city market to run an errand on the morning of Mollengard’s invasion. If they had captured her, everyone was in danger of discovery.
Find her, Chief Kavanagh had instructed. He did not need to mention his addendum, which lurked behind his first ordinance like an unwelcome guest. If you cannot save her, kill her before she talks.
If they capture you…
Bronwyn always knew she’d be chosen for the task. Chief Orin could not play favorites. He’d already lost his wife, his son, and now, his daughter. He was prepared to lose another daughter for the cause. No one life, aside from the chief, ranked as more important--his children included. To save the greater clan, to save the faoladh, it was required to make pertinent sacrifices. Bronwyn, a disappointment of potential, was not necessary for their survival, should she perish in the mission to reclaim her sister. Why else would Chief Orin ask her not to return, if she failed?
I’m disposable. But if that’s my greatest use to you, athair, then I won’t disappoint you.
Her sojourns did not prove fruitful. In pursuit of Rowen, she wandered for a year, never able to penetrate Mollengard’s defenses for a glimpse, let alone for information pertaining to her sister. It was only through a string of lucky circumstances that she followed a lead...when she heard about the exploits of one Hadwin Kavanagh in many of the cities she’d visited.
Damn it all. She should have known the bastard was still alive--alive, and raking their good name into the dirt. He hadn’t even the decorum to use a false alias! For weeks, she resisted changing her course in favor of tracking the prat that she would never refer to as ‘brother,’ but her pride had reached its limits long ago, and she reluctantly admitted to her desperation. On all things concerning Rowen Kavanagh, Hadwin would help her. Besides, the man left sloppy trails, a path as wide apart as a herd of rampaging feral hogs. Finding him would not be as difficult.
It was what brought her to Braighdath, and later, en route to Galeyn, a strange hermit kingdom which had recently closed its borders to travelers. Undeterred by the less-than-favorable outlook of crossing the border, Bronwyn purchased a horse and followed the roads to her destination, to the last-known place where Hadwin inhabited--according to her resources.
The week had been unseasonably hot, prompting her to bunch up her loose, copper-brown curls into a high ponytail. The shorter, more unruly strands escaped their confines to rest against her sweat-soaked face. Even when drenched, they pointed every which way, cow-licks in miniature, that no manner of brushing could control or maintain. Not that she was too concerned about her appearance; blessed with her father’s height, she sported a build that curried favor with the clan; sleek, utilitarian, flexible. She did not look milk-fed, or like a collection of circles and s-curves, an undesirable group of body parts that, if arranged just so, invited the wrong kind of attention. No, she was not her mother. She was lean, with a smattering of faint freckles across her nose, and predatory dark-amber eyes. The wolf firmly belonged in those eyes, a fact her horse was keenly aware of. Before reaching the border, the mare, discovering a breach in her handler’s attentiveness, took advantage of the opportunity by rearing up on its hind legs and knocking the wolf off her saddle. With a whinny and a gallop, her expensive steed kicked dust over the bundle it managed to excise like some malignant tumor before bounding down the road--supplies in tow.
“Shit,” Bronwyn swore under her breath and scrambled to her feet, nursing the remnants of a bruise on her arm that, on initial impact, had twisted itself broken. Owing to the fast healing of her faoladh heritage, nothing broken stayed broken for long.
Her mare was gone. Giving chase, either as a wolf or a human, would not ensure the recovery of the horse or her provisions. Better to let the dreaded beast of burden tire itself out, first. She had an impeccable sense of smell, after all. She’d find what she lost; no need to think the worst.
She’d find the horse, just as she’d find Rowen. All she needed to do was follow the road. Move forward. Onward. Trust in the universe. If she expanded her heart and opened her senses to nature, the answers would come flooding to her, surely.
Closing her eyes, she flipped her palms heavenwards and took one calming breath. Two calming breaths. Three. Four. Her mental acuity sharpened. She brushed her feet over the rock-hewn path and took one small step into the blind unknown.
When she opened her eyes, she was surrounded by soldiers.
Six in number emerged from the wood. Their weapons were not drawn, but their hands hovered on sword hilts and spear shafts. In her vicinity were five men, and one woman. She did not recognize the latter, with her blonde rope of hair, but the passive menace in the bearing of the other soldiers...they were undoubtedly Forbanne.
She froze. So much for belief in a benevolent universe. A year of careful avoidance, all washed aside by some maudlin faith in a greater purpose. In that briefest moment of weakness, she managed to waltz directly into Mollengard’s army.
“The borders are closed,” the closest soldier to her, a tawny-skinned man spun the tip of his glaive with the wicked edge facing her. “We’ve apprehended your horse. State your business in Galeyn, and we may return your beast.”
“I…” she paused, her tongue dancing around her mouth. They were Forbanne; she could not mention names, or her true business. One misstep would destroy her entire family. “I’ve heard...that you welcome refugees, here,” she supplied, keeping her eyes lowered to the ground. Using her Sight would give her no advantage, or clarity. She needed her wits, not superfluous information about the humanity behind her would-be captors.
“From where do you hail? What is your name?” The Forbanne soldier demanded.
“Well...I’m... Branna. From Stella D’Mare,” the lies abraded against the roof of her mouth, causing her to flinch. “And Braighdath was too crowded. So they told me to come here.” She stared at the Forbanne soldier’s feet. Perhaps if she stared at them long enough, she could set the man’s toes alight with the power of her eyes, and bolt off into the woods while he hustled to douse the flames.
“Very well. May I see your documentation?”
Bronwyn paled. “Documentation?”
“Braighdath is now required to provide documentation to any refugee who wishes to seek asylum in Galeyn. It is for the safety of everyone involved that you can prove who you say you are. As Galeyn can only be reached through Braighdath, you should have passed through the embassy en route to our borders.” The man tilted his glaive, aiming it closer and closer to his quarry. “If they did not issue you any documentation, then you cannot enter Galeyn, and we must apprehend you.”
“I,” she crossed her arms over her chest, summoning every modicum of confidence at her disposal, “I...yes, I do have my documentation. But as you know, my horse escaped, and everything I own is in those saddlebags. Bring me to my horse, and I’ll gladly fish out my documentation for you.”
A deep frown furrowed across both mouth and brow. The Forbanne’s unoccupied hand motioned to the blonde warrior, who had remained largely silent during the proceedings. “What is your opinion?” he whispered into his companion’s ear, but with Bronwyn’s keen auditory senses, she caught every word. “I do not trust what she says. You would know better than me.”
While the Forbanne with the glaive and the blonde warrior discussed the next course of action, Bronwyn prepared her feet to run. If necessary, she’d shake into her wolf skin...and fight.
One moment, he’d been drifting in a thick, warm darkness; the next, his eyes were open, with a familiar woman and man at his side, something foreign in his arm… and now, that aforementioned man was clutching his hands like he was some sort of messiah who’d just performed an otherworldly miracle. If Isidor’s head hadn’t hurt before, it sure as hell did now.
“Alster… I am a perfectionist. Almost pathologically so; in a lot of ways, I must confess, failure actually frightens me.” The Master alchemist took a steadying breath to ease the nausea churning in his stomach from the realization that there was still something foreign in his arm. “That said, I generally do not accept tasks that I do not deem to have a high success rate from the very beginning. In fact, I was prepared to come all this way, just to decline you if I did not feel that my interference was safe… it just so happened that the odds were on our side, this time. In short, what I am trying to say is…” He forced a smile to ease the tension in his pale face. “I went forth knowing I would be successful. I had the skill, but ultimately, you were the catalyst. You had precisely what was needed for this to be successful… so, really, you needn’t thank me when you were just as crucial to this outcome. To be honest...” He paused, unsure of how to word his next confession. “I am embarrassed to say, I’m not entirely certain what… well, any sort of ‘friendship’ actually entails…”
Perhaps ‘awkward’ wasn’t the right word, but Isidor Kristeva certainly was not used to the act of anyone offering him eternal gratitude. Not that he didn’t understand the gravity of the feat he’d accomplished and what it meant to Alster, but… none of it quite registered as making him particularly worthy of praise or gratitude.
The two of them were not alone for long. Elespeth returned shortly after, with both Elias and Daphni in two--the former who appeared to be glaring daggers at her for leaving in the first place. “Like I said--one of us had to leave to go and find you,” she tried to reason with the Clematis healer, who evidently wasn’t having any of it, while also silently contending that yes, it was necessary to follow up with the alchemist now that he’d regained consciousness. Otherwise ignoring the seemingly foul mood she’d triggered in Elias, the former knight couldn’t help but raise her eyebrows at the sight of her husband, kneeling at Isidor’s bedside, clasping one of his hands irreverently. “Really, Alster? I’m gone five minutes, and you are already seeking a new spouse? Sorry to disappoint you, Isidor, but you’ve been duped: he’s already bound by marriage.” She smirked and held up her left hand sporting her wedding band, unable to help but make light of what very well could be misconstrued interacted between the two men.
If only the Master alchemist had the sense to pick up on Elespeth’s rather wry sense of humour… “Ah… I mean… what is going on?”
“...nevermind. It was just a joke.” It didn’t matter that he looked like Vitali; the necromancer would’ve taken a comment like that and twisted it to hurl right back at her. Isidor, on the other hand… It had all but gone right over his head. Alster is right; they really are nothing alike...
“Isidor; we’re so happy to see you awake, again.” Daphni smiled kindly, and took the now empty tin of water from his hand. “Since you obviously no longer need any help remaining hydrated, let’s remove that tubing from your arm.”
And that was the comment that drained whatever colour remained in Isidor’s face; at this point, his skin was so translucent, it was a wonder he didn’t disappear. “Oh…” To his credit, the Master alchemist didn’t vomit at the rediscovery of the foreign item protruding from his arm; instead, his eyes rolled back in his head, and his body, once again, went limp.
“Isidor…!” Elespeth gasped, eyes wide and suddenly feeling very guilty for what she’d thought to be a good-natured joke. The poor man really was in no state for any sort of fooling around. “Is… is he alright?”
“Well, at this point, he must be very anaemic… and a little bit squeamish, I am willing to bet.” Daphni concluded after checking his vitals and declaring he’d merely fainted. “And he already confided that he doesn’t do well in crowded spaces… Elias, we must take care with him. Understood?” She raised an eyebrow, knowing full well the skilled clematis healer was not known for his bedside manner. “He should come to, shortly. Alster, Elespeth, will you see that he continues to keep hydrated? No need to overwhelm the poor man with unwanted company.”
Reassured that although Isidor was weak, he still remained in good health, the two healers took their leave to alleviate any unnecessary stress from the alchemist upon his second awakening. “For someone so powerful, he seems… well, for lack of a better word, ‘breakable’.” Elespeth mentioned quietly when the three were alone, again. “I’d say he’s lucky to have met you. Say what you want about your patience having bounds, you’re particularly good around soft people.”
“...what’s soft?” Sure enough, the alchemist stirred a moment later, his dark brows furrowed in confusion. “What happened… wasn’t I just awake? This...” His eyes registered on Elespeth, still foggy from his fainting spell. “This all seems very familiar…”
Sigrid had developed a sort of tunnel-vision since the day she’d found Naimah dead. It was almost as if the woman who had managed to open her eyes and her heart and her world had unwittingly taken all of that openness with her to her grave, leaving the loyal Dawn Warrior with nothing but darkness in her peripheral vision, no matter where she happened to look. The blonde warrior didn’t permit herself time to think or dwell on what she had lost. She had already permitted herself ample time to mourn in the days following the collective funeral for the lives lost (even if it did not entail proper, healthy grieving), and there was nothing left in the wake of that mourning. The last conversation she’d had with her cousin (which had also been the last time she’d seen him) had revealed to her the only conceivable way to move forward: if she was hellbent on hunting Rowen Kavanagh and the sorceress Locque, she might as well do it right. The recovering Forbanne soldier, Kadri, had already spearheaded the hunt for the perpetrators, and given that he too had suffered a comparable loss as a result of the carnage, an unspoken kinship existed between him and the stricken Dawn Warrior. Neither of them could find any particular direction for themselves, save for adhering to the path of the hunt--and so, when they were not sleeping or partaking in the necessary nutritional habits of eating and drinking enough to keep them strong, that was what they did.
Together, in often wordless camaraderie, the two searched the bounded forests, the city proper, and bordering villages of Galeyn tirelessly for their targets. From dusk to dawn, they searched and scoured, interviewed and interrogated anyone approaching the kingdom’s borders from both inside and out who appeared even remotely suspicious, and who did not have a convincing reason for leaving or entering. In the time that had passed, these very interrogations had become so gruelling that a few citizens had even approached Chara and Queen Lilica to complain that the search party’s ruthless vigor was intimidating to the very people they meant to protect. While Lilica had attempted to address the issue with the two emotionally-damaged soldiers, she found it akin to talking to a pair of stone walls, completely unreceptive to her input.
Ultimately, the citizens of Galeyn and D’Marians alike were simply encouraged to comply with the requests of Sigrid and Kadri’s party, and not to take any of their harsh or impassive demeanors to heart. The pair were not well equipped to deal with their own feelings, let alone anyone else’s, and so they kept to their tasks, regardless of complaints. Thus far, none of their efforts appeared fruitful. There was no trace of Rowen or Locque, both whom were evidently very good at hiding themselves when it mattered. They did manage to cease any rogue travelers from entering Galeyn’s gates, cutting off the potential for any further threat that might stack upon what already had the kingdom up in arms, but it wasn’t enough to satisfy that gnawing need to vanquish the evil that had stolen from them potential for ultimate happiness. Although it remained unspoken between them, nothing would put their task and their hearts to rest until they had spilled the blood of those who had spilled the blood of their friends and loved ones.
Unfortunately for those whom they did encounter and interrogate, their building frustration only further ascertained that suspects were not treated so kindly.
During a routine scout of Galeyn’s borders late one afternoon, Kadri’s team managed to intercept what appeared to be a runaway horse. But it was not a Night steed, not of Galeyn, nor did it appear to be wild. Saddlebags full of provisions hung from either side of the exhausted beast; this mean that its rider had to be nearby. And it was not long before they managed to intercept her, as well.
Kadri was the first to be informed that a stranger had been spotted lingering near Galeyn’s borders, and as soon as the runaway beast of a horse was calmed and apprehended, so, too, was this newcomer.
Sigrid Sorenson had never been a particularly skilled judge of character. Even at her best, she erred on the side of caution, typically on the defensive in remaining neutral (veering toward cynical) upon meeting new people, until they proved themselves otherwise. Such had been the case for Alster and Lilica, as well; guilty until proven innocent. And as things stood within the umbrella of her new mindset… it was unlikely that even the kindest and most good natured of gestures would give her ample reason to stop suspecting.
It didn’t help that the first thing out of the stranger’s mouth was also a blatant lie. And it didn’t help that the being that lied happened to resemble the reason for the bleeding wound in the Dawn Warrior’s heart.
“Why don’t you start by telling us your real name, where you are truly from, and why you seek entry into Galeyn?” Sigrid stepped forward, one hand resting upon the hilt of the shortsword strapped to her hip. It was always there, these days; both the sword, and her hand upon in. The broadsword sheathed across her back, however, only made an appearance when she expected a fight. Although this woman did not appear eager to engage in combat, neither was she being particularly cooperative… or trustworthy. The Dawn Warrior continued to speak without taking her icy gaze off the suspect. “She’s lying; and she isn’t even a good liar, if I am able to call it. For someone so confused about documentation, something tells me that no one will find those papers on your horse. So who are you, really? What do you seek, here?”
Sigrid pursed her lips and gripped the hilt of her sword when her request was met with silence. Once, she’d have been patient, might have given the woman a chance to explain herself, or the reason for her untruths. But that was once… and this was now. And now unfolded under entirely different circumstances that had siphoned any and all softness from her demeanor. “This kingdom is in danger. It has been threatened for months, now; countless people… innocent people have died at the hands of two perpetrators who remain at large. If you are truly someone seeking sanctuary, we have neither the time nor the patience for someone skirting procedure to enter. So,” she narrowed her eyes, “what makes you think we have the time or the patience for a liar?”
She paused, only for a beat, still without looking away, before she ordered the other soldiers: “Apprehend her.”
Unfortunately, this woman was fast--faster than the Forbanne who stood several feet behind Kadri and Sigrid. But she wasn’t too fast for Sigrid.
In spite of sleepless nights that might determine otherwise, the Dawn Warrior’s strength and observation had not suffered, because at present, it was all that embodied her. The stranger did not get far before Sigrid tackled her and wrenched her arm behind her back, her heart racing with misplaced anger and bloodlust. “You may not be either of the people I am looking for,” she hissed, as Kadri and the other soldiers surrounded them, “but I will be damned if I let you set foot in that kingdom to stir up any shit.”
“Sigrid… Sigrid! What are you doing?”
A familiar (and not particularly welcome) voice captured the Dawn Warrior’s attention, as well as that of the Forbanne. She looked up from the intruder, still pinned beneath her knee, only to make eye-contact with Galeyn’s resident summoner… who shouldn’t even have been skirting the bounds of the kingdom to begin with. “The hell are you doing, Teselin?” She snapped in retort. “No civilians are permitted in these parts unescorted!”
“All right, fine, be angry with me--but that woman has done nothing to warrant being treated like that.” Teselin Kristeva clutched her small elbows and nodded to the woman on the ground. “If she’s done something, you know it will be unveiled. But until then, we should at least treat strangers with civility, even if we cannot muster respect…”
Sigrid’s mouth twisted as if she tasted something sour, but after a pause, she removed her knee from the woman’s back and stood, hauling her upright. Two Forbanne then intercepted and took each of the stranger’s arms, one on either side of her. “You didn’t answer my question, Teselin. Why are you here? And how did you manage to get this far without being stopped?”
“I… well, a concealment spell, I’ve been practicing. I’ve learned I can control smaller amounts of magic to pull off something as trivial as that…” The young summoner looked down and wrung her hands. “I was… I just wanted to see if maybe I could sense the beginning of a trail, or something.”
“What trail? Do not assume I have the patience for you to be vague.”
“Hadwin’s.” She breathed the faoladh’s name on a sigh. “I wanted to see if I could sense where he might have taken off, and in what direction. Get some sort of read on his whereabouts. Wherever he is… he is in trouble. I know it. Because I have a feeling he isn’t trying to survive, anymore, and I… I can’t just sit around waiting. I need to find him--”
“Let him go. He and his sister, and likely her sorceress companion, are the reason for four unnecessary deaths.” Once again, her hand moved to the hilt of her sword. “Get out of here, Teselin. And get out of your own head. He is useless and he is gone. If you want to be of any help, then worry about the people who are still here, and who still need protection.”
“That may be so, Isidor, but alone, a catalyst can do nothing. Were it not for your expertise and assistance, Elespeth would still remain in her coma, slowly slipping from my reach. I’m not trying to be obsequious, here. You were instrumental in this procedure...and I’ll never forget what you’ve done.” He loosened the digits of his steel hand from Isidor’s pliable skin, worried he’d bruise the fragile man with his enthusiasm. “You may not understand what ‘friendship’ entails, but I assure you, there is nothing you have to do differently. Just know that I have your back, indefinitely.”
At the arrival of Elias, Daphni, and Elespeth, Alster tried to correct his pose into one not so embarrassingly intimate, but he was too slow to react. His wife had caught him crouching over Isidor as though to gently awaken a sleeping prince with a kiss, and she did not hesitate to call him out on it. “Ah, that’s certainly what it looks like, doesn’t it?” A flush bloomed on his cheeks, emphasized by the squiggle of a contrite simper. “Don’t listen to her, Isidor,” he patted the man’s IV-free arm one more time before rising (with difficulty), to his off-kilter feet. “It’s a good-natured tease. She means nothing by it. Elias,” he shifted his attention to the dour-faced healer, “if you must take umbrage with someone, please direct your ire to me. I allowed Elespeth to make the journey. Somebody needed to fetch help for our friend, here. Besides,” he tilted a knowing look to his wife, “better a quick jaunt than an unsanctioned escape. Though I’m offended you’d up and abandon your husband in exchange for freedom, El.” An exaggerated huff recolored the residual pink in his face.
The Clematis healer, neither amused nor chastened by Alster’s lack of concern for fleeing patients, merely harrumphed in response.
As Daphni filled the silence with gentle discussion to their patient about the next stage of his recovery--namely, removal of the intravenous tubing--Alster winched on behalf of his friend, but was too late to rectify the situation through another grandiose distraction. Isidor, overwhelmed by the fast-paced events parading around his bedside, rolled his eyes behind his head...and fainted.
“Well--this will be simple, then.” Elias, unfazed by the alchemist’s reaction, washed his hands in the basin before removing the needle lodged in his patient’s arm. Once finished with bandaging Isidor’s arm, dismantling the tubing, and stashing away the rehydrating apparatus, he nodded to Alster and Elespeth. “Apparently, I have been assigned a task. One that will test the boundaries of my patience. In turn, I entrust this task in part to my two runaways. While we are away, do what I despise; see to your alchemist friend, Alster. Elespeth,” he leveled a suspicious glare at the restless ex-knight, “I’m watching you.”
When the two healers departed from the sanctuary, Alster released an airy chortle. “Ah, El, I didn’t mean to invoke Elias’ anger. I should’ve gone instead of you. He’s going to hold this against you for the rest of our tenure, here. I hope you got what you wanted out of the outside; it might be a while before you’ll be trusted to leave, again. It might be for the best,” he brushed his left hand over his chest. “Recovery of one’s heart is no trifle. Elias knows this, and he’s concerned. As am I. Let’s be gentle with ourselves, alright? This is coming from a fellow soft person...who only knows how to approach soft people because he is too damn soft, himself. Anyway, you have it wrong, Elespeth.” He directed his blue-green gaze to the bedridden alchemist. “It is I who is fortunate to have met him.”
As Isidor stirred awake for the second time, Alster knelt to his level and offered him the untouched tin of water. “You’ve had quite the ordeal, Isidor. Drink for now, and events of the last few days will soon become clearer to you.”
In a cross between nature versus nurture, Bronwyn, due to her innate disposition and her own written set of principles, despised lying. At a young age, her Sight manifested as Virtue. Through eye contact, she witnessed good deeds, love, kindness, and purity. It was not surprising that her cushy viewpoint of the world had skewed her perspective. Unintentionally, she embodied the elements of morality she observed from her clan and partly from strangers, in part as a guideline to develop her into a strong, reliable individual, and in part to distance herself from the black streaks of mud that Fiona and Hadwin often smeared over clan Kavanagh. Mortified by their behavior, she endeavored to become a model clan member, a model faoladh, and a model daughter--as an apology on behalf of Chief Orin. While she could do nothing to quell their detestable nature, she had hoped her willingness to cooperate and obey would offset the chaos wrought by her mother and the man who was once her brother.
But her loyalties ranked higher than her individual value judgements. Given the choice between lying to protect her sister, or confessing the truth, however condemning, she would always choose the lie. Unfortunately, Bronwyn hadn’t accounted for the fact that she did not possess a silver tongue, and any attempts to sell her deception would always fall short.
So as not to open her mouth and dig the spade even deeper into her premature grave, the faoladh did not speak, even when the blonde warrior replaced the Forbanne glaive-wielder as chief interrogator. They wanted a real name; she could not risk giving them a real name. If Mollengard had invaded this small, unassuming, out-of-the-way kingdom, then no place in the world was safe to entrust anyone--save, ironically, for Hadwin--with information pertaining to the person she sought to find.
Too much silence elapsed during the interval between the blonde warrior’s question and the expectation for an answer. Ellipses hung in the air. The warrior’s hand rattled the hilt of her sword, staccatoed clangings of iron and steel that warned of Bronwyn’s fate, should she remain...uncooperative.
She never dreamed such a word would be associated with her! Yet, she’d also never conceived of spending a year alone, outside the comfort and structure of her clan. Inevitably, she was bound to stray.
“I don’t want to cause trouble,” she said, in a strained attempt at diplomacy. To emphasize, she held up her hands. They were without a weapon...in theory. People tended to discount fists as an effective bludgeoning tool. “If you think I’m lying, it’s for a good reason! I’m not here to endanger this kingdom, and I’m not looking to stay. Let me go, and I’ll be free of Galeyn in a week!” She addressed the blonde warrior expressly. Although she did not maintain eye contact, a mistake of a glimpse revealed enough of the warrior’s virtue to convince Bronwyn that she possessed reason. Honor. Tenderness, even, towards other women. But whatever softness of character she glimpsed, it did not matter. There was no clemency in her bearing; only unyielding, uncompromising hostility. She saw an enemy in her midst, and she’d already made her decision on how to address the “threat” encroaching on Galeyn’s border.
Bronwyn did not wait for the blonde warrior to complete her directive, for she knew what orders would issue from her mouth. She hadn’t even formed the word, ‘apprehend,’ before the faoladh twisted her feet towards the woods and sprinted into the brush, vaulting over the carriage-made grooves that formed deep gulleys off the sides of the road. She trusted in her speed. If she could burst ahead of the Forbanne and the women warrior, if she could shake into her wolf skin, they would not catch her. But her last-ditch escape was short-lived. Seconds after she bolted from her aggressors, a brusque, solid form overwhelmed her balance and shoved her to the ground. The blonde warrior rammed a knee against the small of her back and wrestled her arms into a tight, inescapable grip.
“I’m looking for people, too!” she snapped, her teeth clamping into a grimace, revealing four prominent canines. “I’ve come too far to be stopped by the likes of you! Let me go.” Her eyes flashed, and her canines seemed to grow in size. “I won’t say it again.”
But before she succumbed to her wolf form to tear into the woman’s face with furor and fury, the cries of a young woman’s voice halted the advances of the Forbanne and the blonde warrior. In a brief exchange of words, Bronwyn found herself hoisted to her feet and lashed in place by two particularly beefy Forbanne soldiers. Now upright, she casually observed the small, slight girl, her contrast to the blonde aggressor rather comical, in stature. With wide, sonorous eyes, chin-length hair, and the oversized clothes that looked to swallow her out of existence, the girl resembled, at least through a peripheral glance, Rowen. Whatever history she shared with the blonde warrior, it, apparently, carried enough significance to shift the militant methods by which she--and the Forbanne--dealt with her. Nothing, however, changed the fact that she remained a prisoner, with the potential for escape even more unlikely. Before, she was willing to maul the blonde warrior if it would ensure an unpursued flight. Now, with the introduction of a magically-inclined girl, she’d be remiss not to accept the offer for clemency, the very thing she requested from the blonde warrior, and was denied.
Half-listening to the conversation between the warrior--Sigrid--and the girl--Teselin--her ears perked up when she heard a familiar name. Hadwin. They both knew Hadwin? And…
She caught other snippets, though they made little sense to her, out of context. His sister...responsible for four unnecessary deaths…
Did she dare contribute to their discussion? It could be a trap. A set-up, by Mollengard, to cajole her into revealing her associations to her kin and by extension, the faoladh...and to all of clan Kavanagh.
But the young woman, worry lines present across her youthful face, her tunic rubbed threadbare at the bells of her sleeves, the wan color on her sunken cheeks...did not appear well. And she...she really did care for Hadwin. That much was evident, through Bronwyn’s Sight. She saw in Teselin’s dark eyes wisps of love, an incongruous discovery, considering to whom she dedicated her devotion. But love of any nature could not be fabricated, and her Sight did not lie. It led her astray...but it did not lie. Bronwyn believed she could trust the girl with her secrets.
“My name is Bronwyn Kavanagh,” she admitted to the girl, her voice a mere whisper. “Hadwin is my,” she hesitated to use the word, “brother. I’m looking for my sister. For Rowena...for Rowen. I need to take her home. This is why I’m here. The only reason why I’m here.” She gave a half-hearted tug against her human-made restraints. “Tell me what’s going on. I’ll cooperate. All I want is for the safe return of my sister. If you know where she is…”
“--She is responsible for the deaths of four people, and for the attempted murder of Commander Sorde,” the glaive-wielding Forbanne, who seemed in charge of the small unit, blocked her view of the girl whom she’d addressed, his dark eyes regarding her with cool, emotionless precision. “If we find her, we will kill her. She is dangerous, and a threat to the people of Galeyn. She allies with a powerful sorceress who aims to usurp this land and the throne.” His precision-focused eyes sharpened, ready to grind his captive down like a whetstone to steel.
“...You...you must be mistaken.” She forced sound into her throat. Forced a noise. Forced words. Forced out a defense, despite her stunned shock in hearing the most outrageous, untruthful news. What unfounded allegations! To claim such falsehoods about quiet, unassuming Rowen, a girl so sensitive to the cruelties of the world, she wished for nothing but solitude and harmony, was ludicrous. Absolutely ludicrous. “Are you sure you don’t have her confused with my brother? He’s the monster you should hunt.”
“Hadwin Kavanagh witnessed the death of Rowen’s first victim.” The Forbanne’s rigid mouth twitched, an imperceptible tic that would have gone unnoticed, if not for the slight modulation in his pitch. “He brought me the body.”
“And you believed that he had nothing to do with it!? Rowen is not a murderer!” Temporarily forgetting her self-preservation, the bound captive fought against the Forbanne and their arm restraints, outrage and frenzy unspooling whatever tenuous connection remained tethered to her faculties of pragmatism and logic. “If Hadwin was involved, then you should be pursuing and interrogating him. The man is deranged, and he’s murdered people, before. If he’s fled Galeyn, he is even more suspect. You are wasting your time on the wrong person. Rowen is...she’s harmless!”
“You said you would cooperate.” The glaive-wielder tucked the edge of his curved blade beneath her chin. She flinched as he applied enough pressure to break the skin. Small rivulets of blood dribbled on the glaive-tip. “Yet, you willingly side with our enemy. What reason do we have to keep you alive?”
“I,” she gasped, afraid to swallow for the gutting she’d either intentionally or unintentionally receive, depending on what she said, or how she moved. “...Let me remove her from Galeyn. That’s...that’s all I ask. P-please. I’ve been searching for so long. If she’s...if she’s exiled from this kingdom, then you will have no reason to hunt for her. She’ll be gone. We’ll be gone. You don’t need her dead. Even if you’re convinced she killed people, even if, hypothetically, she did, revenge is pointless.” Her amber eyes flicked to the blonde warrior called Sigrid. “If I may wager a guess...you loved a woman. You loved her dearly. You wanted to marry her. She was taken from you. And you,” she met with the Forbanne’s coal-dark gaze, “the woman who died...she was your first friend. I understand why you are out for blood. Hadwin killed for the same reasons, and it almost destroyed our clan. It destroyed him a little on the inside, too. But look at what’s happened! Revenge perpetrates more revenge. It will never satisfy you. So...just,” her lids grew heavy, and she closed them, all at once tired and defeated, “let me take her home.”
