Bronwyn… She’d heard that name before. Only on infrequent occasions, and only ever in passing, from Hadwin, and that was enough for Teselin to have faith that regardless of the lies this woman had told Sigrid, Kadri and the Forbanne under their command… she was not lying to her. This was it. The realization hit the young summoner so quickly she actually startled and took a daring step forward. This was what Tivia was referring to… that help was going to come. That I only had to wait… she was right, after all!
There would be plenty of time later to feel foolish for disregarding the star seer’s far-reaching foresight. This was an opportunity that she could not pass up; one that perhaps might benefit everyone, if she managed to properly mediate the situation and help de-escalate the tension gathering in the air. It was up to her not only to make the soldiers lay down their swords, but to find a way to earn Bronwyn Kavanagh’s cooperation… which, she had a feeling, may not be an easy task, if her sentiments toward her brother mirrored those of the Dawn Warrior’s.
“Listen… please, everyone, hear me out for just a moment.” Teselin rolled her shoulders back and boldly stepped up to the giants with swords and glaives, stopping when she faced Sigrid Sorenson specifically. “I think… there have been some misunderstandings, but we can work this out. We are not one another’s enemy…” Ut did not appear, however, that Sigrid was listening. Something had shifted in the stricken warrior’s demeanor, at the faoladh’s mention of the very reason she sought Rowen’s blood. A familiar flicker of that pain that she was so trying to ignore, trying to bury beneath her current quest to bring justice to those whose lives had been taken. And unearthing that pain… well, while Bronwyn might have meant well, in trying to empathize with her plight, it may not have been the safest move.
“How the hell do you know that?” The Dawn Warrior breathed, clutching the hilt of her shortsword with white knuckles. Her icy blue eyes searched Bronwyn’s face with a wounded sort of ferocity. “How do you know any of that?”
“She’s faoladh, Sigrid--she is Hadwin’s sister, remember?” In a desperate attempt to find a way to make the warrior see reason, she took to her side, putting a partial barrier between her and the faoladh woman. “Hadwin is able to see peoples’ fears. Bronwyn… well, it is clear she can see something else. I believe she doesn’t mean us or Galeyn any harm. Let’s hear her out… you want to find Rowen, don’t you? So does she. She can help us…”
Sigrid pressed her lips into a tight line, every muscle in her body far too tense to allow for clemency… or much reason, for that matter. “And you would find her for what? To hope for the best that she does not rip out your throat like she did to Naimah? To Cwenha, and the others? Are you really so naive to think that if she would target her own brother, that murderous little runt would not also target you without batting an eyelash?” Despite the ire in Sigrid’s words, she withdrew her overbearing presence from Bronwyn’s personal space. It wasn’t that the particular power of this woman’s Sight had disarmed her, per se, but… in remembering Naimah, remembering that sense of loss as raw as the day she’d first experienced it, the Dawn Warrior had lost interest in a fight. “You are as naive as they come. Maybe even moreso than this whelp.” She nodded in Teselin’s direction before turning to Kadri. “...I can’t deal with this right now. You should take her back to camp. Figure out what to do with her, later.”
Without another word, she turned and set off in a different direction; a longer route back into the kingdom proper. Long enough to give her the opportunity to be alone, without the responsibility of explaining herself or her position to anyone. It cost energy and patience that she just didn’t have… and if she stayed, she couldn’t promise not to say or do something she might later come to regret.
Kadri, who appeared to be relying on Sigrid’s sense of judgment, did not hesitate to order his followers into compliance--and began to lead their captive away. “Wait--please don’t harm her!” Teselin urged, as a handful of hulking Forbanne formed a wall with their bodies between her and Hadwin’s sister. She was helpless to stop them, and anything she might try would only worsen the situation for the woman in captivity. “Bronwyn--my name is Teselin Kristeva!” She called in a raised voice, to ascertain that the faoladh heard. “Please, just cooperate with them for now; they won’t hurt you. There is more you need to know about Hadwin and Rowen... I will speak with you later!”
And she kept to her word, although it was much, much later. Kadri and his troupe of Forbanne were a fairly unyielding bunch, trained to follow and adhere to orders without compromise, and for a good part of that day, they refused to allow her an audience with their captive, who was heavily guarded by no fewer than half a dozen men. Kadri argued that this was necessary, in case she decided to shift into a wolf and escape her confines; they could not risk another rampaging beast biting into the throats of any more innocent people. Were this a different time, and under different circumstances, Teselin might have sought out and appealed to Haraldur, but the Forbanne Commander had given Kadri full reins over his search expedition. That said, Kadri was not beholden to Haraldur’s orders in this case, and appeared only to be appealing to one person’s judgement.
Much though she would have preferred to avoid Sigrid Sorenson for the remainder of that day (and then some), Teselin had promised Bronwyn she would speak to her again that day; she needed to, not only for her own sake (and Hadwin’s), but there was no telling how long the faoladh woman would continue to cooperate and play at being a docile captive before she lost her patience and potentially sank her teeth and he claws into the guards, who likely wouldn’t hesitate to kill her. Sigrid’s permission was her last and only opportunity to smooth the wrinkles of this predicament before it escalated… and before she lost what was likely also her last chance to reliably track down Hadwin.
“Just let me speak with her; someone should hear her out.” She begged the Dawn Warrior that evening as Sigrid sat in her tent, polishing the discolouration from one of her swords. “Even if she is suspect, we aren’t getting anywhere but simply making her sit and stew. The longer we leave her, the more apt she may be to retaliate--”
“In which case we will cut her down.” The blonde warrior replied without feeling, eyes fixed solely on her blade.
“But it doesn’t need to come to that! Sigrid, please, she may not speak with you or the Forbanne, but I think… she will talk to me. She doesn’t see me as a threat. If you want answers, clear answers, then I can get them.”
“And what’s stopping you from setting her free? A relation to your beloved Hadwin?” Finally, Sigrid looked away from her blade and fixed her wintry eyes on the young summoner. Whether or not it was intended as a threat, she did not put the blade away. “Do not take me for a fool, Teselin. You were upset that I had her apprehended in the first place; and I know you, of all people, have magic that is capable of creating enough chaos to make a diversion.”
The younger summoner exhaled. She’d anticipated this argument; and she’d prepared for it. “I’m not of the mind to sabotage you. But if you need reassurance…” From the folds of a pocket tied around her waist, Teselin reached inside and presented what appeared to be a distinctly ugly bracelet. Upon closer inspection, the Dawn Warrior recognized it as a single manacle.
“And what do you intend to do with that?”
“I stole it from Mollengard’s prisons. It is similar to those found in Stella D’Mare’s spells, fashioned to dampen and suffocate magical energies. I figured, in the event I did manage to escape and survive… it might come in handy, in case my magic spiraled completely out of control. But in this case…” She placed one half-circle on her wrist and snapped it into place with the other half. “If you want reassurance that I will not use my magic, this is it. So will you let me speak with Bronwyn?”
Sigrid frowned, and at last, put her blade down. “Do you have a key to remove that?”
“No. But there are ample casters who I am sure can release the mechanism before it becomes too dangerous for me. That said, the clock starts ticking now.” She held up her shackled hand and raised an eyebrow. “Please… supervise, if you have to. But let me talk to Bronwyn…”
The Dawn Warrior paused, but only for about half a moment. “You may not be a liar, but you evidently do have a knack for being manipulative. Come on.” Standing from the stool where she’d been seated for the past several hours, Sigrid stood and escorted the young summoner outside of her tent, stopping when she reached the temporary “holding cell” of their new prisoner. “She is permitted no more than an hour to exchange words with the faoladh. If you find anything amiss, feel free to intervene.” She said to the guard at the very front, who nodded his understanding, and pulled the tent flap aside.
Inside, Bronwyn Kavanagh was bound by the hands and ankles with rope; not so tightly as to become dangerously uncomfortable, but enough that sent the message that she was not to be going anywhere, anytime soon. To her credit, and to Teselin’s relief, Bronwyn had cooperated, and didn’t appear to have made any attempts to escape. “I’m sorry it took me so long… are you alright?”
Perhaps not the most intuitive question to ask. While physically unharmed, Bronwyn appeared understandably annoyed. Teselin didn’t blame her. “Listen… there is a lot I need to say. And if we play our cards right, not only do I think we can get you released, but we both may be able to find what--or who--we are looking for.”
Taking a seat on the ground across from where the faoladh was seated, the young summoner took a breath and began to explain. “I understand… you are clearly not on good terms with your brother. And that you cannot believe your sister possibly committed the crimes that Sigrid--the blonde warrior who apprehended you--accused her of. Honestly, I did not come here to try and change your mind, or to sway your opinion, but you have the right to know the truth. And what you decide to do with that truth, Bronwyn Kavanagh, is up to you.”
When Bronwyn responded with curious silence, Teselin took that as an opportunity to explain--and so she did. She told Bronwyn everything. From the way she and Hadwin had met, to how he’d been looking out for her infallibly since. How he had saved her life, and had he had never turned his back on her during a time of need. How she had believed she’d been doing him a favour by reuniting him with Rowen, at first… and how Rowen had nearly killed him. How Rowen had somehow managed to follow them, leaving bodies and blood in her wake, and how she’d sought to break Hadwin indirectly by hurting his friends. How she’d killed Cwenha, devastating Briery, and had soon after moved on to Sigrid, whom Hadwin had actually introduced to the Dawn Warrior because he believed she deserved a shot a human affection without being restricted by her fears. She told Bronwyn everything, up to the last time she’d seen Hadwin… and the fact that she hadn’t seen him since. That he was, as far as anyone knew, gone… but to where, was anyone’s guess.
“Whatever happened between you and your brother… that is your business, and I understand. I also happen to have a brother who seems to be universally despised for past deeds. But Hadwin… he was really trying, Bronwyn. To do good. To be good, and I know he blames himself for not managing to stop Rowen in time. Wherever he is now, I know he must be in danger, because I doubt that at this point, he has any desire to survive left. Which is why I need to find him… and I need your help.” She raised her dark eyes to meet Bronwyn’s, simultaneously hopeful and pleading as she lowered her voice. “Whatever your sister has done… I don’t believe she’s beyond saving. She was captured by Mollengard, and something in her has broken. The trouble is, she is not working alone. We all have reason to believe she is being influenced by an ancient and powerful sorceress that is threatening this kingdom; it is not as simple as merely finding her. If you ask me, Sigrid and the Forbanne are hunting with the wrong intent, and you… you don’t know this kingdom. Alone, you could be putting yourself at risk. But Hadwin has become accustomed to Rowen’s… gimmicks; her tricks. If we find him, then together, I think you might have a chance of catching up to Rowen before it is too late. Between the two of you… it might even be enough to bring her back. To the sister you knew her to be. So, I ask you… no, I’m begging you.”
The young summoner bowed her head and wove her fingers together. “Help me find Hadwin… please, help me find him. I do not know the specifics of your Sight, but I know you can tell I am not lying. Everything I’ve said is true; and I owe it to him to see that he is safe. He saved my life, and I want to save his, but I know my limits… I can’t do it alone. It took me a year to find my own brother, on my own; and I don’t know that Hadwin has that time. But you can track him--or, even if you can’t, you share his blood, and there is magic that can do the tracking for us through a blood relative. I promise to get you out of here, Bronwyn, without any struggle or violence, so that no one else needs to get hurt. And in return…” Teselin looked up again with those wide, hopeful eyes. Over the past hour or so, they’d gained something of a feverish gleam; a result from the shackle around her wrist, and a symptom that the faoladh wouldn’t understand without context. “In return… I hope you will agree to help me, too. And, by that merit, Rowen.”
Bronwyn did not like to use her Sight. Did not like to see the best in the people who aimed to cause her and her family harm. More detestable than viewing the wisps of honesty or love that thrummed in the hearts of even the most despicable or corruptible individuals, she doubly hated revealing her insights aloud. Alas, her situation had grown desperate, and short of fleeing as a wolf, mindless of the carnage she’d wreck on her pursuers--the allegedly innocent life of the young magic-user girl included--she had to reach for whatever weapon or negotiation strategy she carried in her arsenal. Not that her Sight presented any useful properties in a life or death scenario; at best, she could boost someone’s ego. At worst...she could open up old wounds.
Considering how poorly her luck had been, of late, it made sense that her unreliable failsafe would backfire. The woman warrior referred to as Sigrid appeared ready to run her through with her sword for the infraction of speaking the unpleasant truth of love lost, while the Forbanne glaive-wielder had carved another notch into her neck with his blade, replacing the wound that her faoladh inheritance had already healed.
“Do not probe into my head, reprobate!” The polearm trembled, inflicting another incidental swipe on Bronwyn’s shallowly lacerated neck. “That is how she almost killed Commander Sorde. Your tactics are the same. You should die for the offense, Wolf!”
Bronwyn, keeping her eyes forced shut, squeezed out troubled breaths, struggling to prevent them from devolving into panicked gasps. If she panicked, she was dead. The Forbanne wanted to kill her. The blonde warrior cared neither if she lived or died. The young girl, Hadwin’s charge...was, inexplicably, the only one on her side. If she would later have to give her indirect thanks to him for surviving this ordeal, perhaps she would be better off dead.
“She...she is right,” Bronwyn said, failing to still the ongoing tremors in her voice. “I don’t see what my siblings see. I see...I see good people. I see,” she hesitated, “how loved you are, and how you love others. I see,” she gritted her teeth at the Forbanne glaive-wielder as removed his blade to ease her speech, “how loyal you are. To your Commander, and to the legacy of your friend. And in Rowen, I see a gentle soul, who simply wants to be surrounded by something beautiful within all the darkness. I’m not naive.” She shot a glare at Sigrid, but the glare was directed at her ear, to prevent the onslaught of her Sight’s manifestations extolling the woman’s many virtues. But it was too late. She saw too much. “I see breaks in the clouds, but that does not make me naive! Wouldn’t you want to save your sibling, no, your kin, if he were in trouble!? That man I see in your eyes...he has children. You still care about him. He is Forbanne, is he not? He killed. He did horrible things--”
“--He is Commander Sorde,” the Forbanne glaive-wielder pricked her anew, apparently incensed at her irreverent mention of the strange man she described. “Show some respect for my Commander.”
“...Commander Sorde.” Pricked one too many times, her words deflated, like a bellows running out of air, or a pockmarked skein leaking out water. “No matter what you say, she is family. I cannot nor will I abandon her. Further, I find it difficult to believe she would ever hurt Hadwin. If there was one person in the world that she would never hurt…”
Her breath fully dispelled, like a ghost who scared it out of her body. No. It was not the first time Rowen had caused injury to their brother. Not physical injury, but it was she who convinced Chief Orin to exile Hadwin from the clan--a fate worse than death for faoladh. Despite the horrible wrongs he’d inflicted, all for revenge, the chief had not intended on sending his son to die. Rowen, not to be deterred, called the chief oversentimental and foolhardy, arguing that Hadwin was poison; his bad habits and influences would infect all of clan Kavanagh. He was flagrantly uncooperative, and no manner of punishment or subjugation would fix his behavior. He could not be saved, and any who tried would fall into the mire with him.
Bronwyn agreed with Rowen and later, with the chief’s executive ruling. It was for the best to excise the weakest link from the clan. No one thought he’d suffer as all the mythologized accounts of lone faoladh led anyone to believe. They were fairytales meant to scare children into obedience. Hadwin would thrive on his own, and he did. Seven years later, and the man showed few signs of slowing down, as his kingdom and county-wide wanted posters commonly depicted; his face a devil-may-care grin, and the crinkle his eyes alight with jovial mayhem. Hadwin was meant for the rogue life. Rowen did nothing wrong. In fact, she’d given him exactly what he wanted: freedom.
Yet...at the time, Rowen’s actions had surprised Bronwyn. Maybe it was a skewed sign of her love to release Hadwin from the constraints he abhorred, but if that were the case...Bronwyn’s Sight would have revealed the truth. While she never touted her Sight as being particularly reliable, it came off as alarming, the day that Rowen’s love for her brother, and for everyone and everything else...disappeared.
I’m not naive. I just want to keep my family together. What’s left of it…
As evidenced by the blonde warrior’s dismissal and hasty departure, she, and the young girl, had worn her down. While Bronwyn’s ultimate fate was yet unknown, for now, they were not likely to kill her for her associations...nor were they to exonerate her for crimes she hadn’t even committed. Not that she had any rights to argue her unjust capture. Her grasp of Galeyn’s patchwork system of governance, one with a Forbanne presence, led by a Sorde of Eyraille and seemingly independent of Mollengard’s reach, was too confusing to understand. Everything was too confusing to understand. Exhausted into compliance, she allowed the Forbanne to haul her out of the forest. She didn’t resist, but she only gave her aggressors unilateral control. In a small rebellion, she let her legs go limp, forcing the soldiers to put forth a little extra effort in dragging her to their camp.
She listened to the girl’s request, taking some comfort in the fact that one person was fighting for her release. Teselin Kristeva...she bore surface-level similarities to Rowen, true, but she presented differently enough in temperament that she wondered just how she attracted Hadwin’s attention. What was their history, together? And why was she so desperate to find a man who spelled trouble--and death--for anyone involved with him? Her Sight could only scry through so much of one’s memories.
If she cooperated...she would know the truth. But could she invest her faith in a teenaged girl? A stranger, no less? One affiliated so strongly with Hadwin?
She had no other leads and no other choices but to forcibly run as a wolf...which, among well-trained soldiers, would likely kill her. So she cooperated. Aside from letting her legs go limp, she did not make a fuss as the Forbanne bound her by rope and chains and drove pegs into the ground to ensure she stayed pinned and immobile. It was there she sat in a fair amount of discomfort, denied even food or water for the remainder of the day. So as not to succumb to bitterness or self-pity, she occupied her time watching the shadows of the day pass over the canvas sides of her containment area. A criminal. How did she, rule-following Bronwyn, become a criminal? She’d never committed a wrong in her life, and now…
No. She chastised herself. It didn’t matter. What mattered was finding Rowen, and rescuing her from the people who so badly wanted her dead. To achieve that end goal, she’d endure anything.
She startled alert at the low, murmuring voices stirring outside her tent. Familiar voices. Someone pulled aside a tent flap, allowing a burst of dying light to assault her eyes. After readjusting them with a few blinks, she focused on the compact figure who, earlier, had promised to speak with her.
“Teselin...that is your name, isn’t it? I’d sit up and greet you but..I can’t move more than my head, right now.” She tried for a flippant smile but among the gravitas of her dire situation, any attempts at humor fell short. “Well...I am a captive audience, Teselin. Besides, I’m curious how the two of you...how you and Hadwin…” she made a noise.”Honestly, it baffles me. So if you can clarify and tell me what the hell is going on, I would appreciate it.”
To Bronwyn’s credit, she listened to the story from beginning to end, without interruption or protest over whatever incongruous moments or questionable parts sprung up in the narrative. She listened, supplementing Teselin’s spoken words with the wisps of truth and honesty she gleaned from her Sight. The teenaged girl was telling the truth--her truth, anyway. But the truth differed from person to person. Perspective skewed the facts. Therefore, it was difficult for Bronwyn to swallow every proffered nugget of information as infallible and without fault.
But it was enough. Enough to arrange some semblance of a cohesive story. And what a mess of a story it was! It was only supposed to be Hadwin who complicated her life. Now...there was another factor at play. And it terrified her to consider.
“Rowen...please understand, Teselin, I haven’t seen my sister in well over a year. I might have outdated information on her, but the last time I’ve seen her, she never would have attacked anyone out of malice. The innocent lives you say she’s ended, both here and in Braighdath, and her attempted murder of Hadwin...If she was doing all of this before she allied with the sorceress, and Hadwin had nothing to do with it, then...there is only one explanation.” She took in a stabilizing breath. “The faoladh madness.”
In a feckless attempt to find a comfortable position in her askew confines, her chains rattled in a cacophony of high screeches and mournful wails. Finding her mission futile, she sighed and stayed put. “Our Sight is a curse, inflicted on us by a priest who long ago condemned my people to suffer for our sinful heritage. We were punished for existing...for emerging from the fae realms to cavort with humans and pollute their minds with our otherworldly bestial traits. So he cursed us with moon madness. If we stray from our own kind...the madness will eventually destroy us. I never took much stock in it. I’ve wandered for a year and haven’t suffered any negative repercussions. Hadwin’s been without his clan for close to eight years and he continues to survive. Except now, you don’t seem to think that he’s trying, anymore. Rowen,” she half-closed her eyes, staring at a point far beyond the tent and Galeyn, “there’s no question the Sight affected her badly. Even our clan failed her. Our buffer of protection...was not enough. And Mollengard, I’m sure, impacted her for the worse. Drove her to shunt away her conscience and retaliate against the world. If even Hadwin couldn’t reach her, then what...what can I do?”
She shook her head. No self-pity! It was unproductive. It dissolved solutions before they were given a chance to form. And the fact remained that Teselin did present a plan, which could possibly lead to the solution they all sought.
Of course, it centered around Hadwin.
“I’ve no doubt Hadwin does good...when it benefits him. Even if he doesn’t stand to gain anything physical, if it ends up stroking his grossly engorged ego, it’s a win-win for him. But,” she hesitated, “just how I haven’t seen Rowen in over a year, I haven’t seen Hadwin in longer. Maybe...maybe he’s changed for the better. In some ways. But it’s obvious you would paint him in a flattering light, Teselin. Be that as it may...even if our clan could not dampen the effects of faoladh-borne madness, between Hadwin and I, we’d….we’d stand a better chance together than separate. That is to say, if he isn’t far gone with his own madness, as seems to be the case.”
“If I help you find him…” she darted her gaze to the tent flaps, on the lookout for the blonde warrior, who lingered nearby, “what will become of Rowen, here? If they find her, they’ll kill her. I don’t know how long this search can take. Even with the use of blood magic, Hadwin could be anywhere! By the time we find him, and return him to Galeyn, it’s possible they will have...with Rowen…” she did not finish the thought. “I need insurance that they won’t hunt her while we’re gone. I’ve come so far, and for so long, to get sidetracked looking for my sorry excuse for a relation. None of our efforts will have mattered in the end if we return and she’s dead. Sure, you’ll reunite with your,” she shivered, “‘brother,’ or whatever he means to you, but if we lose Rowen in the process,” her mouth widened into an uncompromising grimace, “I’ll fucking kill that bastard, myself. So...if they won’t call off the search, even temporarily, then I...I can’t leave to help you. Besides,” she tilted her head, and something approaching concern kneaded between her brow, “you’re afflicted with a fever. What makes you think you’re in any condition to travel? I’m not pulling you around on a sled when you collapse from exhaustion, Teselin.”
Given first impressions, Bronwyn Kavanagh--extremely different from her brother in a myriad of ways, temperament being one of them--did not appear to be unreasonable. This was what had spurred the young summoner to plead her case in hopes that the faoladh woman would lend an ear to her plight and understand the dire importance of her need to find Hadwin. However she wanted to spin it, Bronwyn cared; perhaps not about Hadwin, at least, not overtly, but she cared about Rowen. And the path to Rowen was with Hadwin: because it sometimes took a pack to find their lost members.
“I believe you, Bronwyn. Sigrid is wrong: you are not naive, and you know your sister better than we do.” Teselin adjusted her seated position on the ground. “I’ve met her, myself… on more than one occasion. The first time… well, she manipulated me. She made me lead her to Hadwin, and she…” Her throat tightened at the horrifying memory of the slight girl all but gutting her brother before her eyes. She cleared her throat and exhaled slowly to ground herself. “That was when she… hurt him. I thought she wanted to reunite with him to be with family, but it was something else that drove her. Still… I can’t help but feel that there was something there, in her eyes. Something that wanted to return to the life she had before her drive to kill overcame her. But you’re right: this all occurred before the sorceress found a way to influence her. With or without Locque in her shadow… something drives her violence. And if it is because she has strayed from her pack, then you and Hadwin are precisely the remedy we need to set her back on a better path.”
Sensing the doubt in the faoladh woman’s voice and demeanor, the young summoner learned forward and placed a hand upon her bound wrists. “Hadwin wasn’t able to get through to her alone; perhaps, alone, neither can you. But together, as a unit, I think it is possible. No… I am certain it is possible to help clear her vision of this red mist that is driving your sister to kill. We can find a solution that does not lead to need to anyone else’s death--Rowen included.”
Of course, Bronwyn brought up a sound point, one that Teselin had not considered. Even if the others agreed to release the faoladh woman, even if she agreed to leave this kingdom and accompany the young summoner in her search for Hadwin, there really was nothing in place to guarantee Rowen Kavanagh’s safety. Not with a willful Forbanne soldier and a Dawn Warrior with an irreparably broken heart hellbent on bringing justice to the loved ones Hadwin’s youngest sister had slain in cold blood. Not when both Haraldur and Queen Lilica had sanctioned this witch hunt, themselves… “I can do that. I can find the assurance you need.” She said at last, before climbing to her feet. “I have friends within the Galeynian monarchy and its closest allies. Just… give me until tomorrow. You’ll have the word of this kingdom’s most prominent voices that Rowen will not be harmed if apprehended. The Galeynians are pacifistic people; and their Queen must appeal to that demeanor. I can make them see reason.”
Wiping perspiration from her brow, a result of the climbing fever that had not surpassed Bronwyn’s attention, the young summoner shook her head at the concern directed at her condition. “I… it’s a long story. The only way I was able to convince Sigrid to let me see you was to prove I would not use my magic to free you against her will. I have to respect that; and this was my promise to her.” She held up her single shackled wrist, which, although not uncomfortably tight, had already begun to inflame the skin beneath. “Stifling my magic causes me to become ill--please do not ask me to explain, because even I do not understand why, to this day. But the fever will dissipate as soon as I rid myself of this--which I plan to do, of course. For now,” she offered a hopeful smile, “just… continue to cooperate. Don’t give them any more reason to suspect you as a threat, and leave the rest to me. I’ll have you out of here soon.”
True to her word, as soon as Teselin left the new prisoner’s tent, she made straight for the palace proper and requested an audience not only with Queen Lilica, but also the Forbanne Commander, and even Alster Rigas. To keep her promise to Bronwyn, everyone who held any sway over the decisions made with regard to the protection of this kingdom would have to agree to her proposal… which, she realized, might not be any easy task, but she had to try. For Hadwin’s sake, she had to try.
Late as it was, no matter how she begged, the young summoner was not able to have her full audience with the aforementioned people until much later the next morning. She didn’t sleep much that night, in part due to anticipation of her plea on the following day, but also with the increasing discomfort of the shackle sapping her energy and wellness. Perhaps it was a little nefarious, on her part, and Sigrid had been right; it was manipulative to continue to wear it, knowing full well others would continue to be concerned for her, but she desperately needed the party of nobles and influential people that she was about to face on the morrow to hear her out, and to understand. As a relatively young woman, her reasoning was easily dismissed--and this was a dismissal that she refused to accept. Even if it put her health at risk.
It wasn’t until after everyone had broken their fast the following morning that Teselin was allowed into the councilroom, shortly before Queen Lilica and Chara, followed by Haraldur, and soon after, Alster. The latter had been permitted leave from the sanctuary long enough to attend this meeting, on the condition that he returned to convalescing immediately afterwards. And although he was recovering from damage he’d absorbed from Elespeth, even he could not compare to the pallor of Teselin’s face. Just one night with that shackle on her skin, and she already felt winded, and beyond exhausted, with a pounding headache. She wanted nothing more than to lie down and sleep off the aliment, but the situation demanded that she stand strong and unyielding.
That said, not a single person in that room was fooled by her endurance. “Teselin.” Queen Lilica addressed her at last, her brows knitted together with concern and confusion. “Whatever reason you have seen fit to gather us here… if it is not an emergency, perhaps it would be best to reconvene at a later date. You do not appear well at all.”
“I’m fine--I mean, I will be.” The dark-haired summoner raised her shackled wrist for them to see. “I stole it from Mollengard’s prison; it stifles magic… and it was the only way I could convinced Sigrid to allow me an audience with the woman she recently apprehended--Hadwin’s sister. Well, his other sister. Bronwyn.”
“From Mollengard?” The Galeynian Queen exchanged a worried glance with Chara, and took a step forward. “Then we will remove it immediately; a locksmith can break the fastener…”
But Teselin took a step back at Lilica’s advance and shook her head. “Not right now. First, I need you to listen. The captive… her name is Bronwyn Kavanagh. She is Hadwin’s sister, who has come in search of their other sister, Rowen. I am asking that you give the order for her release… and to call off the kill order for Rowen.”
It came as no surprise that the young summoner’s request was first met with stunned silence--and followed by verbal dissent of almost all parties present. “Rowen is a dire threat to this kingdom, Teselin.” Lilica spoke slowly, as if under the impressing the young summoner somehow didn’t understand just how dangerous Rowen was. “She has single-handedly killed more people than we can count, at this point, and she is more than likely receiving support from Locque. We must stop her at all cost, even if it means her demise.”
“But you can’t even find her. You’re wasting time and resources on a lost cause… but I know how to find her. Through Bronwyn; and… Hadwin.” Teselin expelled a shaky breath and clasped her elbows to keep her hands from trembling. The very air around her felt thick and hot, and it was getting difficult to concentrate. “I need Bronwyn to find Hadwin, and together, they will find Roen. She is part of their pack, and she knows they will not hurt her… it could be enough to lure her out. But Bronwyn will not cooperate under the threat of Roen being killed, before we return.”
There was more dissent; of course there was dissent. Not a single person in that room, aside from herself, thought it logical to keep Roen alive. She couldn’t take no for an answer, though. Not if it meant finding Hadwin, and possibly dissolving the madness that might be gnawing at Rowen’s mind. “She is sick. Bronwyn says… when her kind stray from their pack for too long, they succumb to a sort of madness. This could be why she is killing, and if she reunites with her siblings…”
“Though that may be a possibility, Teselin, we cannot excuse the chaos she has caused; the allies she has taken from us. Not to mention, she us further influenced by Locque.” The Galeynian Queen shook her head. “I know you mean well, but you are clearly suffering a fever…”
“...and what about you, Queen Lilica? Do you not harbour similar regrets, during moments when you might not have been in a healthy state of mind?”
Again, the room went silent, and still. Teselin had no right to know what she did about Lilica Tenebris’s dinstinctly dark past. It was something Hadwin had once seen in her eyes, in passing; he’d had a couple of drinks, which had loosened his tongue on the topic of what he’d witnessed. The journey of her own life, up until recently, speckled with footprints of blood… she was no innocent. She did not pretend to be, which made the young summoner feel all the guiltier for digging at old wounds, but she needed to make her point--and this was the only surefire way to really appeal to the Galeynian Queen.
Taking a moment to compose herself so that she did not appear too stricken, Lilica lifted her chin and nodded. “Alright, summoner. You have made your point.” She said, resting her hands along the edge of the lengthy rectangular table, as if she too needed a little bit of stability. “Rowen Kavanagh will continue to be sought, and if found, apprehended. But no harm is to come to her until further notice. Haraldur,” she shot an apologetic glance toward the Forbanne captain. “Can you please inform your soldiers of this change in policy. Alster, I will take it upon myself to inform the Rigases and D’Marians on your behalf; you should return to your wife at the sanctuary until you have fully recovered. Now about those shackles, Teselin…”
“Remove Bronwyn’s first. I made her a promise.” The young summoner insisted, heaving such a sigh of relief she almost deflated. “Thank you, your Majesty. I promise you will not regret your decision.”
As soon as Teselin left the room (though she would not get too far, in her state), Lilica shook her head slowly and murmured to Chara, “I understand, now… how you lost your patience with her.”
Not long after, accompanied by a Forbanne guard, Teselin returned to Bronwyn’s tent. The hulking man exchanged no words as he freed the faoladh woman of the chains binding her, and the young summoner, in spite of her afflicted condition, was all smiles. “It’s done.” She said to Bronwyn, when the soldier left them alone. “Queen Lilica herself decreed that if Rowen is apprehended, she will not be harmed… and I trust her. She is an honest monarch. No harm will come to your sister…”
Evidently, Haraldur was also keeping his end of the agreement by informing the Forbanne troupes--Kadri’s search party, in particular--about this recent change. Needless to say, not everyone was happy with it, and the dissent reached their ears from inside the tent.
“What sort of bullshit is this, Haraldur? And how does the Queen of Galeyn bend so easily to the whims of a damned little girl?” Sigrid’s voice carried across the encampment. Teselin was just relieved she wasn’t there in person to see the stricken warrior confront her cousin. “Since when do we offer clemency to cold-blooded murderers? Madness or not, do you think for a moment that she lent a single thought to Naimah when she bit into her throat?”
Teselin could only catch snippets of the Forbanne Commander urging the inconsolable Dawn Warrior to live for something other than revenge, but Sigrid was having none of it. “Justice is all that is left when there is no fucking hope, Haraldur! The gods do not favour me as they do people like you and Alster Rigas! Naimah did not come back from the dead like you or your wife. There is nothing that I can even sacrifice on my own behalf to bring her back, like Alster did with Elespeth. Fate has no mercy for me; all that I have left is justice for Naimah, and now I am to be deprived of that, as well?”
There was the distinct sound of metal being forced into a sheath, and then heavy, retreating footsteps. Haraldur’s voice also carried away on the distance, as it sounded as though he sought after his irate cousin. With the commotion finally dissipated, the young summoner let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “I suppose I couldn’t expect everyone to be alright with this decision, but… it will be for the best. So,” turning back to Bronwyn, the feverish girl held up the hand with the enchanted shackle, which had already left her wrist raw and red, as if it had been burned, “when I get this removed… will you help me? To find Hadwin?”
Teselin met no further argument from Bronwyn; the latter nodded her approval, on the grounds that the young summoner succeeded in convincing Galeyn’s Queen and her allies to stand down on Rowen’s extermination operation--indefinitely. In the meantime, she promised to comply with the Forbanne, despite her growing impatience for their passive but effective torture technique of twisting and pinning down her limbs like rolled, stretched dough. To alleviate some of the pressure, she willingly broke her bones and reset them, but when a soldier discovered she’d slipped a wrist free from her manacle to scratch at a rather painful itch on her back, they reinforced her chains, miring her down with iron clasps too heavy for her to escape, even to twitch a muscle.
If Rowen suffered a fraction of what Bronwyn experienced at the hands of--according to Teselin--liberated Forbanne, then she understood why her sister would surrender to the darkness so prominent in her Sight. Already, the world was an ugly place, fraught with war and disease and betrayals too numerous to chronicle; to Rowen, it was the inevitable state of existence. And it had become unbearable to witness. Much as she found her Sight a nuisance, Bronwyn took comfort in knowing there were still reasons to hope, to love, to find absolution amid the reaches of penultimate despair. For Rowen, her Sight fed into her bleak, pessimistic mindset, which had developed because of the moon curse. It was a cycle, with no beginning or end. When did Rowen’s darkness hatch? At birth? Or did it germinate, feeding off the pain of her neglect from early infancy before growing into the thorny, black-petaled specimen that proliferated her thoughts and influenced her decisions? Could they have prevented the manifestation of Darkness incarnate if they nurtured her instead of isolated her? They were so convinced early hardship would strengthen her loyalty to the clan, that it would shape her into a fully-fledged member, steeled by survival and eager to contribute to faoladh society. But it hadn’t worked for Hadwin; though strengthened, he snapped in the other direction. And Bronwyn’s ‘initiation’ happened much later, when her Sight had fully developed…
It was all too much to think about! Unfortunately, she had nothing but time, unable to act; hinged, as she were, by the will and actions of another. Helpless but to lay, chained and immobile, she thought, and thought, and thought herself to uneasy, unsatisfying slumber…
Bronwyn’s shaky faith in Teselin was not misplaced. Through sheer persistence, the young summoner had managed to gather every influential figure with which she shared either acquaintance or alliance. Between Alster Rigas’ recovering heart, Haraldur’s dual roles as Forbanne Commander and father to twins, and the ongoing responsibilities shouldered by Queen Lilica and her blonde, wilful advisor, arranging a meeting was no simple task. Despite the logistical hurdles of pooling four of the kingdom’s biggest contributors together on such short notice, they had, indeed, answered Teselin’s urgent summons and met that morning in the council chambers. Queen Lilica sat at the head of the overlarge oak table; Chara at her right side. Alster Rigas took up residency in the wheeled contraption that once belonged to Elespeth. The healers under his care did not trust him to make the short trip on foot, and required that he do as little as possible to exert himself. Haraldur Sorde, too restless from a chronic lack of sleep, leaned against the wall, taking intermittent sips of a stimulating tea that the Gardeners had brewed for him. He watched from his guard-like position, silently observing, as Teselin joined Queen Lilica at the apse of the room, the well-designed acoustics of the vaulted ceiling carrying her tremulous, fever-frail voice to the ears of everyone present.
“Teselin,” Alster was among the first to speak after she briefed her plan. No; it was a request more than a plan, and one that did not assure their continued survival as a kingdom. “If this is about finding Hadwin, there is a way I can search for his whereabouts. Certainly, we can release Bronwyn Kavanagh,” he raised his eyes to the Eyraillian Prince, “if you find this a viable option. Her arrival presents a conflict of interest, but she’s done nothing to deserve prisoner status, either. As for Rowen--”
“--Alster, in your condition, I forbid you to use magic,” Chara interjected, clamping her teeth into a threatening seethe. “Do you want your heart to implode? Honestly…” She turned her stormy blue eyes on Teselin. “If we overlook the threat Rowen poses, she will continue to compromise our safety, or worse. Yes, I understand your affections for the mutt; in gratitude for saving my life, I have given him many allowances. But here is where my leniency ends. Rowen’s elimination is more paramount than Hadwin’s retrieval. We have failed to act for too long. I will not see another D’Marian murdered on her account.”
“I agree.” Haraldur pushed away from the wall, setting his empty cup of tea on the table. “We’ve reached the end of diplomacy. Rowen and Locque don’t want harmony. If they did, they wouldn’t have targeted foreign leaders and their affiliates, and they definitely wouldn’t be killing civilians. They have made no concessions for us; have given us no good reasons not to retaliate for all the pain and suffering they’ve inflicted. Why should we endanger ourselves for a one-sided peaceful resolution? It won’t happen. Swift death is our best option. We’ll let the Kavanagh woman go, but if she gets in our way, she’s also dead.”
“By all accounts,” Alster shifted in his wheeled contraption, “on the off chance we did succeed in eliminating Rowen--and please bear in mind, she has a powerful sorceress on her side--wouldn’t we invite the full brunt of Locque’s ire? As is, we know so little of the sorceress and the extent of her motivations. I’m not saying we ignore Rowen, Locque, and their movements,” he hurried, “but maybe we should focus, for now, on tracking our enemy. Building intelligence. Learning what we can about the people who threaten us--so we can make wise decisions on behalf of the kingdom. We act too rashly with violence and we incite a war. None of us want a war,” he tilted his head at Haraldur, “not even you. Not if you put your children in harm’s way. Locque may be a mystery to us, but Rowen is not. We can learn about her, through the cooperation of her brother and her sister. And if we can lure Rowen to our side, then we’re one step closer to stopping Locque’s descent.”
“Are you trying to run a scientific analysis on our aggressors?” Chara snorted. “How long will your human-interest survey take, praytell? Months? Years? What then? Are you going to dissuade Locque from claiming the Night Garden for her own nefarious uses? We do not have the luxury of piddling away our resources on an uncertainty. I know you are a pacifist, Alster, but do not forget how Locque framed Elespeth and turned all of Braighdath against her. A woman of her ambitions will not be swayed by empathetic words and a helping hand.”
“No. Perhaps she won’t. But you mistake my intentions, Chara. I want to learn how I can defeat her. To kill her.” Alster’s blue-green eyes seemed to swirl, like eddies with abysses at their centers. “Because I haven’t forgotten.”
In the brief lull following Alster’s ominous words, Teselin spoke up again, this time, addressing Queen Lilica, whose final say was all the summoner needed to break the impasse and secure a majority-ruling in her favor. And when she opened her mouth, she delivered the statement that would sway the monarch to her side.
“Wait--that’s it? That’s all it took!?” Chara slammed her hands on the table in protest. “Lilica, you cannot mean to...of course we’ve all done things we regret! That does not mean we continuously open our hearts to tyrants and murderers. Reconsider, at once!”
But the decision had been made, and could not be rescinded. Haraldur, similarly aggravated by the events that transpired, said nothing, and left the room. In contrast, Alster did not react. Not openly. Wheeling up beside Teselin, he took her clammy hand in his metal one and glanced at the magic-draining manacle that prised against her wrist. “This is a Mollengard contraption. It looks too sophisticated for regular removal by a locksmith or a caster. You’ll have to ask one of the Forbanne to remove it. I could, but,” he sighed, glancing sidelong at Chara, “I’m being watched. ...Teselin, please take care. Wherever Hadwin has gone...it’s undoubtedly a dangerous place.”
When all but Lilica and Chara left the room, the latter shot out of her seat, too annoyed to stay contained and in one place. “Lost my patience with her? I’m losing my patience with you, too! We’re letting a teenage girl dictate our path...again. Because it went so well the last time! You’re an idiot, Lilica. ...We all are,” her anger slowly deflated. “Nothing will stop that girl once she has her mind set on something. This is why I despise powerful casters, as a rule. They have a penchant for manipulation, using their magic as the bargaining chip. Not to mention...the mongrel has been a bad influence on her.”
Although he opposed Lilica’s decision, Haraldur wordlessly carried out the message, informing his soldiers of the change in protocol while he outfitted a Night steed to deliver the bad news to Sigrid in person. It was his first time venturing outside the palace walls since Rowen assailed him with images of his inner darkness, which drove him to take his own life. Accompanied by a half dozen Forbanne, his personal guard, he would not risk traveling alone. He would have sent a proxy to the camp at Galeyn’s border, instead, but he trusted no one else but himself to deliver the sensitive material to his cousin, as she would be most affected by the ruling.
When he arrived at camp, passing along Lilica’s unfortunate decree from the palace to his soldiers--including to Kadri, who nodded his understanding, but gripped his glaive tighter as though struggling not to defy an order from his superior--he headed to Sigrid’s tent. She seemed surprised to see him so far from the Night Garden and his family, but he skipped the preamble and explained to her the sole reason for his appearance. As expected...she was not pleased.
“I know, Sigrid!” He raised his voice, not to compete with her ire, but to be heard above it. “I’m not happy about it, either. Nothing would please me more than to see her dead. But,” he brushed a hand against the hilt of his sheathed sword, “I swore my allegiance to Galeyn--both Vega and me. Our family is bound to this place. I don’t agree but I have to follow through with the decision that was made. This is a good opportunity,” he hesitated, “to take a temporary leave of absence from your duties. A little bit of down-time will be beneficial to you. Revenge can only fuel you for so long.”
It was the wrong thing to say, and he instantly regretted it, when Sigrid railed against him for the audacity to suggest departing from her single-minded goal. “Sigrid,” he sighed, and his patience blew out of the tent and far downwind. But before he could expand on what he wanted to say, she stormed out of their shared space and tore through camp like a rampaging bull. Not to be deterred, he gave chase, and caught up with her in the woods, grabbing her shoulder to anchor her in place.
“Dammit, Sigrid--I’m not done talking to you yet. Hear me out!” He swung his other arm to obstruct her path in case she skirted past him. “Arina never came back from the dead. My first wife. She died, my charges died, and there was nothing I could do. There was no hope, then. I wandered as a mercenary for five years, denying love or a life of my own because I’d surrendered, and waited to die. There was no hope when Mollengard conscripted me into the Forbanne. No one saved me. I had a brief moment of clarity, and escaped on my own wits. Fate was not merciful. Fate was never merciful...until recently. And really, it’s about damn time something goes my way. And who knows if it’ll even last?”
“So,” his brows drew into a fierce glare, “don’t go on telling me there’s no hope and no justice in this world and that I’m one of the fortunate ones. It wasn’t that way for me for a fucking long time. People died so I could be where I am. I killed to get where I am. Vega died, and I killed myself. You’re not the only one who lost something and never got it back. And you know what, Sigrid? Somehow, I kept going, and it got worse, but it also got better. It’s easy to see how much I’ve gained, because you weren’t there when I had nothing. You never knew...you’ll never know, how much I…” he dropped to a whisper, but trailed off, rendering his statement incomplete. “...Do you truly think you have nothing else left, Sigrid? Among allies? Among people who want more for you than your revenge?” He withdrew from his cousin and returned his arms to a neutral pose. “We’ll get justice. I’ll make sure we get justice. But there’s no reason to pigeonhole yourself into a position of hopeless vengeance. We have a duty to honor the slain, but it’s a duty, Sigrid. Not your life’s purpose. Your myopia will sideline you if you’re not careful.”
Bronwyn showed an uncharacteristic bout of elation when Teselin returned to her tent with a Forbanne guard, the keys to her chains in hand. Once freed, she stretched her muscles, sore from misuse and too stiff to move with any semblance of control. Nonetheless, she refused to lean against the pallid girl for balance. The summoner’s ailment had worsened from yesterday, her condition deteriorating at a rate so rapid, Bronwyn worried that she would die before embarking on their venture to seek out Hadwin and whatever likely predicament he stumbled into.
“Are you sure you’ll be well enough to travel, even after your manacle is removed?” she said in concerned tones as she pushed through the tent flaps, squinting into the sun-saturated field, where the Forbanne had situated their camp. But she hadn’t the opportunity to speak more on the subject, or on the trustworthiness of Queen Lilica’s decree (or the trustworthiness of the people who ‘adhered’ to her command) when a small commotion erupted inside the tent that belonged to the blonde warrior--Sigrid. As the tall, hulking woman emerged into the light, fulminating with help from the pulsing sun overhead, an even taller, hulking man pursued her to the forest at the edge of camp. She knew him to be Commander Sorde, recognizing his face from her Sight’s visions. His smell bore similarities to the tormented warrior whom he followed.
“No…” she agreed with a weary nod. “I imagine your monarch’s decision was an unpopular one, overall. But if you’d excuse me by saying this,” she wrinkled her nose, as though reacting to something sour in the air, “I don’t like her. At all. That blonde woman. Decree or no decree...I don’t think she can be stopped. If I have to...if she comes between me and Rowen, you know what I’ll do to her. That being said,” she cricked her neck from side to side, and a melody of cracks sounded into the air, “yes, Teselin. I’ll help you find Hadwin. But only once you’re well enough to travel. I’m sure I speak for Hadwin when I say he won’t like it if you’re dead on your feet--or dead.”
Lilica was not a monarch with any experience in leadership--and for that alone, she knew that her final decree to agree to Teselin’s terms would likely not be well received among the powerful and influential people whom the young summoner had managed to gather for an audience. What was worse, was she had been so inclined to follow Haraldur and Chara’s lead to continue with the protocol that had been decided following Rowen’s most recent rampage: hunt to kill. It was a violent protocol, particularly for the pacifistic people of Galeyn, but it was the only solution that would ensure the safety of her people; the only way she could foresee no one else falling victim to needless bloodshed. Yes, Locque might have been the driving force, even if only indirectly responsible for Rowen’s actions, but the young faoladh was a wildcard in and of herself. The sorceress worked on the sly, behind the scenes, but Rowen… she was up front and center, and ready to spill blood. And Lilica was willing to bet that clemency would not even moderately resonate with her.
So not only had Teselin’s uncanny insight into the shadows of her past--which to this day still haunted her like a recurring night--taken her off guard and left her a little shaken, but the manner in which those very words were able to have sway over her left the Galeynian Queen feeling weak and powerless, and very much manipulated by the young summoner. And that was the worst part: knowing that Teselin had intended those words to sway her and her ultimate decision. But the truth was… the girl was not wrong. And how could any of them be so sure that Rowen Kavanagh’s darkness was not similar to that of the former Lilica D’Or’s? How could they be so certain that the love and understanding of family could not be remedied by the right people and the right environment--her pack, a loving family? If they were to condemn Rowen for her deeds… how could she justify her own second chance?
“For all of our sake, Teselin Kristeva,” she sighed, before the small audience began to depart the council chamber, “I hope that you are right. And I hope that if this decision causes this kingdom to experience even more anguish… you are prepared to shoulder the terrible burden of knowing what your plan has caused.”
“Of course, your Majesty--and thank you. Bronwyn and I will find Hadwin; and collectively, we’ll find Rowen, if your troops do not do so first. Just… do not harm her, if you do. Wait for us to return…” The young summoner’s departure was halted by a cool hand on her wrist, and she turned to find Alster examining the manacle with concern. “I know; I’ll have it removed as soon as possible. It wasn’t my intent to worry anyone, I… well, I just needed a way to convince Sigrid to let me speak with Bronwyn. I suppose I cannot blame her for her lack of trust in someone whose magic exceeds even her own understanding.” She hazarded a shaky smile that was heavily dampened by her pale, feverish features. It had been almost a full day; she didn’t look as though she could stand for much longer. “I’ll be careful. Remember, I traveled on my own for a year in search of Vitali before I found Stella D’Mare. And I’ll have Bronwyn with me.”
When at last, only the Queen and her trusted advisor remained in the council chamber, Lilica all but collapsed in her seat and rested her forehead in the heels of her palms. “I know… I know, Chara. She struck a chord, and manipulated me, and here we are. But… I did not forbid or call off the search for Rowen Kavanagh. Just the order for her extermination. We have the Rigases, the Forbanne, and the Dawn Warriors all on our side, and if that is not enough to keep the young killer at bay in the interim… then this kingdom and all of its people truly are doomed.”
Haraldur was right; Sigrid would not, and did not take the Queen’s new decree well at all. Not only had it blindsided her, but the very reason for Lilica’s decision incensed her to the core. Teselin… it was not enough that the once Dawn Warrior had agreed not to harm the sister of the very culprit they sought. Now that deadly culprit was off limits, as well, and that… that was just not acceptable, and she was not equipped to deal with it.
“And what sort of down time do you propose, Haraldur? Should I sit around and take up needlepoint? Meditate in the Night Garden?” She was angry. She was so angry, her hands shook, and her heart raced, and even though her cousin might not have been the deserving target of her ire, he was ultimately the one to receive it. The messenger was officially shot. “I am not looking for revenge; I want closure, and I will not have that as long as the bitch who tore out Naimah’s throat continues to roam and breathe and kill. I cannot sit back and allow this murderer the clemency that she denied everyone whose life she has taken--and you shouldn’t, either!”
Sigrid practically vibrated with rage. There was too much of it, too much for that small tent, and for fear the very heat rising from her skin might make it go up in flames, she stormed past her cousin and out into the daylight, making directly for the forest. I couldn’t protect you, Naimah. I couldn’t protect you… but I can have justice for you. An errant tear trickled down her cheek, and she irately wiped it away with the back of her hand. I will have justice for you… I will. You deserve that much…
She did not get far. A heavy hand on her shoulder stayed her pace and spun her around. She didn’t have time to snap at Haraldur, who had somehow found reason to follow her line of fire and pursue her, before he had the gall to try and put her in her place. “Stop it. Do not patronize me, Haraldur.” The former Dawn Warrior seethed, her entire body rigid with toxic rage that desperately sought an outlet. “You really think I don’t realize I am not the only one to lose someone? You think it isn’t plain as day how the death of that acrobat tore apart the seams of that traveling troupe of entertainers? Or how the death of that Braighdathian councilman has affected his young son? Believe me, I am aware. I am not so fucking conceited that Naimah’s death is the only one I am able to register.” The blonde warrior took a defiant step back, her glacial eyes bright for once, but not bright in the same way they had been when Naimah had been alive. They glistened with a painful, polygamous marriage of pain and anger and sadness and hopelessness; the only feelings lending strength to her otherwise completely depleted form.
“It’s not about me--but it’s not about you, either. I know what you’ve been through. I am not blind to what you have suffered. I’m happy there was hope for you, after all. I’m even fucking happy that there was hope for Alster and Elespeth. But Naimah… Naimah was my future. She was my hope, and now… now I don’t know. I don’t know, anymore, about hope or future.” Sigrid clutched her elbows to try and stay the trembling that had spread through her arms. She couldn’t remember ever being so physically incited, before… “Naimah was my future. She made me realize I could have a future, when I was ready to give myself up to Gaolithe. Don’t you get it, Haraldur? My future was for her… to be with her.” Whether it was anger or sorrow that broke her voice at the end of that final word was not obvious, and frankly irrelevant, but if at this point it was not obvious to Haraldur that his arguments wouldn’t hold a flame to her pain, then he was solely lacking in skills of observation. “Look, I am glad you found another future with Vega. I am glad you found hope, but we are not the same. And there is no guarantee that hope is going to find me just because it found you. I had a future, beyond stagnating in the Dawn Guard--a real future, and now… now, I don’t know what I have. I don’t know what is left, but I know I cannot just return to the way things were before Naimah.”
Sigrid looked away from her cousin then; she couldn’t bear to meet the hurt in his eyes at her indirect confession that she didn’t have the emotional capacity to realize what she still had. Her family, her friends… and the Dawn Guard that she had forsaken. It was not that they did not matter; rather, they could not matter to her now, and being told there was a light at the end of the tunnel did not make that light visible. “Honestly… I thought you, of all people, would understand. For what you’ve been through. I thought you’d understand that being driven by ‘revenge’, as you are so apt to call it, is better than not being driven at all. That being angry is better than feeling nothing; because that is my alternative, Haraldur. Be empty and give up, or take my anger and do something with it to get Naimah the justice she deserves.” The blonde warrior let her arms drop to her sides and shook her head. “...there was a time when I thought our lives could coincide. That I could reconnect with my past. But I realized, the night you married Vega, that I… that there is nothing for us, Haraldur. I cannot be some extraneous third leg friend to complement your happy marriage. Nor can I be that friend for Alster and Elespeth. You all have what you need by each other, but I… I need more. More than allies; more than the Dawn Guard can offer. Naimah made me realize there is more to get out of life than And I may not ever find it, again; I may never come upon that cause or that path that makes me complete, but… I surely will not find it if I stay here.”
Her features relaxed, as if putting her feelings and thoughts to words unleashed sudden clarity to something that she previously hadn’t quite been able to comprehend or to articulate. “...I’m sorry. I’m sorry that you feel I am being so self-centered and blind. But you don’t get to tell me how to feel, Haraldur. You don’t get to tell me how to grieve, or how to heal, or that it’s time to move on, just because you’ve had similar experiences. Go on and continue to bask in that good fortune for which you are so overdue.” With the Forbanne Commander finally at a distance to let her pass, Sigrid turned away from her cousin--her past, her present--and made her way deeper into the forest to contemplate the next steps into her future.
The manacle had burned for hours on her wrist, and Teselin knew that if she did not remove it soon, there would be no venturing beyond Galeyn to find Hadwin, because instead she would find herself forced to recover with Alster and Elespeth at the sanctuary. “The last time I suffered from one of these… it was in Stella D’Mare. The first time I met Hadwin, actually. I was rendered very ill and had to sleep for a while… but that’s all it took. A good few solid hours of rest, and I was fine again.” She forced a smile that didn’t look particularly genuine, because it was difficult to smile when bearing the burden of such pain. “Don’t worry about me. Give me a few hours, and I should be ready for travel… as soon as I get this off of me.”
So Teselin sought Alster’s advice and promptly sought a Forbanne guard to remove the manacle, since it was a piece of equipment (woefully) familiar to them. In fact, it took not one, but two Forbanne, who happened to be in Kadri’s party, to successfully release the mechanism. When it fell away, it revealed raw, blistered skin, where it had been in contact with her wrist. “...wait. I want to keep it,” she said, before the soldiers could dispose of the manacle. “I might need it--really need it, someday.”
She was not met with any argument, at that, and returned the piece of steel to a small sack around her waist. “It is lined with enchanted material,” she explained to a clearly confused Bronwyn, who could not fathom why she would want to keep it on her person. “For holding enchanted objects--or, well, anti-magic, in this case--in such a way that they remain harmless until taken out. I picked it up back in Stella D’Mare, when I discovered that stifling my magic is actually harmful for me. In any case…” She turned her attention to where Sigrid had departed, and her own brow creased in guilt and concern. “Sigrid… I know it’s hard to believe, right now, but she isn’t our enemy, Bronwyn. She is a friend. It’s just… she’s been hurt, very badly. And people, when they are hurt to such an extent, well, they… react. I once heard a saying, ‘If you do not heal what has hurt you, then you will bleed on those who did not cut you’.” The young summoner’s shoulders sagged, in more than just weariness. “And she’s just… been bleeding, since Naimah was ripped out of her life. I’ve never lost someone that meant to me what Naimah meant to her. I don’t know how it would affect me, so I cannot blame her for her anger. She is not beyond reason, though; not completely. And if it has been decreed that no harm will come to Rowen, I believe she will follow suit. But if you are still concerned…” She turned back to the faoladh with an understanding nod. “Later, when we have both rested, we will speak with her, ourselves. Better that she let off some steam before approaching…”
Reaching into another pocket at the opposite side of her small waist, Teselin withdrew a key, and placed it in Bronwyn’s hand. “I have a room in the palace, but I think it best that I rest in the Night Garden; it has outstanding healing properties, and you look like you could use some rest in a real bed, anyway.” This time, when she smiled, it was decidedly less pained. “It has already been confirmed at the palace that you are an ally and not to be harmed. You shouldn’t meet any resistance… I’ll come and find you when I’ve recovered.”
So as not to disturb Alster and Elespeth within the sanctuary, the young summoner opted to simply nap beneath the shade of a tall tree within the Night Garden after parting ways with Bronwyn. Although they were well into autumn, and the temperature had already dropped considerably, the Garden itself always remained temperate and comfortable, an ecosystem in and of itself. She was surrounded by soft grass and warm air until she awoke later that evening, feeling… incredible. Her fever had long since broken, and the burn on her wrist had peeled, and the blisters had begun to scab, no longer painfully inflamed. Although unsure as to how much time had passed, the sun already looked close to setting, so she gathered it must have been the better part of the day that she’d slept. Perhaps too late for her and Bronwyn to depart in search of Hadwin, but… well, maybe the faoladh preferred to travel by night. She would only find out when they talked again, and anyway, she needed to reassure her that Sigrid wouldn’t be a threat… which was something she’d rather not face alone.
“I hope I didn’t wake you…” She greeted Bronwyn apologetically when she met her in her palace chambers. At the very least, Hadwin’s sister seemed far more rested than she had earlier. “We can still speak with Sigrid, if you are interested… I am confident she won’t be a problem, but I also respect that that is reassurance you will need if you are knowingly leaving your sister in Galeyn’s hands, should she be caught. So you can hear it from her, yourself.”
To her surprise, Bronwyn was apparently very eager and ready to give Sigrid a piece of her mind, and tell her exactly where revenge would lie if she did manage to take her sister’s life. Not exactly the best stance to take, perhaps, but… well, the blonde warrior hadn’t exactly responded to to pleading, either… “There is no need to be too forthright; we can simply ask her if she understands Queen Lilica’s decree not to harm Rowen,” the young summoner suggested as they made their way to Sigrid’s tent. “Honestly, I’d rather we not start a fight. Just ask if she understands, and then leave… Sigrid?” She called with a timid voice when their footfalls finally halted outside of the Dawn Warrior’s tent. “I realize you may not want to speak with me, right now, but… might we just have a quick word?”
No response. After another request to speak that went unanswered, Teselin gingerly pulled aside the tent flaps. It was empty; she could be anywhere, at this point. Unless…
“...no. I know where she is.” The young summoner heaved a despondent sigh, dark eyes sparkling with understanding. “But, really… I don’t think we should bring a fight.”
Without a word of explanation, she led Bronwyn into the Night Garden. They passed impossibly tall trees and bioluminescent flora until they reached a tiny clearing with four flourishing shrubs. Next to the sapling of a brand new tree, Sigrid--bedecked in a heavy cloak and sturdy leathers, like one would don when planning to embark on travel--knelt, with a bright swatch of fuschia fabric in her hands. This was not the right place; and it was not the right time, but… they needed to leave, and soon, so waiting for the right place and time was a luxury they were not able to afford.
“...Sigrid.” Teselin was almost afraid to get the woman’s attention, but their footfalls hadn’t been particularly stealthy, and it was likely the blonde woman already knew they were there. “I realize… you probably just want to be alone, right now…”
“I don’t know if you have come to rub salt into my wound, or to apologize, Teselin.” She didn’t look up or otherwise turn around to acknowledge the unexpected company. “Either way, I’m not interested. You should be proud of yourself--both of you, really. You got what you want. The murderer at large can’t be touched; can’t be hurt. So if you are worried I am going to lose what’s left of my patience and go against the orders of the Queen of Galeyn out of bloodthirst, then you should be happy to know I am not quite that insane.”
Just as she’d thought; even Sigrid wouldn’t defy Lilica. Not if it meant her own imprisonment from going against direct orders from the top. They could have left, then and there, with the answer they’d sought, but… that wouldn’t have felt right. “That scarf… did it belong to her?”
Sigrid had wrapped the swath of fuschia gently around the base of the sapling’s stem; vibrant pink against healthy green. Somehow… it was as fitting on the shrub as it had been on the woman it represented. “You can’t well bring flowers to a plant. Somehow, in this place, that seems disrespectful.” The warrior got to her feet and brushed the soil from her knees. “Anyway, no one should have it but her. It’s not mine to covet.” Taking a step back, she glanced sidelong at Bronwyn, and some tension returned to her jaw. “Take a look… do you see these four plants? These are the lives your sister took. Some of them, anyway; only those she killed within the borders of Galeyn. There are no cemeteries, here. Their ashes were used to enrich the soil. So what will you do, if and when you return, if this tiny memorial grows in number? If there are dozens more to keep the dead company? Will you continue to make excuses for her, knowing well that the death toll could have ended here, but instead proliferated because she was allowed to remain alive?”
“She might yet be caught, Sigrid. I only asked the Rowen might not be harmed.” Teselin interjected in an attempt to dissipate the tension. “You know that her death would not bring about some miraculous outcome…”
“I don’t need your reasoning, Teselin. It doesn’t matter to me. This isn’t my problem, anymore. Or it won’t be, come morning.”
“What… do you mean, Sigrid?” Taking her attire into consideration, the fingerless gloves on her hands that people sometimes wore to clutch the reins of a horse, a startling realization dawned on the young summoner. “You’re not… are you leaving Galeyn? Sigrid, you mustn’t! Everyone you care about… and who cares about you, is here. Haraldur and the Dawn Guard wouldn’t have it--”
“I’ve already stepped down from the Dawn Guard, Teselin, however much they are in denial that Gaolithe’s wielder is even allowed to step away. And Haraldur knows where I stand. If Rowen Kavanagh is off limits… then this isn’t my fight, anymore. I have no reason to stay.”
“Not even for her?” She needn’t explain that she was referring to the sapling, bedecked with a vibrant silk scarf.
When Sigrid met her gaze, her glacial eyes glistened with tears she would not allow to fall. Gone was the ire that had fueled her earlier that day; all that was left was sorrow. “Are you really so desensitized, Teselin? Can’t you feel it? There is nothing but pain here, anymore! Fear and pain, it is everywhere, and I can’t… I know she wouldn’t want me to just continue to hurt. Even if it means leaving behind what is left of her.”
“Where will you even go? If you can’t be in Galeyn, then come with us.” Desperate to get through to the stubborn warrior, Teselin extended a hand. “Travel with us. Help us make this right and rid Galeyn of the fear and pain it is suffering.”
“Even if I were vaguely interested in your cause, Teselin, I doubt that your dear Hadwin would care to see me.” Sigrid snorted. “Last we spoke, he asked me to punch him. If I see him again, I may belatedly take him up on that offer. You want peace and harmony; I can’t guarantee that. I want…” The blonde woman trailed off, her bright eyes drifting to the sapling one more time. “I don’t know what I want. But you and Naimah and my cousin did not work so hard to secure a future for me to refuse to face it. And if there is any future for me… it is not here. As of now, this is my past.”
Tightening her earth-toned cloak around her throat, the former Dawn Warrior cast a final glance at the duo, one painfully small and the other almost as tall as her. “I don’t know that you will, but I hope you find whatever outcome you seek. Maybe you’ll be the heroes Galeyn needs; you can tell me about it someday, if ever our paths cross again.”
Good-bye was not a word in Sigrid’s immediate lexicon. She had not said good-bye to Naimah, not really; nor to the Dawn Guard, or Haraldur, Teselin was willing to bet. Perhaps it was naive to think so, but… it gave her just a little bit of hope, and stayed her feet from following as the once bright and shining warrior Sigrid Sorenson walked away. Good-bye was final; perhaps, then, this did not mean she would be gone forever. Then again… grief could change a person, inside and out. And it was entirely possible that the Sigrid Sorenson they’d encounter in the future would not be the same woman who had once been willing to lay down her own life for the safety of her friends, and a kingdom that was not her own.
“However I end up saying what I mean to say, Sigrid, I’m trying to tell you that I can relate.” Haraldur rubbed the inner corners of his eyes with his knuckles, clearing out the blurs that crept along the edges of his faded vision. Substantial sleep hadn’t happened in days. Even with the strong effects of his tea, nothing short of Mollengard’s stimulant herb would supplement wakefulness--unless by some miracle, he received a full night’s sleep. However, the exhaustion he experienced in Sigrid’s company was different than the exhaustion inflicted by two newborns and the command of a small army. This exhaustion affected his ability to stand near his cousin without sagging from a terrific pressure. It was borne out of intense concern for the welfare of another, and failing to provide them with any amount of succor, or aid. He did not know what to do for Sigrid. He was no orator, no empathetic mastermind like Alster, nor did he maintain an influential place in her reserved heart. No one would, or could reach her, save for the deceased Naimah.
“I realize you’re not ignorant of the suffering of other people. And that this isn’t about me...but if something, anything, can be taken from my discourse, that’s what I want you to understand. We’re not the same, no. But pain speaks the same language. Arina was my hope. My future. For years I was convinced I lost my opportunity to reconnect with another human on that level. I had one chance, and it got buried in the snow. ...There are other futures. That’s what I learned; and it’s not exclusive to me, what happened. Other people have loved again; other people have found a new purpose. So why do you believe you won’t have another chance?”
It was pointless to continue. Any attempt at reasoning with the blonde warrior manifested as a lecture, something a petulant teenager would ignore while the parent pontificated the importance of their discourse. I know better than you, the tone suggested, because I’ve been in your shoes. I know how it ends. Listen to me. I have the solution.
But he never claimed to have the solution, or a map to guide Sigrid through the tumultuous mountains blocking her path towards freedom. He merely wanted to open her to catharsis, using his personal story as the catalyst. To live by example. To say, you are not alone. When Arina died, I too turned my back from people who could help. But it doesn’t have to be this way.
Maybe that was it. He was watching a simulacrum of himself making the same poor decisions as he, but no amount of hindsight-coated advice would erase her trauma, or her specific reaction to it. Sigrid was prepared to shoulder the hardships of her journey without a companion.
In the face of what she lost, he meant nothing to her.
“Why is it essential that once we find love, and bind our love through marriage, that we throw away our relationships with other people?” He tried to meet her gaze, but she turned her cheek to him, shunting him from a view into her wounded soul. “Sigrid--I never stopped wanting something for us. Why else did I name you as a guardian to Klara? Why else would I hide Gaolithe? They were not meaningless gestures. I’m not here to string you along as an accessory. You’re not a pet, but a person who’s important to me. And yes,” he slid one step forward, but she slid one step backward. “Believe me, I do understand it’s better to feel anger and hatred. To fall into nothingness is to adopt my Forbanne persona. But because I understand, I don’t like what’s coming for you, next. I’m not asking you to feel a certain way; I’m only asking you don’t go off by yourself. But,” a resigned nod sank his chin to shoulder level, diminishing his rigid, straight-backed stature, “you will. And I can’t stop you, anymore. I can’t police you with soldiers. I can’t monitor your movements, or your state of mind. So if this is what you want...I concede. Do what you have to do. I won’t stand in your way anymore.” To illustrate his point, he swerved aside, clearing space for her to pass. “But if you change your mind, you have a place where you can return. It may not be home...but we’ll be there, Sigrid.”
He let her go, let her leave...not knowing if he’d ever see her again.
With hesitation, Bronwyn took the key from Teselin’s outstretched hand. Though she preferred to hunker down in the forest as a wolf than to enter a strange palace where she’d receive a lukewarm reception from the people who opposed preserving Rowen’s life, Teselin appeared as the sort of person to insist someone accept her gifts until the recipient finally acquiesced. So to circumvent the fuss, she did not argue over sleeping arrangements. Not that she would succeed at all in sleeping, after the Forbanne twisted her in unnatural poses for the past day and a half. Despite feeling a tad uncomfortable relying so heavily on a girl even younger than Rowen, the prospect of four walls and a door, partitioned from other people, soldiers, and aggressors, was too appealing to deny. For what she’d endured, she wanted somewhere safe to go. She didn’t care that it was only a temporary holdfast. She hadn’t a place of solace for over a year, since fleeing Collcrea. Clan Kavanagh...her father...she hoped they were alive and well.
Accompanied by a small entourage of soldiers, she arrived at the palace with (thankfully) little fanfare. Galeyn’s attendants led her down twisting corridors to the suite at the end, made sure she was situated, set aside a small meal of Night Garden vegetables and water (at her request; she hadn’t eaten or drunk since yesterday), and left her to relax on the sprawling bed. They interrupted her rest only one time, to deliver the saddlebags they’d recovered from her runaway mare. She’d been tamed, fed, and sent to the stables, where she’d be cared for until her owner had need of her. Of course the animal gets better treatment than me, she harrumphed to herself as the attendants closed the door with a quiet thud. If the whole of this kingdom weren’t so preoccupied with hunting a wolf, I’d have had a better chance infiltrating this kingdom as one!
Her time spent alone in her borrowed chambers was cut tragically short. At least, it felt short. But the sky did not lie. When she arrived at the palace, the sun was still positioned at a high angle. It had since sequestered beneath the horizon, allowing for night to spread its dark gauze over the land. She’d been on self-imposed quarantine for half the day before a knock on the door informed her of a visitor.
Teselin greeted her on the other side of the door, exchanging formalities with a politesse so pure, it was a wonder she was able to stay so uncorrupt, considering the company she kept in Hadwin. But Bronwyn was seeing one side of the story; the best side. For all she knew, the helpful summoner could be hiding a few dangerous secrets.
There was also the question of the lingering scent in the summoner’s room. Hadwin had frequented the chambers. She found the evidence in his sheddings, small fibers of ruddy wolf fur, clinging stubbornly to the rug, the bedding--even the curtains. An uneasy thought held her mind captive and refused to release its clawed grip. Were they...intimate?
“Yes, I found my accommodations very comfortable. Thank you, Teselin. You’ve been very hospitable. You weren’t joking when you said the Night Garden has outstanding healing properties, either.” She gestured to the girl’s healthful complexion. “You look good as new. So,” she drew a long, courageous breath, “This will come off as forward, and abrupt, and I don’t mean to insult you or your benevolence, but I must ask you a very personal question, before we depart. I’m assuming you want us to leave tonight, or early in the morning, but my curiosity can’t hold out any longer. What, exactly, is your relationship with Hadwin? Has he ever…?” She trailed off, hoping the unfinished inquiry spoke for itself. “I want to know if he’s done anything...untoward. To you. My Sight shows me that you have great amount of love for my brother, a love shared between kith and kin, and there is little to suggest otherwise, but...his sexual depravity...well, to put it lightly, he has no propriety. So if he’s done something, if he’s ever hurt you, I want to be aware. Hadwin may be trying to do ‘good,’ as you say, but has he ever showed you...another side?”
Teselin, her pale face reddening, hurriedly denied carnal encounters with the sex-crazed faoladh. Her Sight could detect outright lies, if honestly was markedly missing from a person’s spoken discourse. As the summoner touted honesty as one of her more enduring virtues, Bronwyn believed her.
“That is quite the feat. If you excuse my language, Hadwin fucks everything. It’s,” a one-sided grimace pulled down the corner of her mouth, “disgusting.” She did not condemn sex as an act, no, but rather, condemned him for his promiscuity, as it had ultimately affected, and destroyed, her mother’s life. She’d be damned if her brother was preying on other people who trusted in him. The man failed at restraint. If he hadn’t touched Teselin yet...he was bound to do it soon.
Blessedly, the flustered girl changed the subject, referring to a person she did not want to understand. While Sigrid’s reaction to learning she could not avenge her lover’s killer was warranted (if not problematic), Bronwyn’s reaction to the threat on her sister’s life was also warranted. They occupied opposite sides of the battlefield, enemies by association. She had no desire to see eye to eye with the volatile woman. Nonetheless, she agreed to the meeting, if only to ensure that Sigrid would uphold Queen Lilica’s decree and not hunt Rowen relentlessly.
Eventually, their search for the she-warrior veered them towards the Night Garden, a bizarre landscape Bronwyn viewed in passing, but did not explore. She caught peripheral glimpses spiraling stalks almost as tall as trees, flowers that grew inside of flowers, and bioluminescent veins pulsing through the undersides of leaves. It was truly a sight worthy of drinking in, especially in darkness, but she did not have the time to appreciate the dream-like garden and its sundry of delights, for Teselin’s first stop on their pathway was a small patch of freshly plotted plants, an area designated as a gravesite. Once she recognized its purpose, as well as the statuesque figure that presided over one sapling in particular, like a gravemarker commissioned to mourn the dead in perpetual petrifaction, Bronwyn adopted the somberness appropriate for the occasion.
It was not an apt moment to speak of Rowen, not before the four plots which honored the lives which she had taken. Out of fear of incrimination, she thought it best to say nothing. Regardless of her love for Rowen, she was (not anymore, anyway), ignorant of the damage her sister had caused. The only way to demonstrate her respect was not to desecrate the hallowed space with divisive words or the mere mention of Rowen unless first prompted by either Sigrid or Teselin. Instead, she bowed her head, as though in prayer, and lowered her eyes contritely to the ground. When the blonde warrior indicated some willingness to meet them in conversation, Bronwyn falteringly broke the silence.
“I’m not proud. I never wanted this outcome for anyone. It’s...it’s enough to witness my brother commit heinous acts, again and again, but for my sister to follow suit, and to cause a substantial amount of grief and misery...it’s not enough to apologize for my family, I know. Because my apologies are useless. Because I’m here to spare the life of a murderer. If this is what she’s done, then she should be condemned. But not to die. To make amends, in whichever way is possible for her. If Forbanne can rehabilitate...then so can she. That’s not what you want to hear,” she muttered back into her pool of silence. “Not at all. Nonetheless, I...I can respect your forthrightness. To step away. However much it kills you to do so. For the sake of the people whose lives were lost...I’ll make sure to stop her before she takes another innocent. I’ve been tasked with retrieving Rowen, but if she is not Rowen anymore, then she first must return to herself. It will be done.”
Whether she voiced the vow for herself to hear, or to appease the crumbling warrior before her, it was not immediately apparent. Perhaps she wanted to achieve both--but why? Hadn’t she claimed to despise Sigrid for her associations as Rowen’s--and by extension, her--opposition? Wasn’t she supposed to be protecting her sister from this woman?
She couldn’t blame her Sight for this lapse in judgement, either. Bronwyn’s gaze maintained its downward direction, not once rising to meet Sigrid head-on. Nothing new alerted the faoladh of yet-to-be-discovered, yet-to-be-unearthed nuggets of wisdom and virtue from the grieving warrior. Nothing to sway her unerringly on Sigrid’s side but raw, profound sorrow. It was a common emotion...and Bronwyn could relate to the loss of a loved one.
She nodded again, a muted goodbye, as the woman disengaged from her connection to both living and dead and drifted from the gravesite, a corporeal ghost in riding gear. She chose not to acknowledge Teselin, not yet, in case the young girl were to ask, either with her mouth or with her eyes, why the change of heart. She did not want to answer that question. The answer, however, was obvious. It was her first time seeing exactly what her sister had done. The graves, the broken warrior, teetering between consumptive anger and consumptive sadness...the signs were too telling to ignore. Rowen caused the massacre. She had caused it all.
Bronwyn was about to excuse herself, too overwhelmed with her epiphany to stand upright without retching in a beautifully manicured Night Garden bush, when another person joined their company. She was a young woman, about the same age as Teselin, with shoulder-length blonde hair cascading down one side and a bright, luminous eye staring out of the uncovered half of her face.
“Teselin--” she breathed, panting from exertion. “I see...I see you have been acquainted with this woman, already. Bronwyn, is it? ...News travels quickly in Galeyn. By the way,” her one eye narrowed, “your brother fucked my mother and caused my father to go mad. Rightly, I hate the man. But, I understand his importance to some people.” She harrumphed at Teselin. “So, I am here to help.” She tilted her head to one side, exposing the side that she favored--the right. “Since you’re related to Hadwin by blood, we can track him through blood magic. It is not an accurate science; at most, I can tell you if he’s alive and the city of his current residence, but it will be more than enough information to sleuth the rest of the way, yourself. First, I need something that belongs to Hadwin. A catalyst, to trigger the spell.”
They guided the young caster to Teselin’s chambers, or rather, the den that the scoundrel of a faoladh had marked with a storm of wolf dander. “Will this do?” Bronwyn gathered a hank of matted fur from the underhang of a curtain and pressed it into the caster’s outstretched hand. “If you need more, then let me know. It’s everywhere.”
“No. This is perfect. Now,” she handed Bronwyn a dagger, “slice your hand--or your finger, if you’re squeamish. Drop the blood into my hand. Make sure it soaks the fur. I’ll do the rest.”
Bronwyn complied, slicing a small gouge into her palm and spilling its contents into the caster’s cupped palm. Closing her one eye, the caster concentrated on her reading, muttering indecipherable words to herself as her lids flickered, as though she were experiencing the rapid-eye-movement sleep stage. After several moments of quiet, her shoulders straightened, and she ‘awakened,’ her feet swaying from a bout of spell-induced vertigo.
“I...saw the positioning of the sky.” She sat upon the closet object in the room--the bed. With her unsoiled hand, she wiped specks of blood from her ear. “He’s in the kingdom of Vilselt, on the East Mollengard border. The...the crown city. Apelrade. His star, strangely...was a bit difficult to locate. He is always so bright, so active, but now...not so. You best hurry. If you want him to live, I...it does not look like he’ll be alive much longer.”
“What? W-wait, are you saying… you think Hadwin… that he and I…” The young summoner’s youthful face instantly blushed various shades of red, as it became clear just what the faoladh woman was insinuation with relation to what existed between Hadwin and herself. It had never occurred to her that anyone’s mind could possibly tumble down that rabbit hole, but given the faoladh man’s shameless promiscuity and his indiscriminate sexual appetite… she realized with a start that surely Bronwyn couldn’t be the only person to have had this cross their mind. Gods above, Teselin thought, her face and neck heated as vibrantly as if her raging fever had suddenly returned, is this truly how it looks to some people?!
“No! No, of course not! Hadwin, he… he would never! Not to me. I am not that kind of person to him!” Realizing she might be coming across as too defensive, which would only serve to weaken her assertion that nothing of the sort of what Bronwyn suspected existed between her and the woman’s brother, the young summoner drew a steadying breath. “When I met Hadwin, I was amidst looking for my own brother. In fact, I first met him as a wolf, and it was quite startling to find out he was, simultaneously, a man. But he… Hadwin has been nothing but kind to me. He’s looked out for me; he’s saved my life. And yes… he has slept in this room, and on that bed, but always as a wolf.” She knelt to pick up a tuft of reddish fur from a woven rug at the foot of the bed. “Believe me, I’m no stranger to his carnal habits. He is shameless about his preferred pastimes, and yes, I agree that some of his decisions are quite ill-informed. But since we’ve met, he has always been there for me, until… just now. When Rowen broke him.”
Her small shoulders sagged as she ran the fur through her fingers. “I should have been there for him, the same way he was for me, but I fear I’ve been little more than a headache, with all of the trouble that has found me of late. And it’s only in hindsight that I now realize, while I’ve spent all of this time in search of my biological brother… Hadwin was really what I needed, all along. It was he who was there for me, not Vitali. Maybe… maybe if I’d managed to make it more obvious just how much I care for him, and how much he means to me, it might have been enough to buffer the blow Rowen’s attack dealt him.” Teselin sighed and shook her head, turning away from the bed where she had rested for months, and where Hadwin had joined her, innocently curled up at the foot in his wolfskin. “I once told him… that I couldn’t lose him. He has done too much for me, and he matters too much, but I didn’t make that obvious. But he went in search of me when I was in trouble, and when my life was in danger, so I owe it to him to do the same. He never gave up on me; and I will never give up on him.”
Her truth seemed to resonate with the faoladh woman, who asked no more questions as they departed to find another topic of particular interest, that being the blonde and broken warrior who had hedged everything on securing justice for her fallen lover. Fortunately, their exchange had not been nearly as violent as the first time, when Sigrid had promptly apprehended Bronwyn, but… the heaviness in the air put Teselin ill at ease, and while she wanted to deny it, she knew exactly why. The once Dawn Warrior was giving up; and she was going to leave her friends, her family, and everything dear to her behind.
“Sigrid--I know… I know it may seem otherwise, but we are on your side. We want to stop Rowen. We want to stop more unnecessary death.” Teselin pleaded, just short of grabbing the blonde woman by the arm and begging her to stay. “You can still have justice for Naimah. You can help us. Let’s work together, when we return with Hadwin… you can have closure. We can do this together, Sigrid…”
The blonde warrior shook her head sadly, tresses of hair falling from her braid and into her eyes. When Teselin had first met the tall woman, she had always worn her hair is a tight and careful braid. Of late, her golden weave had been much more haphazard and loose, barely holding together throughout the day. What Sigrid had lost, since Naimah’s death, was significant; perhaps more profound that even the former Dawn Warrior wanted to admit. A shadow of her former, vibrant self… Those once fierce blue eyes were devoid of hope. At last, she had given up… and Teselin could not help but feel partially responsible.
“Goodbye, Teselin.” Was all the woman said in return, in a sad and subdued tone, before disappearing into the darkness, leaving behind what remained of the woman she loved, and the only memento of her that she had left.
In her wake, the young summoner stood, stunned and rooted to the spot, hardly knowing what to say or how to react. This is my fault. Those were immediately the words and the sentiment to come to mind. Ultimately, it was neither she nor Bronwyn who broke the silence, but a familiar albeit unexpected third party who joined them at the site of the four memorial plants. “Tivia…” It took a moment for Teselin to break free of her shock at Sigrid’s departure to realize the significance of the Rigas caster’s arrival. “Yes--this is Bronwyn. I found her quite coincidentally, and… well, at the right moment, before the Forbanne apprehended her.” She couldn’t help but wince at Tivia’s proclamation of Hadwin’s indecency and slight upon her family by being intimate with her mother. At least Bronwyn had the grace not to react. “She has agreed to help us find Hadwin.”
Although surprised that Tivia was at all willing to make good on her promise to help in her own crucial way, Teselin knew better than to question the star seer’s decision, lest she change it on a whim. Although Sigrid’s abrupt and ill-advised departure weighed heavily on her mind and conscience, she escorted the two other women back to her chambers from which she had just come, and then left the rest to Tivia, who knew better than anyone exactly how this process worked.
All it took was a tuft of Hadwin’s wolf fur, and a few drops of his sisters blood. From there, Tivia appeared to go into a sort of absent trance, no longer aware of her surroundings. The sight of blood gradually gathering in the cavities of her ears gave the young summoner a bit of anxiety out of concern for her. At least healers were readily available, just a few corridors away should something go array… To her great relief, the Rigas woman appeared to “snap out of it” moments later, looking a bit exhausted, but otherwise unharmed. “...Vilselt? I’m not familiar… I’ve never ventured anywhere near Mollengard,” Teselin confided, but Bronwyn, who had also been traveling a year in search of her lost sister who had been taken by Mollengard, appeared to be more in the know. “Is he alright? Are you able to glean as much?”
Alive; he was alive, but for how long, was anyone’s guess. Teselin’s intuition had been right… Hadwin was in trouble. Whatever he was doing in Vilselt, it was nothing good. “...tonight. We must leave tonight.” She said to Bronwyn, who did not appear to be in opposition. “I will ask Queen Lilica if she will allow us to borrow Night steeds. They are able to travel impossibly fast by dark… it should cut down our travel time by several fractions.”
There was so much that needed to be done even prior to their departure, and they needed to leave immediately. But… Teselin could not in good faith depart Galeyn without speaking with one more person beforehand. “Tivia… this is not relevant now, exactly, but in the near future, could you tell me if it is possible for you to perform the same blood magic to find someone through a more indirect blood relation? Such as a cousin?”
Bronwyn likely knew exactly to what she was referring, but she did not have time to provide the Rigas woman any details just yet. She had to find Hadwin… but when she returned, with the faoladh safe and sound, she had already decided to take it upon herself to then find Sigrid. To bring her back to the people who loved and needed her; she did not deserve an uncertain future of wandering alone and empty and broken.
“Bronwyn, gather what you need, and I’ll meet you in the stables; I’m sure her Majesty will not oppose to lending a couple of Night steeds… I won’t be long.” But when she left the room, Teselin did not immediately request an audience with the Galeynian Queen; instead, she traveled the length of the corridor until she came upon the suite shared by Haraldur, Vega, and their children. It was later in the evening, but not so late that she suspected she would be awakening anyone from slumber… well, except the children, perhaps. For that, she put in her best effort to keep her voice low, and her knocks unobtrusive.
No one answered the door immediately, which concerned her that she might have disturbed the young family after all. To her relief, when Haraldur finally answered the door, he appeared tired (as any new father was with two infants who would seldom sleep), but did not have the air of someone who had just been roused from slumber. “Haraldur… please forgive my intrusion.” The young summoner spoke in hushed tones and bowed her head. The lack of infant noises from behind him was indication enough that the new parents somehow had coaxed the babies to sleep, and she would not be the one to break that precious, delicate spell. “I would not bother you at this time of evening, but it is imperative that Bronwyn and I depart as soon as possible. And… there is something that you must know, before I leave.”
She wasn’t quite sure how to segue into the fact that Haraldur’s cousin, his friend, and perhaps the only living blood relative he had left, was gone. She wasn’t even sure if easing into such a delicate topic was possible, and if it was, she knew she didn’t have the time. So the young summoner took a breath and came out with it. “Sigrid is… she has left Galeyn. I spoke to her about an hour ago, and she looked ready to depart. I tried to convince her to stay; I tried to convince her we needed her, here, but she said there was too much pain, here… she wanted to stop hurting. And I think she believes that leaving the source was the only solution.” Looking up from her fixation on the floor, Teselin dared to meet the hulking man’s eyes. “I know my request this morning did not sit well with you--or with anyone, but Sigrid, least of all, condoned it. So I can’t help but feel responsible for this. For taking away the one thing that was driving her to keep putting one foot in front of the other, but… revenge isn’t the answer. It never has been. All the same, if Rowen is not killed, then in Sigrid’s mind, she has already lost. And so… she left. Haraldur, I know it is not even enough to say this, but… I am sorry.”
Clasping her hands in front of her, she sighed and straightened her shoulders, and shed her despondency for an air of confidence before speaking again. “I am going to find Hadwin. Tivia made it possible through blood magic; we know where to find him, so we are going to bring him back. And when we do, when he is safe… if you so desire, then we can try the same for Sigrid. If you are truly of her blood, then I am confident it is possible. I’ll find her, and I will find a way to convince her to come back. It’s… the least I can do. I won’t deny that she might have left of her own volition, eventually, but there is no question as to what the catalyst was in this case. I take responsibility--and I will make amends.”
Haraldur hardly got a word in, himself, before the young summoner turned and took off down the corridor, returned to her bedroom to toss a few meager supplies such as changes of clothes into available sacks, and then immediately sought an audience with Queen Lilica for a second time, that day.
She had been right; the Galeynian Queen did not hesitate to permit the use of a pair of Night steeds for Teselins’ purpose. The young summoner had a feeling it had less to do with her supporting her cause, and more to simply get her out of her hair, but she was not about to question the intent behind Lilica Tenebris’s agreement. In less than an hour, she was packed to the best of her ability, and made for the stables, where Bronwyn was waiting for her.
“Admittedly, I’m not familiar with Mollengard or its surrounding regions… even with a map. I’m ashamed to admit it took me weeks just to find Stella D’Mare a year ago, because I’d mistakenly been walking in circles, and could’ve gotten there a lot faster if I’d just kept to a straight line…” Teselin smiled sheepishly and led the faoladh to a pair of steeds who were, indeed, dark as night, and already energized to depart, having long since awakened from their nocturnal slumber. “I’ll have to rely on you for navigation, if that is alright. But once we arrive… you can depend on me to have your back. I know I don’t look like much, but Mollengard tried to hold me before… and they couldn’t.”
Something untamed flickered in the young summoner’s dark eyes; just for a second, and then it was gone. Without further preamble, she fastened her saddle bags, and climbed atop one of the mounts. “I’m ready when you are. Feel free to lead the way.”
It was difficult to dispute Teselin’s heartfelt argument in favor of her brother; moreso when the Sight amplified her genuineness. Despite her confounding relationship with Hadwin, Bronwyn was comforted by the fact that he was capable of a non-sexual connection with someone. It had been the case with Rowen, far as she could determine. How many other people had been spared his carnal wrath, in favor of the rare emergence of his benign, cooperative side? Had Teselin coaxed out this far more preferable behavior? And if so, which was more common to see? If testimony from the blonde caster was any indication, Hadwin was, largely, the same beast as before; a menace who so happened to reserve a spot of tenderness in his heart for certain people and certain situations. However, Bronwyn would never be able to confirm his general disposition unless they sought him in Vilselt. According to the young seer’s ill prognosis, Hadwin’s fate did not sound favorable. Had the faoladh madness finally clamped its jaws over his mind? Did he burrow himself into a den so narrow that even he couldn’t dislodge and find the exit? Or...was it a combination of both? Did Hadwin manufacture his own doom? Just like...just like their mam?
“We must hurry, then,” she nodded her agreement to Teselin and the seer, whose name she discovered was Tivia Rigas. “Yes--we’ll leave tonight. I can see well in the dark; navigation won’t be too much trouble. As for travel by horse,” she made a face, “if Night steeds are as finicky as my mare, we’re going to have a problem.”
Once assured that Night steeds were bred and trained to respond to their handler with the same amount of courtesy and respect as offered them, Bronwyn, though not convinced, acted as though she were. “Whatever preparations you need to do before we travel, Teselin, go forth and get them done. My saddlebags are in these chambers. I’ll consult my map while I wait for you to clear things with the Galeyn Queen. If these Night steeds can run as quickly as you claim, then we’ll want to take utmost advantage of the cover of darkness. From what I can remember, it’s almost due east from Galeyn to the city of Apelrade--but it’s a long journey. Almost a month by regular steed. How quickly can a Night steed travel from here to Braighdath?”
Tivia, wiping the excess blood from her ears with a discolored rag she carried on her person, stared at the ceiling in silent calculation. “About four hours, I’d wager.”
“The trip took me about a week with my mare. If we push the Night steeds, we could make it to Apelrade in two or three days’ time. How quickly must we hurry, Tivia?”
The seer hunched over in bed, pressing a hand to the exposed half of her forehead. “The stars can’t measure time as mortals do. They alert me of ‘soon,’ but soon to them can mean three hours or three years. This is the extent of my help, unfortunately. But I would suggest you don’t dally at all.”
“Noted. I…” she awkwardly dipped her head in gratitude “thank you for your assistance. For what Hadwin did to your family, I know he doesn’t deserve your help and--”
“--I am going to stop you, there.” She removed the hand that gently stroked alongside her temple and spread her fingers in protest towards Bronwyn. “This is so we can stop Rowen. The stars tell me Hadwin is needed, here. They also tell me...nothing can be done for Sigrid, at present.” She settled her all-knowing, glass-ball eye on Teselin. “I know she departed; I witnessed her leave as I arrived at the stables.” She self-consciously rearranged her curtain of hair, layering sheets of it over the concealed half of her face. “There is one method that will ensure her swifter return, and it’s a method that none of us have access to. They tell me...that we are on this path. Our future is heading in this direction, and it...is not an easy traverse across the sky. Nonetheless,” the faint color returned in her overly-reflective eye, signifying a grounded return to reality, “Sigrid will be returning. But she will be unrecognizable. That is all I am able to say.”
In the wake of Tivia’s ominous, but vague, prognostications, Bronwyn and Teselin departed Galeyn late that night, outfitted with two Night steeds and enough provisions to sate them for at least a fortnight. As promised, the faoladh studied her maps, calculating the shortest and most direct route, a confirmed easterly route, without much directional fluctuation. Fortunately, the weather, especially for an unpredictable time of the year, remained stable and fair on each leg of their short journey, even when bypassing different environments. From forest, to field, to prairie, to rolling hillocks, the Night steeds blinked through each landscape with a disorienting swiftness.
For one so unused to near-instantaneous travel, Bronwyn required frequent breaks to recover from the sickening, jarring motions. It shamed her, to appear so unaccustomed to hard riding--or riding of any sort. She preferred to travel as a wolf, and gladly, she would, if not for the issue of leaving behind essential materials and accoutrements that transformation did not accommodate--as well as her young, magically-gifted partner. Neither did she reveal that she’d only “learned” to mount a horse for the first time about three months ago, when wolf-travel, foot-travel, and carriage-travel became too unmanageable and expensive to maintain. To buy her ‘trusty’ mare, who now lived a happy existence in Galeyn, subsisting on a diet of hay and frequent coat brushes by attentive stableboys, it had cost her every coin she owned. Days ago, she’d entered Galeyn penniless, her resources depleted and her patience thinned to desperate threads. Luckily, the Galeyn Queen offered the two-person search party a handsome bag of coin for the journey. Teselin did not exaggerate; her sphere of influence spanned a very wide diameter, and her persuasiveness, impressive enough to make even Hadwin proud of his little protege. It was only fair that Bronwyn pulled her weight by employing her own set of skills to ensure their journey’s success--horse-riding notwithstanding.
Through her passable navigational knowledge learned during her one year of wandering outside the clan’s boundaries, she managed to guide them in the correct direction. By pre-dawn on the second day, they reached the outskirts of their destination. The crown-city of Apelrade was situated on a verdant cliffside overlooking rough, choppy waters, its resemblance so reminiscent of Collcreagh that she wondered if Hadwin chose the modest but active kingdom out of homesickness--or if it were a random selection. Aching of bone and muscle, Bronwyn ignored her body’s pleas to rest as she dismounted from the Night steed, shivering from the brisk, oceanic breeze filtering through the narrow streets and the stout, colorful buildings. Before taking their steeds to stable at the main thoroughfare, Bronwyn threw on a thicker, wool-lined cloak, and as dawn broke, they began their search in earnest.
“Let’s start by asking around at every tavern and brothel in town,” she said, reaffixing the loose strains of curls that had blown free of her ponytail. “We’re bound to find some answers. As we both know, Hadwin is not a subtle man, and he sure as hell doesn’t live a subdued life.”
They started at one end of the city and wended their way north. According to the town crier, there were ten taverns and four brothels, all of which could be found on two roads: the main thoroughfare, and the red light district. By early afternoon, they explored five of the ten taverns, and one brothel--with no luck.
“Frankly, I’m shocked.” She rubbed the tip of her freckled nose, as if clearing her sinuses would improve her sense of smell. “I haven’t caught a trail. The ocean fills my nose with too much brine. And the wind keeps changing directions. Hard to get a read outside--but that’s not what surprises me. I’m sure Hadwin would have visited every tavern here, but no one has seen them--and they’re not lying. There’s no trace of his scent inside, either. Are,” she hesitated, not wanting to speak ill of a person who Teselin trusted, “are we sure Tivia gave us the correct information? She might have misread the stars. The mapping of the sky.”
Despite the possibility of the wrong location, they resumed their search--and it wasn’t until they visited the eighth tavern that she finally caught a faint, lingering smell.
“He was here,” she whispered to Teselin as they approached the barkeep on duty. “Excuse me!”
“Ah, yes.” The lanky figure rested his spidery fingers on the wood finish and leaned forward. “A cold-brew, then? A bit early, innit? And a bit young,” he wrinkled his face at Teselin and her wide-youthful eyes. “Not one to judge, but what’re two birds like yourselves doing here?”
“No, we...we’re not here for a drink,” Bronwyn said, dismissively. “We’re looking for someone, actually. We’ve reason to believe he’s visited your tavern, recently. His name is Hadwin Kavanagh. He’s a tall, lean man. Ruddy hair. Gold eyes. Has a penchant for trouble. Loud-mouthed and very noticeable. Have you seen him?”
The barkeep grunted in reply. “Haven’t heard of him.”
Bronwyn raised her eyes and captured his unfocused stare. It was practiced, professional, unreadable...but her Sight unveiled his guise. “You’re lying.”
“What--!?” The barkeep’s cheeks reddened in rage. “The fuck kind of disrespect you’re showing me, coming into my place and besmirching my character like that? I tell you I haven’t heard of him and that’s that. Now get out of here!” He pointed an over-long finger to the door. “Birds or not, I’ll wallop you good and proper until you learn decency, as women well should!”
Bronwyn punched him in the face. No warning, no thought. A raw, instinctual impulse drove her to the deed. She delivered the blow with a finesse that made full, knuckled contact to the nose. It crunched beneath her fist in a satisfying crack, denting the nasal cavity and spilling thin ropes of blood. “Look here. I’m not playing around!” With her free hand, she grabbed the bewildered barkeep’s collar and yanked him over close. “I’m all out of patience, today. Hell, I’m all out of patience for this year! Tell me what I want to know or my associate here will squeeze your head like a rotten watermelon with her mind!” Bronwyn was unsure of Teselin’s power, but it didn’t matter. Not in her moment of pure adrenaline. “Feel free to call me out on my bluff, but do you want to be wrong!?”
“Fuck! Okay, okay, I yield!” The barkeep barked. “Are you his fucking sister or something? With a fist like that, you have to be; your whole family is nuts!” Bronwyn’s grip loosened, but she didn’t release him. “Damn bitch--broke my nose!”
“Yes, I’m a bitch,” she stated, proudly. “And I sure hope I can throw a punch; where do you think he learned it from? So,” she exposed her canines at the man, “tell me what I want to know--there’s a family waiting for you at home. A wife and two sons--who you love so, so dearly.”
The vague and menacing mention of his family motivated the barkeep more than the threats on his life. He flailed, arms astir. “I said I yield! Look,” he broke free of Bronwyn’s deadly hold, scrambling for a clean cloth to apply to his leaking nose. Before continuing, he took a sweep of the tavern to ensure the area was empty of eavesdroppers. “Downstairs, we run a prize-fighting operation. Hah,” he guffawed in spite of his injuries, “you should have a go at it, yourself!”
The balls of her knuckles turned white and defined under her tightening fists. “Not interested.”
“Suit yourself. Plenty of coin to be won. ‘Course,” his whispers thinned to the faintest swishing of cloth, “we keep it hush-hush. The king doesn’t like it. Says it’s dirty fighting. Not dignified. But his wife--loves it! Makes secret trips to the fights and places bets on the most promising lad. That’s when your brother comes along, makes a splash. Defeats all the other contenders. Fucking bloodsport--literally. Anyway, he catches the Queen’s eye, and--”
“--They fuck.” It wasn’t even a guess on Bronwyn’s part. The barkeep guffawed again.
“Yup; you know your brother, all right.” He tilted back his head to staunch the bleeding. “So, the Queen pays me a handsome sum to take him off my hands. Next I hear, the poor sod’s in the dungeons because the King found out about their not-so-discreet illicit affair. Thing is, instead of publicly executing the bastard, which’ll look bad on him, to condemn to death a man who could satisfy his wife better than he--and a flashy gesture like that would announce it to all the kingdom--he’s giving your brother a quiet death. Boxing him up in a windowless cell and letting ‘im slowly shrivel up and rot, nameless and forgotten, in the dark.”
“Dammit.” Bronwyn’s fingers twitched, and the barkeep startled away from her range, “he’s not even getting the death he wants!” She raked her knuckles against the bartop, a halfhearted punch that didn’t quell the pricks of moisture, her liquid frustration, forming around the bottom lids of her eyes. “That’s not how you want to be defeated, Hadwin,” she muttered, half to herself. “You need to have people watching. If you’re trying to emulate mam...you’re doing it wrong.” Planting her elbows on the countertop, she swiveled closer to the barkeep, who was too slow in his opportunity to skitter away from her notice. “Hey!” She slammed her hand down. “We’re not done yet. You’re taking us to see him.”
“‘Scuse me. What?”
“You obviously have connections to the royal court! How would you know anything about what happened to your prizefighter after he was bought out of the ring? Either the Queen told you, or someone else did. So,” she slanted her eyebrows at him, “who do you know?”
“No! No--we’re done here. Not helping--no!”
Bronwyn cast a side glance at Teselin. “Teselin--do you want to show our friend here that one trick of yours?” She didn’t know what to expect from the wide-eyed girl, but when the entire tavern began to sway with tremors, nearly toppling over the shelf stacked high with empty tankards and goblets, it nearly slackened her own jaw with disbelief. Though incredibly hard to do, when her instincts screamed Flee the quaking building! she had to school her face into indifferent boredom, to sell her bluff (that apparently was no bluff!), and trust the caster would know when to stop. Fortunately, she did, and the barkeep, predictably, turned sheet white.
“I...you….you did that!? This tiny...you!?” Flustered into speechlessness, the barkeep did not relinquish his bracing vise on the countertop.
“So?” Bronwyn placed her hands on her hips, on what she hoped was a casual gesture. “Will you help us, now?”
“Oh...you are so, so lucky, you fucking cunts,” he spat, but the underpinning of fear gave away his raging slurs. “One of the castle guards owes me a favor, and he happens to have a shift in the dungeons tonight. Meet me at the entrance to the West Gate at dusk. Hell,” he winced after dropping the lightest finger pressure on his broken nose, “even I’d like to see this cur get liberated. He’s a riot an’ a half. Won me a lot of money. And wouldn’t we all like to stick it to our buffonish Majesty?”
As arranged, Bronwyn and Teselin arrived at the West Gate at dusk. True to his word, the barkeep made an appearance, accompanied by a guard of monstrous stature. “May I emphasize how lucky you are!?” The barkeep, his nose in bandages and reduced to high-pitched nasal sounds, gestured to the large man. “Says he hasn’t laughed harder in his life, to hear me quacking like a duck. For that amusement--at my expense, of course--he’ll take you down, no trouble. He’s the only guard on duty; nothing else down there but your bro. No one’ll see you.”
“Well, then,” Bronwyn quirked a smile, “you were useful to us, after all. Though if you think I’m apologizing for breaking your nose, you’ll be waiting for it the rest of your life.”
“Thought so.” The barkeep sniffled. “Now get the hell out of my sight; you caused me enough trouble as is! Go on!” He gave them a shooing gesture. “Before the captain of the guard sees your merry procession!”
Without delay, they followed the taciturn guard into the guardhouse, where he uncovered a secret door in a darkened alcove. Through the door, they descended a long, winding set of stairs, the only source of light emanating from the large man’s torch. Once they reached the bottom step, they headed straight down to the last door in the dank, chilly cavern. The door was an iron slab, no slots or bars to allow even the faintest sliver of the outside world to pierce the darkness--save for the keyhole where the guard inserted his rusty, iron key. The mechanism on the door clicked, and it swung wide. With help from the guard’s torch, Bronwyn was able to peer inside. She took a look--and gasped.
The first thing she noticed was the smell. Urine, feces, and blood assailed her nostrils so powerfully that it felt as though she were punched in the nose. Then, she saw the evidence. Blood smearing the walls, the floor, and streaked through with loose, chunky stools. And, in the corner, the man they sought after, stripped naked and caked in his own blood and excrement.
“Hadwin!”
His head lolled to the side. A shallow breath rattled from his lungs. He was alive! Awake, and alive. Slowly, his light-sensitive eyes opened, reflective in the torchlight. He stared, confused, at the three figures on the other side of the threshold.
Unclipping the waterskin from her belt, Bronwyn rushed over and pressed it to his mouth. “Here. Drink. You need to drink. Then, we’ll get you out of here, Hadwin, alright?”
Hadwin smiled against the rim of the water skin, but he didn’t drink. Instead, he flopped over, lying on his back, and stared at the low ceiling. “Here?” His voice rasped, barely audible from dehydration. “There’s no… ‘here.’ Here is gone. We’re all gone. So if we’re all gone...we’re all fucking ghosts. ‘Cept for me. I’m just floating. Floating... Here to haunt me, too….Brownling?”
“Even in your delirium, you’re calling me by that stupid name.” She positioned her hand behind his head and forced him to sit up. His body was ice-cold. “You have to drink. Look--Teselin is here. She’s here for you. She’s not a ghost. She’s real!” She nodded for the girl to come forward and take his hand. “She’s come all this way to find you!”
Bronwyn, to her credit, hadn’t wasted any time, and needn’t have the urgency of this scenario spelled out for her. Although she did not even appear particularly comfortable around horses, let alone ones that traveled impossible speeds by night, she did not hesitate to follow suit in mounting one of the ebony beasts and departing Galeyn, posthaste. Teselin, too, was no expert in riding horseback; in fact, she had spent most of her journey in search for Vitali on foot, and had only begun familiarizing herself with steeds and mares in Stella D’Mare. Perhaps there was something that could be said about adrenaline forcing capability, because in the days that followed, if the young summoner began to feel exhaustion at all, she did not show it. Nor did she make obvious her uncharacteristic impatience, during those times on their venture when Bronwyn was forced to stop due to motion sickness, but she certainly felt the frustration it inspired. You can’t afford to be sick. We can’t afford to waste any time; because Hadwin cannot afford to wait! She wanted to cry, but knew it was irrational, and knew better. Bronwyn was the navigator, and she had agreed to help with little question or resistance on her part. Teselin could not afford to alienate a valuable ally through impatience when this ally was her only chance at saving Hadwn’s life.
When at last they reached the kingdom of Vilselt, the two women knew immediately where to begin to look for the lost faoladh: the brothels and the taverns. If Hadwin had been seen anywhere, or by anyone, it would be by the patrons of those establishments. Needless to say, it was both surprising and extremely disheartening that none of those leads ended up yielding any useful information. It was almost as if… he was not here, in this city, at all.
“No--no, that is impossible. Tivia does not make those kinds of mistakes.” By now, the ever patient young summoner’s infallible ability to be patient was beginning to wane. After several failed attempts to locate Bronwyn’s brother, and with the faoladh woman unable to pick up a scent due to the interference of the briny air off the wine-dark ocean, she was ready to hold this entire city hostage until someone gave in and told them what they knew, for surely someone knew something… “They’re lying. They have to be lying--all of them. I believe in Tivia’s decree. Long before you stumbled into Galeyn, she predicted your arrival, which is the only reason I remained as long as I did instead of venturing off to find Hadwin, myself. She was right about you. She is right about this place, too. Maybe… maybe we are amidst a solid number of very good liars. Not to doubt your senses, Bronwyn, but I am not of the opinion that anyone is completely immune to being fooled. Hadwin…” She expelled air from her lungs in a frustrated rush, a line creasing her brow from the amount of frowning she’d done that day. “Hadwin is here. We just need to find the weak link; the person who will tell us what we want to know. I neither condone nor appreciate violence or threatening tactics, but since your brother’s life is already in danger… I will do what I must to make the people of Apelrade talk. Because Hadwin would do the same, for me.”
There was yet one tavern that they had to visit, and it was there where their luck finally changed for the better. Hadwin had been here; Bronwyn was sure of it, and no one would know Hadwni’s scent better than his own family. “Finally… I knew it. I knew he was here, somewhere.” The relief that flooded Teselin’s veins was so intense that the slight girl’s hands actually began to shake. She squeezed her hands into fists at her side to quell the trembling. “Let’s ask the proprietor. I have some coin if it comes down to bribing him.”
The two women wasted no time approaching the barkeep, who was both surprised and amused to see the likes of them at his establishment. He could help them; surely he would remember someone with features as distinguishable as Hadwin’s…
“Haven’t heard of him.”
And that was the first time that day where Bronwyn had been able to pick up on a bold-faced lie. Perhaps everyone else they’d asked had been telling the truth, after all… Teselin felt bad for doubting the faoladh’s abilities, but only for a moment, because another emotion dominated her heart and mind and coloured her world in shades of scarlet: anger. And the last time the young summoner had felt so determined about something, and so angry as a result… several men had dropped dead before her, where they’d stood, blood rushing out of every orifice of their bodies.
That anger, fortunately, did not have time to reach her magic and manifest as another small massacre before Bronwyn took the liberty to punch the barkeep in his bulbous nose. You are related to Hadwin! The young summoner wanted to laugh, as the faoladh woman took the situation into her own hands (or fists, as it was) and began her spew of threats. So much for taking the time to bribe the man… though she could not say, admittedly, that she was unhappy with Bronwyn’s forthright attitude.
What the man said next did not come as any surprise to Teselin. Of course, at his worst, Hadwin would be looking for a fight, and at his absolute worst… he had lain with a married woman. And not just any married woman, but a Queen… An offense that had not gone unpunished. Oh, Hadwin… why? Why, when you knew where this would lead?
It was precisely because he knew what it would lead to, however, that Hadwin had done it. He went looking for chaos because he was pursuing his end…
“Wait--where are you going?” The young summoner demanded simultaneously with Bronwyn, as the lanky man appeared to be taking advantage of their shock to take his leave. “We need your help… Hadwin’s life is in danger. Her brother, and my friend. And you know something. You know even more than you’ve told us… we won’t take no for an answer.”
And there it was, again; that determination, and that ire, that simmered beneath the surface of the young summoner’s skin. The ire that had slowly, agonizingly, stolen the lives of those Mollengardian guards; an ire that was, at this point, still very much beyond her control. Bronwyn needn’t prompt her, for it was already happening. It began as vibrations in the floor, at first minor, but soon enough reaching earthquake-like magnitude. Bottles tumbled off of tables and shattered on the floor, a few shelves dislodged, threatening to spill everything they were containting, and a few half-full or untouched goblets upset and rolled off of tables, staining the already-stained wooden floors an even darker shade of wine and ale with their contents. The patrons all stopped what they were doing, some gasping and standing from their unsteady seats, clutching the table so as to maintain their balance.
Well, this was an improvement; unlike the last time, no one died, and no one had to die… so long as the barkeep cooperated. Trembling, herself, the young summoner met the barkeep’s startled gaze, which warned him, I can do more. I will do more, unless you talk.
Fortunately, that was not necessary. The man was sufficiently startled, and from that point on, he sang like a canary. At that point, Teselin unintentionally tuned him out, despite the pertinent information he was offering. Fortunately, Bronwyn was listening attentively as the young summoner struggled to find her bearings. No one died. No one got hurt, this time… and I did it. I used my magic on command, and I didn’t hurt anyone... Her hands still trembled, and her dark eyes, now fixed on the shoddy floorboards, were wide with fear. But...but I could have. And I was going to, if he didn’t comply… I was going to hurt him. Far more than Bronwyn…
The next thing Teselin knew, Bronwyn was urging her away, and the two departed the tavern for the time. She did not speak to the faoladh woman of the terrible thoughts that had circulated in her mind when she’d shaken the tavern to its core, and Bronwyn did not ask. They were careful to keep to themselves for the day, until evening, when they met the barkeep, who--to his credit--had kept his end of the bargain. Following a monstrous guard, who very much reminded her of the Forbanne, the two women made their way to the guardhouse and were led down a jagged, winding staircase; one that only looked to be used on occasion, when a proper entrance did not suffice.
They descended into relative darkness, but were able to make out a single door at the end of the corridor; one that did not suggest that whatever was on the other side was promising. And Teselin’s suspicions were right.
“...Hadwin…!” His name passed her lips as both a gasp and a scream. It was him; there was no mistake that it was him, but he was so far… gone. Given up--he had given up on surviving. Too stunned to move, she let Bronwyn through first, to force some hydration into his body. This isn’t you. This isn’t the survivor I know… It wasn’t until he spoke, feeble and sounding as though he were hardly aware of the sound of his own voice, that the young summoner knew he was not gone. Lost, perhaps, but not gone. And that was what drained the paralysis from her legs and spurred her forward into the room.
“Hadwin…” Teselin took his ice cold hand into her own. “Why’d you have to run off? If not for Bronwyn… I don’t know if I’d have found you.” He was freezing, but not shivering; a bad sign, all around, and the blood indicated he was injured, and hadn’t healed. The man who had healed from a knife wound to the gut in a matter of a day wasn’t healing enough to stop bleeding. “...I need you to let us help you. I’ll never forget how you saved my life; now it’s my turn to repay you.”
Even between wrapping him in her own cloak, and the one Bronwyn had worn around her shoulders, it was hardly enough to cover Hadwin’s naked body, or to shield him from the chill of late autumn. He needed somewhere warm, somewhere safe. Between the two of them, draping his arms around their shoulders, they managed to get him upright, half-leading and half-dragging him from his cell. “Please, where can we find a healer?” Teselin asked the hulking guard, who responded only with silence, at first. A familiar feeling of ire and urgency stirred in her gut; and she knew where that path would lead if she let it get the best of her. Temporary earthquakes without casualties would not always be the only result. With her single free hand, she reached into her pocket and withdrew a single pouch of coin; one of the few she’d taken with her, not for the purchase of provisions, but in the event that bribery became necessary.
And in this case, it was. The guard took the pouch with a nod. “I know a woman. Probably the only healer who will help the likes of your friend. Lives to the north of the city. Go as far as the market, and ask anyone you might encounter for Ammaline. Might wanna keep this guy out of sight,” he nodded to the limp figure of Hadwin, suspended between the two women. “His deeds have made him pretty famous in these parts.”
They did as directed, and under the cover of night, made their way towards the north of the city. It was not long, by foot, but with a deadweight between them, the trek felt like it lasted for hours; and it did not help that Hadwin had the tendency to draw attention to himself. “You need to be quiet,” she would gently urge him, when he went into rambling. “We can talk when you’re safe… alright?”
Making it as far as the market, Bronwyn agreed to keep out of sight with Hadwin in an alleyway, while Teselin consulted a street-sweeper about the whereabouts of this Ammaline. Moments later, she returned, her cheeks flushed red in her haste. “She isn’t far. This way.”
They continued through the all but deserted night streets until they came upon a small, stone dwelling. There were no lights flickering in the windows, but smoke puffing from a chimney indicated there was an active fire on a hearth. The duo and their charge did not waste any time, knocking on the door, until an old woman answered. “Please; we need help,” Teselin said to the startled woman, who looked as though she’d just woken up. “My friend… he is in grave condition…”
“I’m sorry, you’ll have to return in the morning. My sight isn’t what it used to be; I do not work these hours,” the healer began, but her voice trailed off as she held a candle close to the face of the injured man. “...this man. He… this is the man who laid with the Queen…”
“He--we won’t bring you any trouble, I promise, but please.” Teselin all but begged at this point, her body sore from supporting the faoladh’s weight. “He needs help…”
“...get inside. Immediately.”
They needn’t be told twice. Moving out of the cold, the woman shut and locked the door behind them, and lit the candles and wall sconces to bring more light to the room. “She is unfaithful. Always has been, and is always looking for it--but it is always the young men who pay.” Anger and sadness had replaced the disinterest in the old healer’s voice, as she grabbed a pair of spectacles, and took a look at the ruined man before her. “...my son was one of them. He rotted in that dungeon years ago, for one ill-fated night with Vilselt’s Queen. They wouldn’t even let me see him one more time… you there, girl.” She nodded to Rowen. “Go out the back door; there’s a water pump behind the house. Start filling buckets and use those buckets to fill the tub in the back room. He smells infected; can’t do anything until he has an antiseptic bath.”
Bronwyn complied, and when at last the tub was full, the water lukewarm from embers lit beneath the steel tub, they helped Hadwin into the bath, that was cloudy and tinted grey from herbs and tonics. Soon after he submerged, it began to turn a sickly reddish-brown, as blood and fecal matter dissolved from his skin. “I need to mix salves and tonics. Clean him and and see he doesn’t drown,” Ammaline ordered them, leaving them alone with their charge.
“...how long have you been there?” Teselin murmured, as she took a sponge and began to gently wipe the grime from his face and shoulders. “Did you really think I wouldn’t come find you…? I already told you, Hadwin. I can’t lose you…”
Between the weak faoladh man thrashing about, not understanding that the sting of the contents of the water were disinfecting his wounds, and the time it took to actually, thoroughly clean him, it was the better part of an hour before they could get him out of the tub, dry him off, and dress him in new trousers and a tunic. The clothes were one size too big, but they would suffice. “They belonged to my son,” Ammaline explained in a detached tone. “Perhaps it’s high time I let them go, anyway… I couldn’t save him. But, it isn’t too late for your friend.”
He wasn’t yet lucid or strong enough to eat, but the healer insisted it was imperative he imbibe of water before drifting off to a far more comfortable slumber, on a bearskin rug, wrapped in ointment-soaked bandages, and a warm blanket. With some careful negotiating, they managed to get him to drink a sufficient amount of fluids--some plain water, others cooled, medicinal tea--and then allowed him a much needed rest, before the hearth. “It’s not too late for his body. The bath drained most of the infection, but his mind…” The old woman shook her head. “That is another thing entirely.”
“He just needs to be around people who care.” Teselin assured her, as Ammaline bid them both goodnight, and retired for her own, much-needed rest. “...go and get some rest, Bronwyn. I’ll stay up in case he awakens; I don’t trust him not to take off if he’s healed enough and still hasn’t come back to himself…”
Taking a seat next to the sleeping man, the young summoner took his hand in her own and pressed her back to the cool, stone wall. “I won’t let you fade away, you know. Believe it or not, too many people still need you… and I am selfish,” she sighed. “Because… I’m one of them.”
A tiny spark of lucidity reached Hadwin’s eyes when they flitted over to Teselin. Widening--despite the pain of the torchlight. He’d grown too accustomed to the darkness, and Bronwyn feared he’d cause damage to his retinas by manipulating them to such a degree. In his present state, he didn’t care. As evidenced by his grievous wounds--his busted knuckles, the gash on his forehead, the scraped-off skin down his arms and legs, the puncture marks around his torso--pain meant nothing to him. He’d inflicted the harm, likely by violently thrashing against the walls of his tiny cell, like a fly trapped in a box and driven into a suicidal frenzy.
“Tes...is it really you, little scamp?” Hadwin stared directly at the waifish girl, the lightest of grins touching his blood-streaked face. But when she reached for his hand, establishing physical contact, the spark guttered out of his eyes, replaced with a haunted look. Something else was there, too. Though hard for Bronwyn to read, she could distinguish the outer fringes of...loss. Sadness. Regrets too numerous to name.
“You, too, huh? Thought so.” He withdrew his hand from the summoner. It flopped uselessly to the fecal-encrusted ground. “It’d be too good for the likes of me. To have you here.”
“We...we are here, Hadwin,” Bronwyn said, delicately. “Don’t you feel us?” With great gentleness, she hoisted him upright.
“I can’t feel you...I can’t feel you or Tes. Can’t feel anything.”
“We’re real. And so is this water.” She guided it to his mouth a second time. “If you don’t believe in us, believe in this drink. You will feel it on your tongue. You’ll see. It will make you better.”
“You’re just like them! Both of you!” Too dehydrated to yell, Hadwin’s approximation of it amounted to a deep, gravelly snarl of intensity. “Ghosts. Fucking ghosts, here to tell me everything I did wrong. Well, get in line! Nine hells, what took you so long!?” In a fit of adrenaline, he jerked his head so violently, they heard his jaw protest with a sickening crack. “Mam’s been here all along, yammering and nagging me sick. Now, I got an entire choir! Cwenha and Chief and Briery, Ro--”
“--Stop. Hadwin, stop. You’re going to wear yourself out.”
“Get away from me.” Rolling out of Bronwyn’s grasp, he vaulted into the farthest corner with incredible agility. The water skin flew from her hands in the shuffle, falling into a self-made puddle in the dingy cell. “Always telling me what to do, Brownling, huh? Like you always knew better! The embodiment of morality--hah! Don’t make me laugh. Too late.” A discordant scraping sound, like teeth grinding against metal, keened out of his mouth. It was horrible. Like a thing possessed. “You want me? Come and get me. But you can’t hurt me. None of you can. Your fingers’ll slip right through me. You damn ghosts already got my mind but you can’t take this vessel. It’s mine. Only I can fuck it up, you hear me? Only I--”
He stopped mid-sentence, and his body went limp. Rigid. He swayed on his feet, a bit of leftover energy from his kinetically-fueled episode of paranoia and mistrust. But now, he stiffened. His jaw went slack. His eyes stared vacantly ahead and beyond. It terrified her more than his outrage. At least it was characteristic of him, to fight. To yell and argue and to incite violence. In contrast to the swirls of frenetic noise that their visit awakened in the chaos of his mind, he had gone catatonic.
No--it was better this way, she assured herself. He wouldn’t make a fuss. As unresponsive--and heavy--as a sack of flour, but dead weight was far preferable to a squirming mess of belligerence and fear.
The faoladh madness had crested Hadwin’s sky, drenching it red with the light from the blood-moon. The curse had found its latest victim, and manifested as dead, worry, fright, terror--all the traits he saw in other people, but reflected back at him, as though to punish him for the lives he tormented. He held his curse, his punishment, at bay for almost eight years, an admirable effort for a stray, but it seemed he’d at last run out of time. Whether he deserved his just desserts or not, Bronwyn couldn’t rightly judge. They were not presiding over the merit of one’s soul. It didn’t matter what he did or didn’t do--not to Teselin, and strangely, not to her. He was her brother, and he needed help, and he needed to be well. Like the optimistic summoner before her, she had to trust that he would be strong enough to climb out of the mire, and recover his senses. Her Sight did not lie. Hadwin was resourceful. Resilient. Flexible. He loved to laugh. His irreverent outlook on life kept him sane. Otherwise, he’d have surrendered to his hardships long ago. And so, rescinding her latest thought, she forged a different outcome for her estranged brother: whatever plagued him was temporary. It was not the curse. Days in isolation, in darkness, would induce madness in most anyone, especially those of Hadwin’s gregarious nature.
Together, Bronwyn and Teselin combined their traveling cloaks to encase the unresponsive faoladh with the warmth his body desperately needed. He was not hypothermic, not with the bursts of energy he’d before demonstrated--and consumed. But he was dangerously close to succumbing to his egregiously low body temperature and his pus-infected injuries. With help from the giant guard, the trio successfully hauled Hadwin down the dungeon’s corridors and up the stairs, through another passageway that emptied into an unfrequented backstreet of the city proper. With a bag of coin for his troubles (and then some), Teselin, and her generosity, had convinced the guard to do one last kindness for the desperate party. Thanking the man for his indispensable--and expensive--tip, they immediately set off in search of the healer, Ammaline--a slow grind of a process, in part because of their uncooperative charge, who’d blinked out of his catatonia and tried to escape, remarking that he wanted nothing more to do with ghosts.
After his fourth failed attempt to break free of their formation, they decided it best that Bronwyn wait in a quiet alleyway whilst Teselin inquired in town about the healer. Though they remained hidden for about a half-hour, visible relief glimmered like witch lights on the faoladh’s face when the summoner not only revealed the whereabouts of their healer, but relieved her of solo duty over her brother.
“He tried to attack me. Twice,” she muttered out of the side of her mouth, dragging the unstable aggressor along with them. “Said it’d be like shadowboxing--because I’m a ‘ghost’ and all--but he didn’t care. You’re better staying with him from now on, Teselin. He hates me. We have too much history. Bad blood. That’s all he can remember of me. There,” she stared at her feet, “there isn’t much else to remember. Nothing happy. Nothing that will make him better. The best I can do is stay away.” She passed Hadwin into her care. Fortunately, he’d lapsed into another state of catatonia and did not react from the changing of hands. He stayed that way, shuffling his feet into a dazed walk, until they arrived at the door to Ammaline’s squat, stone cottage, and knocked urgently on the door.
Just when they thought the elderly woman who answered would deny them entrance and service, she caught a glimpse of Hadwin, his distinct features recognizable even beneath the layers of dirt and muck, and bid them inside. Her first thought, after the old woman changed her tune, was to wonder if he also slept with her, but the healer’s intentions became clear when she gave them a brief explanation about the Queen and her legendary promiscuity.
“I am sorry to hear of your loss,” Bronwyn helped to sit her brother on a chair, disrobing him for better access to his many injuries. “I cannot speak for your son, but my brother...he knew what he was doing. He wanted to self-destruct. He’s unwell, and impulsive, but he’s ultimately responsible for choosing this horrible end--damning the people who care about him.” There was a spike of resentment touching the tips of her tongued words. A past memory made so visible, made so raw, she tasted the blood. “I know he’s an ungrateful bastard, but I appreciate everything you can do to ensure he survives. He’s a fast healer; if we stabilize him, his body should be able to handle the rest.” Heeding the healer’s expert instruction, she sprung to her feet and went to work pumping enough buckets of water to fill the bath. While they managed to coax him into the tub, Hadwin phased out of his fugue-state and swung his fists wildly.
“Trying to kill me, now!?” He ranted at the three people in the room, but dedicated his furor to Bronwyn. “I told you--you can’t fucking hurt me. You can’t kill me. That’s for me to do!” He swung his busted fist at his sister, who caught it in her palm and wrestled it, and him, deeper into the tub. With her reserves of strength, she pinned and submerged him, allowing for the antiseptic waters to wash over his skin and his face. When the most vital step of the bath had been completed, Bronwyn stood, the entire front of her outfit soaked through, and swept out of the room. “I’ve done what was needed,” she said to Teselin before her departure. “Remember...I agitate him. So now it’s up to you. If it’s you...I think he’ll listen.”
Bronwyn was not wrong. In her absence, Hadwin focused his attention on the other ‘ghost,’ (far as he knew, the healer did not exist), and his explosive demeanor shifted. “Tes. …If you wanna drown me, that’s alright.” He closed his eyes as murky water dripped down his face, clearing away the grime in soapy streaks. “Whatever I did to fail you...whatever I did to make you come here as a ghost and haunt me...I won’t put up a fight. So don’t hesitate. I know what you’ve come here to do. Even as a spirit,” his mouth split into an understanding grin, “you’re too damn kind.”
For the duration of the bath, Hadwin posed no problems as they rinsed him clean, untangled his matted mop of hair, toweled him dry, treated his wounds with bandages, and fitted him with a pair of clean, warm clothes. By the time they sent him to sleep before the roaring fire, his internal body temperature showed signs of improving, and he was no longer in danger of severe dehydration. With Bronwyn keeping out of sight, Hadwin was a far more compliant patient, following whatever Teselin told him to do, no complaint. Curled up on the rug in the same manner as a wolf, the faoladh sagged his eyes closed and drifted into sleep. Only when it was assured he would not stir did Bronwyn reemerge, and in hushed tones, discussed with Teselin and Ammaline their next, most realistic, course of action.
“We can’t stay here long. We don’t want to put you in danger,” she nodded to the old woman. “It’s only a matter of time before the King discovers Hadwin isn’t in the dungeons, and we can’t trust that our intrepid ‘allies’ won’t spill what they know, under duress--or for extra coin. We’ll have to leave the city, and Vilselt, as soon as my brother stabilizes.” She paused a beat. “Physically, that is.”
They all agreed to continue devising a plan early the next morning, when everyone was well-rested, and once Hadwin regained enough strength to trigger his faoladh self-healing ability. As it stood, their success hinged on his swift recovery...which could not happen, should Bronwyn remain in his company. If the situation called for it...she would leave, on her own, to give her brother a greater chance at survival.
But that was for the morning to decide. She wished the summoner--and the unconscious Hadwin--a good night, and retired to a tiny guest room that doubled as a sanctuary for overnight patients. All was quiet for a few hours...until the faoladh jolted with a start from the rug. Whatever plagued him in his nightmares, it rattled him to his core. His manic eyes searched, and searched--and settled on Teselin, who, in watching him, had not yet slept. “How long are you going to put this off, Tes? How long?” It was a breathless whisper which delivered those ominous words, as though he was aware that the world was asleep, and that secrets only remained secrets if one practiced discretion. “Do it.” His hand, the one she cradled so tenderly, shook with desperation, like an addict suffering withdrawal. “I can’t wait for you, kid. I can’t wait for when you’ll have the fucking nerve to do it!” Forcibly severing their connection, he twisted his head towards the hearth, snatched a fire poker from its iron-wrought stand, and dunked it into the flames. Its tip started to glow a fierce, angry red. He brought the humming poker out of its temporary holding and pointed it to his chest. “Take the handle. Take it! Run me through--end it all. Skewer me; it’ll be simple. I won’t feel a thing; I promise. Not like I feel anything, anyway.” He chuckled, a deranged half-sob of a sound. “Do this for me. Set me free---at last, set me free.”
The summoner curled her fingers over the handle, but not to lance it into his heart; to yank the implement of destruction away. Expecting this, he counteracted her yank with a mighty tug, maintaining the fingernail distance between the poker tip and his chest with a hand that sizzled--for he gripped the tool around the hottest point of contact.
“Told you...I feel...nothing!” He ground his teeth while the pungent aroma of his branded flesh wafted the room. “If you won’t do it, Tes...I’ll do it!”
“What’s going on!?” Bronwyn emerged from the doorway to her chambers, converging on her brother and the summoner. Hadwin wrenched the poker completely out of Teselin’s hands, twisted its direction around, and aimed the still-smoldering, makeshift weapon at the new interloper.
“Not any of your damn business!” He reared back his arm and hurled the poker like a javelin, his aim startingly accurate. With a yelp, Bronwyn narrowly avoided its trajectory, missing the glowing tip by scant inches. It clanged noisily on the floor behind her, and the glow faded, its heat retention spent.
“Why you--” But when she looked up, he was gone. It was a distraction, a misdirection, and it worked, not only on its target, but also on Teselin, whose concern for Bronwyn sustaining an injury superseded her vigilance. “This bastard can’t get far on his own. C’mon!” She bolted through the open door to the outside, “he can’t hide his scent from me.”
He did not wander far, but where he wandered, was a scarier concern. By the merit of its location, the crown city on the ocean was never far from a cliff--and Hadwin found a particularly nasty promontory upon which to stand. Below, the waves crashed with murderous intent. It would only take one jump...
Sensing their arrival, the fear-driven faoladh glanced over his shoulder. The strong sea winds buffeted at his too-large clothes and whipped his ruddy hair in several different directions. By appearances alone, he looked like a scarecrow. Yet, despite the clashing weather conditions, which threatened to unmoor his weakened body, he was a solid pillar, refusing to bend to the elements. He’d accepted this route, long ago. All he needed was the perfect opportunity. And this one...was perfect.
“He always wanted an audience,” Bronwyn voiced, frozen to the spot with horror. “Hadwin!” She yelled, to be heard over the wind, afraid that one step forward would embolden him to leap off the edge. “Not you, too. Not you! I can’t lose you the same way we lost mam!”
“It’s over, Bron. I’m done!” he bit back. His fury roiled, stronger than the gusts that played at his feet. “You’re all ghosts. Nothing’s real. Except for me. I’m the only thing that’s real. And I don’t want to be, anymore! Fiona won. She fucking won! The only salvation for me is death. Teselin,” his brow softened, and tenderness rounded out his gold eyes, “we had a good run, yeah? Sorry I fucked it up. Maybe I’ll make a better ghost. If I don’t see you in the afterlife, kid…” he squeezed out a smile, “which is entirely possible...I’ll...I’ll miss you. The real you or the ghost of you...it doesn’t matter. You were good, and...and hell, I love the snot out of you. Don’t know if I ever told you that. I’m,” he hesitated, “...shit at goodbyes, so...is it any wonder this is how it ends? ...See you later, then? That’s a pittance of a send-off, but it’ll have to do.” He waved at them with his branded hand. “See you later.” And he stepped off the ledge.
Sleep simply was not an option for the young summoner, that evening, so Teselin did not so much as even consider blinking her exhausted eyes. Too many variables required her attention; for one, Bronwyn’s presence only served to agitate Hadwin in his unhinged state, leaving her as the only option for supervision. Furthermore, someone needed to monitor whether or not his body was beginning to bounce back from abuse and begin to heal his wounds, along with the fact that he was clearly a flight risk. So she kept her gaze fixed on the faoladh man’s sleeping form all evening, reassured by the fact that he was here, and he was breathing, and that there was a chance he might heal. Well, physically, but mentally… That, she couldn’t be sure, and only hope would suffice that he would return to the Hadwin she knew and loved. That he would believe what he was seeing… that he believed in her.
At some point, late into the evening (or perhaps it was early into the morning), she startled when her charge sat upright with a gasp, in a state of panic from whatever nightmare he’d been having. Immediately, the grasp she had on his hand tightened; she hadn’t put it down all night. “Hadwin! Hadwin, it’s okay…” The young summoner struggled to reason with him, but it was to no avail. He was so… lost. “It was a nightmare. You were dreaming--I’m here. I’ve been here all night. Nothing is going to happen to you…”
It frightened her, the madness she witnessed swirling in his golden eyes. She wasn’t reaching him… and he was tipping over the edge at an alarming rate. “Hadwin, please. Can’t you see me? Can’t you feel that I’m really here?” She knew it was futile, but all the same, she pleaded. “I’m not going to do anything--I’m just going to stay here, with you, until you realize I am actually here. Do you know how far I’ve come just to find you?”
It wasn’t working. Before she could move to stop him, the broken man snatched the fire poker that had been sitting on the hearth, dangerously close to the open flame behind its wrought-iron cage. To her relief, he didn’t immediately impale himself; instead, he offered it to her. He wanted her to do it. “...you can feel. I know you can. You’re just afraid to feel, but you don’t have to be.” Moving slowly, she gingerly placed her hand over his, lowering the poker from its dangerous position next to his chest. “You always told me that I shouldn’t be afraid, and neither should you. Let’s do it slowly; start to feel a little at a time. Start with me; can’t you feel me, Hadwin?” Her hand tightened over his, dark eyes pleading with his own golden irises. “Can’t you believe in me, like I believe in you?”
Not right now, he couldn’t. Not when he didn’t trust his own senses. Teselin gasped as he grabbed the hot poker and made to bring it to his own chest, just for Bronwyn to interrupt in the nick of time; but not to anyone’s advantage. The faoladh woman might have distracted him from his self-injurious task, but he flung the poker in her direction, startling both her and the young summoner, from whom he’d wrenched free. In the blink of an eye, he was gone; as if he’d never been injured in the first place. This was precisely what Teselin had feared… As soon as he’d begun to feel physically well, again, he would run. And she didn’t second guess herself to know that he was not running to anywhere safe.
“We have to get him!” She cried, although Bronwyn did not require any convincing. “He will hurt himself… I’m sure of it!”
Bronwyn was right; he couldn’t run far, and he didn’t, but it wasn’t a matter of distance that worried the young summoner and Hadwin’s sister. It was the lay of the land, the nature of this kingdom as it shared space with the sea, separated only by the jagged lips of a cliffside. “Hadwin!” The young summoner called, her heart racing so fast is threatened to escape her chest, and her knees weak at what was unfolding before her. She knew Hadwin; and she knew exactly how he intended this to end…
“Hadwin, wait!” Taking tentative, shaky steps forward, Teselin offered him an arm, outstretched in his direction. A hand she wanted him to take. “This is real--we are real! I am real, and I need you! I can’t lose you!” In a last ditch, desperate attempt to convince him, she drew a small knife from the belt around her waist--her only meager protection against anything, really--and drew the blade across her hand. It was no small cut, either, spanning from one end of her small hand to the other, welling, pooling, and dripping thick, crimson blood down her wrist. “Look, Hadwin, look at me--ghosts don’t bleed! Please…” Replacing the knife, she offered her other, uninjured hand. “Please… please come back with me.”
It wasn’t enough. She wasn’t enough, and with a sad smile, Hadwin turned and stepped off the edge of the cliff.
And at the same time, Teselin screamed; and at the same time, the wind not only picked up, it violently buffeted all three of them several feet backwards with the force of several horses. Hadwin’s feet hadn’t even had the chance to fully leave the ground before he was thrown into the two women. Teselin’s head hit the ground, leaving her in a momentary daze, but it did not last long. “...can a ghost do that?” She said to Hadwin, as she struggled to regain the wind that had been knocked out of her lungs. “Would a ghost… destroy this entire city, just to have you back? Because… that is what is going to happen.”
She was shaking; not from the cold, or from the shock, but the feeling of the energies that suddenly surrounded her. The harsh wind that hadn’t let up; the dark clouds gathering in the sky, and the rumble of the very earth beneath their bodies. Apelrade was suddenly being assaulted from above and from below. The sudden crash of thunder followed by a streak of lightning just a half-second later was only a warning. The air was charged, and this… this was all too familiar to the young summoner. Because this was not the first time this had happened to her; not the first time she had caused this. “It’s happening again… and I can’t stop it. I couldn’t stop it, last time…” All three of them startled when, off in the distance, the shifting of the earth’s platelets from below caused part of a cliff to crumble and fall into the unforgiving sea, below. It was only a matter of time before some of the buildings constructed boldly near those precipices would follow the same, tragic fate…
“I can’t stop it… I don’t know how.” Teselin clenched her bloody hand into a fist, shouting above the untamed winds as she turned to meet Hadwin’s eyes. Her face, with a gash on her forehead from where she’s hit the ground, was streaked with tears. “Is this what it will take, Hadwin? Do I have to destroy this city, and all of its people, just to get you to believe in me? To believe I am here?”
And that was when she saw it. The lucidity beginning to swim in the faoladh’s golden eyes, finally questioning the madness to which he’d thought he had completely succumbed. He didn’t fight her off; didn’t make a move to fight Bronwyn, either, with whom he’d been terribly at odds from the moment they’d found him. He was still, and finally looking at her as if he recognized her… and recognized that she was here. “...do you believe in me?” She whispered, taking his hand again, like she first had when she’d approached him in the cell. “I’m here, Hadwin. I am making this happen… do you believe me, now?”
He said her name. Not in the way he had before, bewildered and confused, but he spoke it with certainty. It was working; she was getting through to him! But, unfortunately… it was too late to rein in the consequences.
All three of them jumped when a vengeful streak of lightning sought the quickest path to the ground, via the steeple of a nearby church. If that weren’t reason enough to run, the tremors beneath their feet were causing buildings in the near distance to suddenly appear dangerously unstable. Already, cries could be heard in the distance; houses collapsing, or falling from the cliffsides… there was no possible way that this would not yield casualties.
“I can’t make it stop.” Teselin choked out, tears springing to her eyes. “I can’t; I don’t know how. It will stop when it wants to… but we have to run. We’ve already drawn too much attention to ourselves, and the last time this happened, I… it almost cost me my life.”
Because the last time had led to her imprisonment, when she had been the ultimate downfall of a nearby village where she had resided for a short period of time, in her search for her brother. It had caught fire, licked by hungry lightning, and had left too many dead in its wake, too many homes and families destroyed… and all because she had gotten upset. Because at the time, as she had been working occasionally as an assistant to a local healer as a means to earn coin, it devastated her to the core to watch too many patients succumb to illnesses that could not be treated. The heartache had gotten to her… and in some ironic, sick twist of fate, the village had paid the price. And when officials had put two and two together that she had the power to have made it happen, they’d been determined to make her pay the price, in turn.
The only difference, this time around, was the earthquake that accompanied. A storm from above and from below, all in the face of having almost lost someone very important to her. Whatever Mollengard had done to her magic… it had reached a pinnacle of beyond just deadly. It was completely out of control. “There is nothing I can do; there is nothing we can do, but if we stay here and go down with this place, then it will all have been for naught.” Teselin argued, managing to break free of the heart-wrenching guilt that was keen to remind her that she was once again the unwanting bringer of death, to a city full of innocents. “The Night steeds… if we can make it back to them, we still have a few hours of darkness. We might make it out of here… It isn’t safe to stand around and wait for this to decide it is over.”
No one asked questions; not even Hadwin, who, if nothing else, seemed to begin to understand the gravity of the crisis before them. Luckily, Bronwyn had a good sense of direction and recollection as to where they had tied up the steeds, not in a stable, but at the edge of the forest that bordered Apelrade, where they were better hidden. Due to lack of sleep, some injuries, and overall exhaustion from the unique as well as shared ordeals, they were not fast on their feet. Fires burned around them, the sky roaring with thunder and alight with electricity. The ground beneath their feet remained hopelessly unsteady, tripping them up more than once in their panicked flight. Teselin’s hammering heart was almost enough to drown out the panic ensuing in the now wide-awake city of Apelrade, as citizens fretted over what form of angry deity had wreaked such havoc on what had otherwise been a peaceful day…
They made it to the steeds, who themselves were startled by the moving earth beneath their feet, and it was no easy task to calm them long enough to successfully mount them. Hadwin climbed on behind Teselin, and the small party effectively ran from the chaos that one small girl had incited. It was always Teselin’s fear that the chaos she’d caused would follow her; and one day, it surely would, but the further they drew from Vilselt, the steadier the ground beneath the horses’ feet became, and the calmer the night skies. What must have been an hour (and several miles) later, either Teselin’s magic had finally let up, and the violent energies had broken like a bad fever, or they had finally put enough distance between themselves and the crumbling city that they were no longer at risk of the angry elements’ wrath.
Eventually, the horses needed to rest, as did their riders. Morning had just broken when at last they pulled the steeds to a halt; they wouldn’t be traveling at their impossible speeds until night fell again, anyway, so there was no time in expending the nocturnal animals’ energy when it could be best used later. Teselin wasn’t sure where they were, exactly, but Bronwyn seemed to have some idea; at the very least, they were not lost. But they were tired, and injured, and needed to catch their breaths. Fortunately, among the supplies in their saddlebags was a stone and flint which facilitated starting a fire to warm up in the crisp autumn air. With Hadwin still slowly, but surely, returning to himself, the work fell predominantly on Bronwyn, but Teselin forced her hands to make busy work to keep her mind off of the carnage she’d left behind in Apelrade. She gathered and arranged twigs, thankful for the menial tasks, until they had come to an end… and Bronwyn finally asked the question the young summoner had been dreading: what had happened back in that city.
“...it has happened before. To a lesser extent.” Teselin’s voice was soft and weak. She’d bandaged her bleeding hand with rags hours ago, but the amount of blood she’d lost in their flight seemed to have sapped a good deal of her strength. “Before I found Stella D’Mare, I worked alongside a healer in a small, mountain village called Stengahrd. Just a small job, to earn money while I searched for my brother… but still one I took to heart. It was a poor village; not a lot of technology or know-how when it came to treating the very ill. I grew attached to some of the terminally ill patients, and when they passed, one by one, under my care… eventually, it was too much to bear. I was so distraught and felt so wretched, and… and the city… When I was at my wits end, ready to tear open the world and wrench back the souls it had taken, the world indeed opened to me. Or the sky did, and half of the village was lost to a lightning storm. A lot of people died; but if you can believe it… it wasn’t nearly as dramatic as Apelrade.” The young summoner pulled her knees to her chest and stared intently at the small fire. It was hardly enough to keep her warm; she hadn’t stopped shivering since the onset of the storm… “A lot of people died. They traced the tragedy to me; and they had me arrested, and sentenced to death. But I was adamant that I would find my brother, and a single sympathizer helped me to escape, but this… when I see this happen, all over again, like a bad nightmare… it makes me want to reconsider. To go back and just let them do away with me, so that this wouldn’t happen anymore… so that no more lives would be lost, no more cities destroyed, on my account.” She closed her eyes to blink away tears and rested her forehead on her knees. The small gash on her forehead stung. “Ammaline’s cottage was not so far from those crumbling cliffs…”
It was too late, but Bronwyn ran for her brother as he succumbed to the cliff’s edge. She would fail in catching him. Her entire endeavor was pointless, but standing still was not an option. Hadwin was the black sheep in their family, the exile, the catalyst of disaster. His involvement made everything worse. People died, livelihoods were destroyed...yet, he was her blood. If not to save their estranged relationship, she wanted to save the faoladh in him, to spare him from the fate of his madness--and to preserve his life for the girl so desperately fighting to keep him on earth. No doubt, the love between them was evident. Even without announcing his purest feelings for the summoner, Hadwin made it obvious by his actions. The way he spoke to her, how the flared edges of his tumultuous mind calmed and cooled in her presence, the fond smiles he reserved only for her. In madness, his tenderness persisted. And it was for that reason she could not allow the sea to claim him. Teselin needed a brother, and Hadwin needed a sister. In spite of their disparate backgrounds, they came together, and supported each other. It could not end in so much heartbreak. And Bronwyn...she could not lose another family member to suicide, however little respect they harbored, as true brother and sister.
So she ran, because it was all she could do. She ran...until she wasn’t running, anymore. It was a moment too late when she noticed she’d been plucked from the ground by some invisible hand and hurled from the cliffside, slamming into a huddled-up bundle of rocks. She couldn’t even catalogue the extent of her injuries beyond surface scraps and small gashes, let alone comprehend what had just happened, when another body hurtled into her lap, very much alive.
“Hadwin!” She supported the conscious and uninjured--insofar as he hadn’t received new bumps and bruises--faoladh, dazed from the unexpected direction of his flight. Beside him, Teselin, the one person who knew exactly what was transpiring before them, because she’d done something similar in the tavern, early that afternoon.
“Teselin...what’s...what’s…” The wind shrieked terribly, like it meant to peel the vulnerable city off the cliff. Accompanied by horrific blasts of thunder and peels of lightning, she couldn’t determine if the sky was rumbling the ground, or if the ground was creating the thunder. In the end, the distinction didn’t matter, if its purpose to destroy amounted to the same. “Teselin...you, you can stop, now,” she wavered, shaking the girl’s frail shoulder as if a bit of physical force would silence her magic. “Hadwin is safe. You’ve done it. It’s...this is too much. This will...this will destroy the city!”
Hadwin, shaking off the impact of his collision, lifted his shoulders from the ground, as much as the tree-bending gusts would allow, and in contrast to his sister, he calmly rested his steadying hands upon the summoner’s trembling wrists. “Teselin. I feel it. It’s overkill, but...I definitely feel it.” And there it was. A bit of clarity. An eye in the middle of the storm. A dose of irreverent, fatalistic humor. Teselin’s enormous, apocalyptic gesture had not gone unrecognized by her audience. But it was a small win, a veritable deal with the devil, considering what they sacrificed for a crumb of Hadwin’s sanity. “A ghost would’ve let me die. But you...you saved me, kid. And raised hell to do it. So,” he supported the summoner to her feet, “let’s get out of hell.”
Between the slip-sliding earth and the storm-swirling sky, progress through the city proved impossible in places. The fractious earth and raging sea chipped pieces of cliffside away, sliding houses and their inhabitants into the unforgiving abyss below. The streets swarmed with terrified citizens, bowed into submission by the flattening wind. Roofs blew off cottages and obstructed the most direct escape routes. Small fissures spiderwebbed across the ground, crumbling homes from beneath the surface, reducing them to rubble. Lightning illuminated the sky at a constant, blinding pulse, washing out the evening in white-purple visions of world’s end. Fires erupted over the dying city, fanned by the wind and ignited by the cloying fingers of a vengeful sky god.
Bronwyn was not as graceful on human feet, and would have brushed through the fatal obstacle course with more finesse and speed if on four legs, but Hadwin was too weak to shake into his wolf skin, and even if able, they could not leave Teselin--though a large part of her wanted to leave the both of them behind. They were agents of chaos, a perfect duo of death and consequences. Hadwin juggled fire, but Teselin was fire. And he had ignited her. By continuing to associate with them, Bronwyn was invariably, irrevocably, damned...and peace of mind would never find her, again.
Carefulness and speed seldom shared the same continuum, but to navigate the multifaceted dangers of nearly every natural disaster converging upon a tiny target point, it required quick thinking, instinct, and creative problem-solving, qualities Bronwyn did not always possess. Fortunately, Hadwin, inspired by literal hell breaking loose, had answered his true calling--of sailing through shit--and directed them past dead-ends, or the literal dead, beneath burning archways, and through side streets best shielded from the wind and the lightning. It was a slog, but with Bronwyn’s leadership, and Hadwin’s cooperation and survivalistic expertise, they arrived at the edge of the forest where the Night steeds whinnied their terrific cries of horror, synchronizing with the still-fresh memory of Apelrade’s inhabitants screaming their death knells before sundering to one of the four--or all of the four--elements at their most unforgiving.
Casting aside all but the most relevant of thoughts--namely, not to die--Bronwyn flung her weight on a Night steed, loosened the reins off its anchoring tree, and, waiting for the harbinger of destruction and her accomplice in madness to mount, sped off in some vague direction. There was no need to follow a pre-established course when their only compass pointed far, far away from Vilselt, the sea, precarious cliffs, or easy access to the sky. They plummeted into the forests, lightning spiraling over their heads and the earth below swimming in ripples like the path of two, jealous drunken lovers relentlessly pursuing their quarry. Will this ever end!? Is...is this the end? Not just for us, but for humanity? The world? Bronwyn’s foreboding proselytizations of certain doom threatened to worry her into near-hysteria. Run run run run. To stop was to die. Run run run run. How long could they outrun it? How long would it chase them? Forever? Was it futile? Should they just accept their fate and dedicate their deaths to the vultures of thunder, circling in updrafts from above, ready to swoop down and feast?
At some time before dawn, they’d at last outmaneuvered Teselin’s inexhaustive parade of nightmares. Deeming it safe enough to settle down for the day, they reined the horses to a standstill and dismounted. It was not a moment too soon; Hadwin, exhaustion finally settling into his beleaguered and damaged body, fell off the steed and collapsed onto the forest floor, knocked-out unconscious.
“He’s not dead, Teselin!” Bronwyn found herself shrieking in a panic as she dismounted her steed and ran to her brother’s side to check his pulse. “See? He’s breathing. He fainted, is all. No need for anything--” She swallowed her last word. Drastic. Eliminating a city and its innocents was merely drastic? When would she be the next victim of Teselin’s emotional maelstrom? When would it return?
Guiltily avoiding eye contact with the summoner, the eldest Kavanagh sibling gently hauled her brother to the clearing where they would set up camp for the day, minding his wounds, some of which hadn’t yet healed, and some which had reopened in the jostle of life or death getaway. “He has a fever. This is a good thing,” she snorted. “Maybe this will guarantee he’ll stay unconscious and importantly, still, while he recovers. We may have to stay here a few days so he’ll be fit for travel.”
Together, they redressed Hadwin’s wounds, erected a tent, and tucked him inside with a blanket and a canteen full of water in case he awoke intermittently, his mouth parched and screaming for hydration. Outside, they prepared a fire, pulled out some cooking implements from Bronwyn’s saddlebags, and threw some ingredients in a pot to make a meatless stew. With the dried vegetables Queen Lilica’s attendants had arranged for their traveling kit, there was plenty to use for a substantial meal. She was no cook--that peculiar accolade belonged to her unconscious brother--but she had the confidence to know that stew was a matter of throwing items into a pot and stirring it under an open fire. Despite the shock that still rattled her from hours ago, she could handle the task.
At least, she thought she could. But in midst of cooking their breakfast, she could stay silent no longer. If it would help her to move past the experience, she needed an explanation. She’d never receive closure, but understanding the nature of Teselin’s magical beast was the closest she would reach to an answer. Dreading the response, and keeping her field of vision to the bubbling pot and nowhere else, Bronwyn asked the question neither wanted to acknowledge, but which they could not ignore. For, to ignore the tragic events that occurred in Apelrade was about as bad as denying they ever happened. To Teselin’s credit, she gave a detailed response, alluding to another, similar encounter; a town erased by lightning from the girl’s volatile, emotionally-vulnerable magic. It reminded her of a faoladh’s Sight, but on a grossly disproportionate scale. A faoladh’s loss of control of their reigning emotion did not amount to so much...devastation. While she couldn’t exactly fault the girl for having the misfortune of inheriting more magic than any mage could rightly wield, it did not help Bronwyn to partition the person from the deed. Teselin had done it. She had done it before. She did it last night. ...She would do it again. Intentional or unintentional, the girl was a danger to society. No wonder why Hadwin warmed to her. Chaos attracted chaos--and Bronwyn was caught in the middle of an unholy trinity of mayhem: Teselin, Hadwin, Rowen--Magic, Madness, Murder.
“I...I see.” Her hand stopped stirring the pot. She stared deeply into the well of steaming, floating vegetables, unsure of what else to say. After all, she was inclined to agree with Teselin. She was an unwitting enemy to humanity, to the fabric and order of the world. Perhaps she’d be better off detained, or dead. Yet…
“I know one person who would be pretty upset if you chose to give up on yourself.” She craned her head to look at the tent, and the sleeping form inside it. “Till the end, you never gave up on him. And he...if my Sight is any comfort...he’ll remain forever loyal to you. We’ve lost a lot of lives. The people who helped us. Ammaline,” she muttered, almost dropping her spoon into the pot. “But you haven’t lost each other. He really does love you. I’ve seen it. Maybe it’s not enough, after what you traded for his survival. If I would have known the repercussions...I’d have let him die. He’s too irredeemable in my eyes, even with my Sight. Not worth the people who died so he could live. However,” she heaved a tired, tired sigh, “I’m not so morally righteous. Not enough to condemn people for their sins, or weigh the worth of people on a scale. I know I would let Rowen continue to sow destruction if it would ensure her own life. She could drown all of Galeyn in the blood of her victims, and I...I doubt I’d be able to turn my back on her. This is where I can relate, Teselin. You saved the person most important to you. You...you saved my brother. So,” she raised her eyes, and at last, established eye contact with the shaken summoner, “thank you. Yes, the two of you will have to live with the consequences, but as long as you live, there’s...there’s hope for you, both.”
And I’ve just fucked the world over, the cynical side of her mind lamented.
“So please, Teselin,” she nodded to the pot of stew, now ready for consumption, “let’s eat. We’ll eat, and we’ll dress your wounds. That’s how we can honor Ammaline’s memory; by taking care of our bodies, and healing.”
Hadwin drifted in and out of consciousness for the next two days, but neither Bronwyn nor Teselin gave him time to process any pertinent information before forcing him to eat stews and drink water. They managed and moderated his fever by wrapping his head in cool rags and applying some Night Garden salves on his infections to expedite the awakening of his own, natural healing process. By the third day, his fever broke, his body having built enough strength to jumpstart his faoladh’s curative properties. All wounds vanished, but the scars did not fade--a physical stigma, a reminder, of what madness had wrought on his body. The burn-brand on his palm changed the pigment of his skin into a hook-shaped, port-wine stain. The nicks and gashes on his arms and torso tattooed him with a litany of jagged shapes and raised lines. It was a look that Bronwyn surmised would meet his approval.
As before, Teselin seldom left his side, except to relieve herself or contribute her share of the chores around camp. On the eve of the third night, Hadwin, at last, blinked into full consciousness, to find his surroundings had again, shifted--but that some things stayed constant. Teselin sat to his right, eyes bleary from lack of sleep, holding his hand. Slowly, he shifted to an upright position, clutching his head with his opposite hand as he did so.
“This is real.” His voice, scratchy from disuse and dehydration, rasped in his throat. “It’s real...I can see your fears, again. I couldn’t, before, but,” he lightly drummed his fingers against his temple, “I’ve got the headache to prove it.” His split, chapped lips spread into a smile. “I’ll take it, Tes. Ah….I,” he ruffled his bed-head of hair, his gold eyes pinched with guilt, “I remember. What happened. I’m...shit, for doing that. For making you...fuck, I’m just shit. You care about me that much, huh? Well, then...I guess I’m here to stay. You’ve deemed it so, so it’ll be done. But kid,” he looked into her broken eyes, “I’ll understand if you want nothing to do with me, anymore. I went too far off the edge...I’m no good for you. Hells,” he chuckled without humor, “I wanted to prevent this, to be your buffer. To not...to do it right...And it turns out I’m the cause of...I’m the cause. Ironic. Repeating history really likes to fuck me over...and I play right into its hands like a fiddle. I ruin all the good things. That’s what I do. But you...you’re not ruined at all. You’re more than...what I deserve and...ah, fuck it. C’mere.”
He swung his arm around her shoulders and pulled the waif-girl close, in a near-smothering hug. Unbidden, tears bubbled over his closed eyelids, changing the consistency of his usually self-assured, cocksure candor. “Thank you, Teselin. And I’m sorry. Dammit, I’m sorry.” And the unflappable Hadwin Kavanagh, who hadn’t cried in earnest since his mother’s death, who always chose laughter to mask the pain and the fear, wept openly in the presence of the girl who loved him enough to destroy a city.
Bronwyn was terrified; of her, of what had happened, of why it had happened, and of the possibility that it might well happen again. Teselin did not need Hadwins’s fear Sight to be aware of the way and the reason for which his sister’s demeanor toward her had completely shifted since the night before. The woman was shaken, confused, and completely on edge in her presence, in the aftermath of the storm (quite a literal storm) that she had attracted. Fortunately, that storm had not followed them, but the fear continued to cling to their skin like a parasite, and it was most obvious around Bronwyn.
She didn’t avoid the young summoner; that much was impossible, when Hadwin, who’d succumbed to unconsciousness as a result of his injuries, was not able to lend a hand in setting up a temporary camp. The women had to work together out of sheer necessity of setting up the tent, starting a fire, and tending to the unconscious faoladh, who was suffering the healing fire of a fever. While for anyone else, this would be grounds for concern, Teselin was actually relieved that Hadwin’s body was finally picking up the slack and burning away whatever infection and malady remained, but it also meant enduring the awkward silence and avoidant gaze of Bronwyn, as the pair worked on what was necessary to maintain their own survival until their charge was ready to travel again.
Teselin was grateful for the busy work, as it made the silence a little bit less foreboding, and took her mind off of what Bronwyn was no doubt thinking of her: that she was out of control. A danger to any and all, unable to grasp the onset, the severity, and the endurance of the chaos that bloomed in her presence. It was obvious from the moment Hadwin had fallen off of the Night steed, and his sister, completely in a panic, reassured Teselin that he was alright, and that there was no need to overreact. But there was only so much that could be accomplished under a blanket of silence, and when at last it was imperative that they sit down and eat a meal of stewed vegetables and herbs, the faoladh woman finally decided it was time to address the topic they had both been avoiding, for the sake of her own understanding. Teselin did not blame her; after what she had witnessed, and knowing it was tied to the young summoner, anyone would be bursting at the seams with questions. Namely… Bronwyn more than likely wished to devise ways in which she could stay safe around this storm-bringer, for the duration of their travels. And, if she were being very honest… Teselin wasn’t sure that that was even possible.
To her credit, the faoladh woman kept her fear and incredulity relatively maintained. It was painfully obvious that the young summoner wallowed in guilt, not only for what had recently happened, but for the tragedy she had incited in Stengahrd. She was regret, incarnate, and could not refute a single suspicion or fear that possibly crossed Bronwyn’s mind. Nonetheless, Bronwyn managed to keep any accusations or guilt finger-pointing to herself… although whether that gesture was out of respect, or out of sheer terror was anyone’s guess.
“You know… it’s alright. To think I’m terrible; to hold me responsible for everyone who’s… for Apelrade…” The young summoner’s dark eyes did not avert from the flames. It was therapeutic, somehow, staring into a fire that she rightly knew she hadn’t unintentionally caused. Not to mention, it was preferable than meeting Bronwyn’s fear-stricken eyes… “I know what I’ve done, and what I am capable of. It’s the reason I went in search of my brother, in the first place. He is a necromancer, and was also forced to master his own overreaching power… I thought he could help me. It turns out, he cannot; and I’m not sure anyone can. But Hadwin… to Hadwin’s credit, he tried. He has tried so hard, for me. And you’re right; he wouldn’t want me to give up.” Her lips stretched into a small smile, albeit a sad one. “He’s believed in me this entire time. He’s tried to help me, but…”
She trailed off. There was no use in explaining his well-intentioned efforts had been futile; even in the midst of that storm, when he had touched her wrists and for a moment, returned to himself, it hadn’t been enough to shut off the detrimental energies she had been attracting. Vitali could not help her; Hadwin could not help her. Even Alster Rigas, who was no stranger to magic that was prone to going array, could help her. What she was capable of was far too great for any mortal being to grasp, or to tame. It was too big for her; and maybe… maybe it was time to admit that there was no help to be had.
“...I sacrificed a lot of lives to preserve Hadwin’s. And even though I lost control, I… I cannot even claim that it was unintentional. Because just as you’d have let him die, I’d have forced him to live. If I am being honest, had it been up to me--I’d have done it. And for Hadwin… I would probably do it all over again. Because he deserves to live. He has suffered, and for a while, it looked as though he’d actually found happiness. Not just with me, but also a woman named Briery, who was just as willing to accept him for who he was as I am. It was real, Bronwyn; the happiness I saw for him… it was real. And I want him to find it again.” Teselin sighed, her entire small body appearing to deflate and lean forward. “So I understand why you feel the way you do about Rowen. She is your sister; and you have seen her at her best. And if she is suffering the same madness that Hadwin experienced, and if it is possible to reverse what ails her and return her to the sister you know… then I agree, she deserves it. She has killed, and intentionally, but lives have also ended as a result of my magic--and I have been given chance after chance. If I deserve it--which I am not sure I do--then so does she. I do not think you are in the wrong. Others may think Rowen to be irredeemable… just like you think Hadwin possibly is. But if I’ve learned anything, since meeting him, it is that all it takes is one person to believe in you to validate your existence. Just one person…”
She had told Hadwin time and again, and in so many words, that he couldn’t die; and that she needed him, because aside from that single point in time when Vitali had helped her when she had been very young, the chaotic faoladh had been the only person she’d ever met who sought to validate her. To make her feel that she was not hopeless, but that regardless of her magic and the terrible predicaments it so often caused, she deserved to keep trying, to keep searching for that control she so desired, that might one day allow her to live a stable life. For that, she, too, owed it to him to stay alive… except, it was not a promise she was sure she could keep. Not forever.
“Look… I get it. You’re afraid of me; and you should be. Hell, I am afraid of me, and Hadwin knows it. He tried to help me, to show me that I do not have to become my fears. But you’ve already witnessed what could happen. You know full well how much it is beyond my control… once it starts, I don’t know how to stop it. And those times when I want to make something happen--like what occurred at that tavern… it was luck. It’s always just luck, good or bad.” Pulling her knees to her chest, she rested her chin atop them and closed her eyes. “After Stengahrd… after I managed to escape, I thought about going back. Even though I pushed on to Stella D’Mare, where I thought I would find my brother, I thought about what I did, and that it is possible the only way to stop it would be to… to stop me. Forever.”
One hand drifted to the small satchel attached to her waist, where she still carried the enchanted Mollengardian manacle. “I’m a coward, though. Short of submitting to the execution… I didn’t really know, until recently, how I would stop myself. When I made it to Stella D’Mare, and realized how badly magical suppression affects me, well… I don’t know how long it would take. Maybe a couples days, maybe more, by the time my body succumbs to fever or whatever else it might cause. But I’m holding onto that shackle for a reason. Because if it were ever to come down to protecting the people I care about, from me… then I know what I have to do. And I’ll do it, when it matters most. So, what I am trying to say is… ” Looking up, she met Bronwyn’s suspicious eyes with a sad smile. “If it comes down to it--and one day, I am sure that it will… I know what I have to do. Just...” Her smile faded around the edges. “Please, do not speak of this to anyone in Stella D’Mare. I do not intend to keep it a secret, but… now is not the time. I’d like to tell them on my own, when the time is right. I am not sure that I deserve it, but… your silence would mean the world to me.”
She wasn’t sure that Bronwyn had forgiven her, or ever would after what she witnessed, in the days that passed. Nor was she was any less afraid of her, but the two continued to work together in the days that passed to care for their shared charge. Hadwin continued to sleep in long intervals as his body steadily recovered from the abuse his body had suffered, and in the event that history repeated, and he were to suddenly take off in a madness-driven need to escape, they determined that one of them need always keep an eye on him. The momentary lucidity he’d exhibited the night they'd fled was not enough to convince them he was in the clear of being considered a flight risk, and after the terrible consequences that ensued after chasing him the last time… it simply wasn't a risk that either of them was willing to take. Bronwyn spent her fair share of time watching over her brother while Teselin rested, but it was the young summoner who spent the majority of time in the small then they'd erected for the recovering faoladh. Given what she had done, what had been sacrificed to secure his life and safety, she was not about to risk another magically-induced natural disaster.
She held his hand, whenever she sat next to his makeshift cot of blankets to shield his body from the cold ground. Sometimes, when he woke for short intervals, she felt he might have been vaguely aware that she was there; that he wasn't alone. But it wasn't until he finally stirred, sat up, and spoke to her that she knew for sure: he was coming back. Returning to himself, to the Hadwin she knew and loved.
"Yes--this is real, Hadwin. It always has been." She smiled and squeezed his hand, seeing the clarity sparkle in his golden eyes. "You're safe; and I'm here. And Bronwyn is here, but she… she is a little hesitant to be around you, right now. In case you try and attack her again… I think it is high time you smooth things out between the two of you. Because now you have that chance. And, between the two of you… maybe you can even reach Rowen.”
It was difficult at first to discern if Hadwin was crying. Often, he was the type to laugh so hard that tears would spring to his eyes, anyway. But when he gathered her in his arms and pulled her against his body, which had grown worryingly thing during his time spent in that cell and then convalescing, she could feel his chest heave and his shoulders shake. Could hear his intake of breath, and feel the tears dampen her clothes. Hadwin, the one person whom she never thought could possibly weep for sadness, was crying.
“...you know I am dangerous, Hadwin. You’ve known for a long time. But you still chose to believe in me.” The young summoner wrapped her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek to his chest. “And I’ve realized… that’s all it takes, to be worthy. To have just one person believe in you. You’ve always believed in me, and I have never given up on you… and I never will. So of course I came to find you. You saved me from Mollengard; I will never forget that. I’ll never forget anything you’ve done for me.” Teselin smiled as fresh tears leaked from her own eyes. “All this time, I thought finding Vitali was the answer, but I’ve had the support I need all along. I’ve had you all along, since I arrived in Stella D’Mare. I’m sorry… I’m sorry that it took me so long to realize this. That I just needed you. But… I am not the only person who needs you.”
Gently pulling away from his body, she took Hadwin’s tear-streaked face in her hands and met his eyes. “Rowen needs you. She needs you and Bronwyn. You can help her overcome her madness, and then she will no longer be under Locque’s sway. So we need to get the two of you back to Galeyn. To reunite your pack; that is what you all need. I… I am a different story. Hadwin…” She turned her sad, dark eyes to her lap as she folded her hands there. “Like I said… I am dangerous. You know that; now Bronwyn knows it, too. Whatever Mollengard did to me, it has made my magic more unstable, and… I do not think it is going to get better, from here on out. It is only going to get worse. And I need to start thinking responsibly. What happened to Apelrade… I’d do it again. To save you, I would do it all over again, because that is what you mean to me. But I will not put you or anyone I care about in danger. And I’m aware… I am aware that this means there will one day come a time when I’m forced to part ways with you. And when that happens, I want to first make sure that you have Rowen back--that you’ll have your family. Because what do we really have, if not family and friends?”
Teselin wiped the tears from his face with the back of her hand. “So, for now… I need you to get better. Drink plenty, and eat something, so that we can return to Galeyn and make things right with your family. And in the meantime… just stay with me, okay? No more running off. I can’t lose you; I don’t want to lose you, and… hell, Queen Lilica herself gave us the Night steeds and sanctioned this search. You still matter. And don’t let anything or anyone make you think otherwise.”
Hadwin could not pinpoint the exact moment when his mind had failed him. Between Galeyn and his chosen destination of Vilselt--specifically, Apelrade, a city famed for its underground gambling scene--he’d gathered a few more dissenting voices to wish him all the worst in his solo adventures. For the most part, they manifested as voices, but sometimes, they commanded limited control over a corporeal form, shadows that crouched in his periphery and stared outwards with hooded eyes and pinioned smiles. He was used to the vitriol they spewed; repetitious, unremarkable, patently uncreative or evocative. They could seldom outperform the original haunt. Fiona was a consistent fixture in her son’s life. In the eight years since her suicide, she’d erected a platform beside Hadwin’s inner ear and pontificated on the merits of his demise. Every day, she invited him to die. And every day, he told her, in colorful terms, exactly where she could stuff her invitation. Sometimes, she succeeded in penetrating his shield of indifference. For all his bluster, Hadwin was not heartless. It was during these self-reflections on his morality where she pounced the hardest, snapping her cut-glass teeth into his throat. You’re toxic. You’re weak. You’ll fail because you bring nothing to the world but disaster.
For eight years, he held the ghost of Fiona at bay, until she took advantage of his gaping vulnerability, wrenched wide open by Rowen’s quadruple-homicide, to gather accomplices. In short order, she trained them to spout the same rhetoric in a staggering assault on his senses. She cycled through them all; Cwenha, blood gushing down her lacerated throat, who gurgled her hatred and her blame; Briery, moon-cursed in a different sense, with clumps of the Red staining her trembling thighs, betrayal intermixing with her tears; Rowen, her rusty dagger aiming for his heart, for it was his heart that contributed to her destruction; and even Chief Orin, his loveless eyes penetrating, as he announced to all the world; I have no son. Instead of biting back, as he’d always done when attacked, Hadwin lowered his fists and opened himself to the manifold assault. Beat me ‘till I’m dead. If it’s what will satisfy you...I’m yours.
They accepted his summons with glee and gutted him from the inside, stripping away essential materials, vandalizing the parts they deemed undesirable, and looting the most valuable components of his identity, his freedom, Outside, he was the personhood that fronted as Hadwin Kavanagh, but inside, the collective hivemind had fully usurped his mind, and he operated on nothing else but fear and the desire to die.
He couldn’t even remember the steps he had taken that resulted in his fatal incarceration. He’d vaguely recalled prizefighting and his involvement with an affluent, older woman. The...the Queen. Yes, that would make sense. He’d warmed the Queen’s bed, and the King discovered their tryst. The Queen created an opening for his escape. But he didn’t run. He vaulted straight into danger, straight into death, as planned. The guards overwhelmed him with spears and chains. Subjugated and subdued him. He fought, but not to win. That was never his intention. His winning days were over. The guards beat him, but the beatings did not leave an imprint. In frustration, they locked him away, depriving him of food, water, and the sun. He didn’t mind his slow, wasting method of execution. Dead was dead. The ghosts preened. They were happy. Proud.
There’s nothing left for you here, Hadwin, they said in unison. Everyone is dead. We’re all dead. This world is just a farce. We’ve finally liberated you from it. Now, you only need to take this final plunge. Die, and then, you will be free.
Free…
The doors to his cell had opened, and light streamed through, revealing...Bronwyn!? And...Teselin.
Why? Why now? They hadn’t joined the other ghosts in their unanimous decision to drive him out of existence. Knowing Bronwyn, she would take the decision clean out of his hands and force him to cooperate with her inferior plans. And Teselin...wouldn’t want him to die alone. She’d appeared as an angel of death, prepared to kill him out of mercy, because she couldn’t bear to watch him do it to himself. They were rogue ghosts...and he had to get away from them, lest they ruin his necessary self-annihilation. Bronwyn would fight against his choices and Teselin would balk at her role as executioner. Sure enough, it happened. In the end, the only person responsible for his death...was Hadwin.
Then, the storm struck. Literally. Unmoored him from his feet. Blew him from the cliff’s edge. Teselin. It was Teselin. To save him, she would sacrifice an entire city. Because he was important to her. Because she was real, and he was real, and the world was real because he could feel it crumbling away at his fingertips and tearing in twain over his head. It figured that he’d witnessed the truth right as it unraveled into the abyss before his eyes.
This is a farce, the ghosts bellowed, incensed by the shift in events. A farce! Do you believe what you see? This storm is for you. She summoned it to destroy you!
No! He bellowed back at the voices. She’d never do that!
And how can you be so sure? Look around you!
I’m sure...because we look after each other. She’s looking after me. She doesn’t want me to die. She fucking chose me over this whole damn, doomed city! There’s no arguing that!
For the first time since his flight from Galeyn, the voices had ceased their jabbering. They hadn’t regained purchase. To be sure, he smoothed out the rockface, eliminated all handholds. If the ghosts wanted to resume their positioning on the left side of his shoulder, they would have to fight to reach the top. If you ever think you and your cheap words and your cheap tricks have more sway over this girl, then fuck off! You don’t--they don’t! You caught me at a bad time; I let you win. ...That’s over.
Because I can’t give up, now. Not after what she’s done for me.
“Kid...I’m already crying. You’re gonna make me bust a leak out of my side and then I’ll never stop,” he slapped her shoulder playfully, as though to admonish her. “You’ve got me speechless. Damn. If only I’d come to you instead of turning tail. If I had done that, to start...The onus is on me. Teselin,” he pressed his fingers to the underside of her chin and tilted her face, directing her to look into his tear-stained eyes, “I’m sharing the responsibility. You were doing so well and then I flounced, made you worry, forced you to act in duress. Since when does anyone make good decisions when they’re put under pressure? What you did...this isn’t something you’re going to shoulder alone. You didn’t operate out of a void. You did it to save me. My survival is built on the backs of those who’ve I’ve drowned so I can stay afloat; I’ve been doing it for years. This is just on a larger scale. Besides, people blame me for shit all the time, and I’m used to it...so why not add Apelrade to the list? No sweat off my back.”
Amid his tears, a roguish grin lifted the sag in his eyes. “So none of that, okay? You don’t have to worry about me anymore, kid. You’re dangerous, true, but not intentionally. Besides, I love danger. I’ll survive whatever you throw at me. Really, you couldn’t ask for a better person to stay with you, till the end. Because you’re damn right, scamp; I believe in you.” He patted her arm, an arm he could feel. She shivered from an internal cold. He squeezed closer to ensure he spread his warmth. Without fur, it lacked in coverage and comfort, but she didn’t seem to mind. He didn’t mind, either; he leaned into the touch, relieved to feel, again. She was not a ghost. The world was salient; tangible. He could interact with the people he loved; they were well within his reach. At least...Teselin was in his reach. “And there’s a way for you, yet. If you found a way for me, wretch that I am, then sure as shit, you’re not done for, either. I’m not taking no for an answer,” he barked a mock reprimand. “I’m with you...and I won’t forget. I won’t lose to myself, again. That’s my promise to you, but I need you to promise me...you’re not giving up, either, alright?”
He stared at her so intensely, he didn’t blink, determined to maintain eye contact until the discomfort of his eyes drove her to respond in the affirmative. “Good. Now whether you meant that ‘yes’ or not is another story. We’ll work on it. Now,” he stretched out his arms, casually observing the mess of scars crisscrossing over his skin, “about...Bronwyn.” His nose twitched, as if smelling something sour. “Fuck--she’s real? I was really hoping I’d hallucinated her. Gonna have to see this for myself. Not that I don’t trust you, but,” he opted for a titter of a laugh as he wiped the lingering tears from his eyes, “is it any wonder I don’t trust my senses, at this rate?”
After she bade Hadwin wait in the tent, the summoner rose to fetch the faoladh, who was outside, tending the campfire. Moments later, the canvas flaps slid aside to reveal Teselin with a tall, curly-headed woman, wearing the biggest stink-face he’d ever seen.
“Brownling...it is you.” To finalize his confirmations, he crawled forward and delivered a poke to her arm. A spongy, distinctly skin-like texture rubbed against his fingertip. “Well, you pass my rigorous assessment. In the flesh, huh? The fuck are you doing here?”
“Don’t go on pretending you didn’t cause me--and Teselin, here--” she cast a wary look at the summoner, “a great deal of trouble and grief at your expense. You don’t know...you don’t know the half of what I’ve been through, getting your sorry carcass out of hell and beyond!”
“I can wager a guess,” came his flippant response. He flicked his fear-scrying eyes upward, and nodded. “Much obliged.”
Her mouth twisted into a rictus of rage. “That’s all I get from you? A sterile nothing of a ‘thank you’?!”
"‘Cmon, Bron; if you want to extract out of me every single time I should be grateful for your indispensable assistance, we’ll be here all evening. Looks like we’re stuck together, anyway. The weather is fair; it’s on our side.”
“You threw a fire poker at me. I almost jumped off a cliff for you! I,” she tightened her hands into fists, “punched the daylights out of the innkeeper so he could tell us where you were!”
“What!?” His demeanor brightened into an amused grin. “You socked Ol’ Pete?”
“This is what you fixate on?!”
“Please, Bron,” he pretended to clean his ear of residual wax. “Keep it to a dull roar. Recovering patient. I’ve got quite the headache. My mind’s all fragmented, remember?”
“I’ve had a headache since stepping into Galeyn and getting tackled by a blonde-haired behemoth! So please, spare me your ailments and your excuses.”
“To be fair...madness is a good excuse. But,” he held up a finger before his dear sister burst all the blood vessels in her very red face, “it doesn’t mean I’m innocent. Far from it. The kid here’s shown me the error of my ways. So, Bronwyn,” he dipped his head, “…thank you. For, you know, dealing with my shit. And its consequences.”
“I…” Flustered from his upfront, no-frills apology, she offered a dazed nod in return. “...you’re welcome, I suppose.”
“Now that that’s done and over with,” he eagerly leaned forward, hands resting on his knees, “Sigrid tackled you? What kind of tackle we’re talking ‘bout, here?” He winked. “Bronwyn, spill! I need details. Start from the beginning--why were you in Galeyn? Hells, why are you out and about and not sitting at Chief’s feet, licking his boots?”
“I will ignore this comment, Hadwin,” she said, her mouth curling dangerously. “This is about Rowen. Chief sent me to look for her. When...when Mollengard attacked Collcreagh, we were separated from her, and--”
“--Say no more, Bron. Damn, Clan Kavanagh sure as hell fucked up, sending you to find our sister. I’ve been on top of it for months, already. Tell me,” he leaned a hand against his cheek, infuriating smirk on his face, “how long have you been at it? Let me guess--a year? And no leads at all?”
“I had leads! You!” She pointed accusingly. “You leave a bleeding mess wherever you go!”
“Glad to be of service to you, Brownling. Without me and my sloppy seconds, however would you have managed to stop spinning around in circles?”
Bronwyn, fuming too much to stand still, nearly vaulted at him, fists flying, if not for Teselin’s mediating presence informing them to act civil with each other. Cooperation was a necessity if they wanted to rescue Rowen from her own bout of faoladh madness.
“Of course, Tes. Of course.” He inclined his head to dissect Bronwyn from a different perspective. “Brownling’s got her uses. She’s literally Rowen’s counter, and Rowen knows it. She’ll want to avoid you, Bron. Though I’m sure she’s more than happy for another shield standing in between her and all the people who want to off her.”
“Fortunately, there is one fewer person to worry about.” Bronwyn, reluctantly aiding in their coalition, lowered to the ground, but neared neither Teselin or her brother. She stayed to her own corner, arms crossed. “Queen Lilica is sparing Rowen her life. Sigrid did not take well to the news, and she’s left Galeyn.”
“Yeah, that’ll make things easier, I’d say.” Hadwin idly cracked his knuckles against his palm. “But not by much. If that sorceress is worth her salt, then she’s setting up her glamours to conceal herself and her charge from detection. Lucky for us, glamours don’t mask smells and scents. They’re probably anticipating that, though, so no doubt there’s traps out there tailor-made for us. Whatever the case,” he transferred the cracking to his neck, side to side, “we’re gonna have to act in full concordance with the Galeyn council’s wishes. Hard to tiptoe around their ever-watchful eye, now. Especially with Papa Sorde scouring the land with his merry band of Forbanne misfits.” He spread his mouth wide, into a yawn. “Believe it or not, Bron, I had Galeyn’s trust for a while, but my good standing’s pretty much shot. So first thing’s first, when we get back to Galeyn...I might have to do some ass-kissing.”
“‘When we’...so,” she cast her brother a suspicious look, “I can count on you, Hadwin? You’re not going to head for the hills and abandon everyone?”
“Fat lot of good it did anyone, before. Or me,” he sighed, and an underpinning of regret saturated his sentiments. “‘Sides, you and Tes will just drag me back. I’m in it for Rowen. Like you, Bron. And,” he laid an affectionate punch on Teselin’s lap, “you got me for life, chickadee. So we’re all in this together. But,” he clapped his hands, brushing them in rhythmic, circular patterns, “I’ve got a few demands, before we make our grand reentrance to Galeyn.”
If Bronwyn had the ability to conjure magic, lightning bolts would be shooting out of her eyeballs. “Demands?”
“I haven’t seen my reflection, lately, but I know I look like absolute shit, and that just won’t do. So let’s take the coin Queen Lilica has so generously provided us, go to town, have a few overdue, overlarge meals, get a nice, soapy bath, a new wardrobe...yeah?”
“Do I even need to list the reasons why that is a horrid idea? And a wasteful one?”
“No; your fear says it all. Both of your fears--which are the same, might I add.” He turned his encouraging gaze to Teselin. “We can’t avoid civilization. We’ll be headed to Galeyn, regardless. A short, uneventful stop at a town is going to benefit us all. Clean off our palates. Refreshen us for the next part of our journey. Let’s face it; we’re going to need it. A transition point, y’know? A little boost to the morale. We walk into Galeyn with the wrong mindset and we’re already defeated.”
Bronwyn had been right. Deep down, Teselin had known she was right. Hadwin would not want her to give up, no matter what the consequences or the stakes; not after she had saved his life and reminded him that he, himself, needed to pull through for those who continued to believe in him. So why, then, did she have the privilege of decided that it played out differently for her? When he so deeply believed in her? Because I am dangerous. Because people have died because of me. Because people will die again, and I don’t know that I will be able to stop it… I don’t know that I will ever be able to stop myself. “It was bound to happen again.” She said softly, staring intently at her lap. “I was… my magic was bound to kill, again. This isn’t on you. If you hadn’t been the catalyst, Hadwin, someone else surely would have been… I am a disaster waiting to happen, again and again. I don’t know that there is anything that can change that…” She squeezed her eyes shut, but tears still found a way between the cracks in her lids. “Two cities… I have single-handedly brought down two cities all by myself, Hadwin, and without any ill intent. Death settles in my footsteps. I’m dangerous, and I don’t… I don’t want you to be next. I don’t want you to be caught up in my storm, one day, because I love you too much, but I don’t know that that love will suffice to protect you. I just don’t know…”
Hadwin wouldn’t budge. And she couldn’t expect him to; not in the vulnerable state it was in, crying and clinging to her like she was his lifeline (and she supposed, in a way, she was; or at least, she had been). She couldn’t show up as a constant in his life and then declare that she may no longer be, one day. And after everything she had sacrificed to get him back… perhaps the threat of one day withdrawing was not the best topic of conversation. It did not leave the back of her mind as a possibility; and if ever she put Hadwin in danger by virtue of her mere existence, she would remove herself before it was too late. But for the time being… Even if there was no hope for her, it was best to entertain the idea that there still might be. For Hadwin’s sake.
“Alright… maybe you’re right. Maybe there still is a solution for me. One I haven’t found yet.” The young summoner conceded, and leaned into his warmth. She’d been cold for days, and it transcended the crisp autumn air. The bonfires she and Bronwyn had kept going did little to alleviate the chill in the marrow of her bones. It often kept her up at night, along with memories of the screaming, terrified citizens of Apelrade. And the echos of those who had fallen to the might of her magic in Stengahrd, just a year before… “If you still believe in me--as foolish as that might be… I owe it to you to stay. Just like you owe it to me to stay.’
At his mention of his sister, Teselin was worried she might find herself in the position of restraining the recovering faoladh from taking up arms with Bronwyn. It was more than just a little bit of a relief when he did not make a move to scuffle. “I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but… you owe it to Bronwyn that you are alive. At least, as much as you owe it to me.” She explained gently. “So yes--she is real, and she is here. I was able to find you because Tivia used her blood to locate you through your relation. And she agreed to help me; in fact… she was not all that difficult to convince, all things aside. So whatever bad blood exists between the two of you… well, now I see it as a good turning point. She helped save you, and you both have a common goal: to save Rowen. At least… I’d hope you will consider putting the past behind you, to the best of your ability. Wait here.”
Climbing to her feet, Teselin left the tent to retrieve Hadwin’s exhausted sister. She hadn’t shared too many words with the faoladh woman, in the days that had passed, but she knew enough that Bronwyn would want to know when her brother had regained his lucidity. There must have been a sliver of her heart that still cared for her brother; otherwise, she wouldn’t have ever cared to lose him, in the first place.
“Bronwyn… Hadwin is awake. And he is… well, he is himself.” She explained, when Bronwyn looked up from stoking the fire to acknowledge her. “He wants to… well, you should see him. To prove you’re real. He’s finally come around to believing that.”
Even while Bronwyn obliged her request without protest, the young summoner knew better than to leave the two to work things through alone. And she was right to be concerned.
“Listen to each other--just listen for a second,” she pleaded, when Bronwyn looked about ready to launch herself at her brother and knock him unconscious again. “You are on the same side! You both want the same thing: you want to help Rowen. And that is what we are going to do, but the both of you need to be in tact, because it is going to take the both of you to reach her. So please…” She put up her hands and expelled a long-suffering sigh. “Can you put the past behind you, all of the bad blood, and start looking to the future instead? We cannot change what happened; we can’t change the past, but we can change the future. And we can reach your sister before it’s too late…”
Fortunately for her, Bronwyn was not an unreasonable person, and Hadwin, to his credit, knew to step down when it mattered the most. The dust settled between the two siblings soon enough, Hadwin established to not just her, but the both of them that he intended not to run off again in the face of adversity, and suddenly, they were making plans to hit up the very next village they came upon--which, if she were being honest, was not an idea that appealed to Teselin at all. “Bronwyn is right--we probably shouldn’t waste the funds Queen Lilica was so kind to provide for us… It took us a week of travel upon Night Steed. And I had to forfeit a good deal of that coin just to ‘convince’ the guard who let us into your cell to point us in the direction of a healer…”
She knew he wouldn’t buy it, because she knew that he was well aware that wastefulness and the need to be frugal was not what put the young summoner off of the idea of venturing to another innocent, unsuspecting village. Part of her wondered if it was even safe for her to return to Galeyn, but she had promised Hadwin that she would persist. Leaving, or letting him go on without her, was not currently an option. “Maybe… just for a night. To get our bearings.” She conceded at last, though did not sound particularly happy about it. “But we shouldn’t linger. Rowen… well, you know, she works fast.” Teselin closed her eyes sadly, recalling the short span of time in which the young faoladh woman had managed to take four innocent lives in a heartbeat. “There is no telling what might have come to pass, in our absence. And now Especially now that Galeyn is short one of their more capable warriors…” She shook her head. “That was exactly what Rowen wanted, I’ll bet. To make Sigrid give up; to thin the wall of enemies facing her…”
The topic of the stricken Dawn Warrior, walking away from Galeyn empty and alone, brought to mind something Tivia had said, prior to Bronwyn and Teselin’s departure. A caution, it had sounded like, or… a warning. Sigrid will be returning. But she will be unrecognizable. What, then, would befall her? To change her beyond the point of recognition? This was not a premonition that Teselin could rightly allow to come to pass. Tivia had been right about Bronwyn; and she would be right about Sigrid. Unless someone stepped up and altered the course of the future, as it now unfolded. “...I need to find her. I am the reason she left; because I convinced Queen Lilica not no kill Rowen. And something… Tivia made mention that something is going to happen to her. And I promised Haraldur I would find a way to bring her back. When we return to Galeyn, I will leave Rowen to the both of you. It may be best that I am not immediately present, anyway; she seems threatened by me. Likely because I am close to you, Hadwin, in a way that she has not been for quite some time.” She flashed a weak, sad smile. “But I need… after what happened in Apelrade, I need to do something right. So I am going to find a means to retrieve Sigrid. I won’t let Locque divide and conquer. We cannot allow her to render us at our weakest. Which means, we need to work together--and stay together.” At that, she looked pointedly between the two siblings, who still maintained a healthy distance from one another. “And I do mean all of us.”
Teselin would be relieved to find that Galeyn had not plunged into chaos since she had departed with Bronwyn over a week ago, and no more casualties had turned up (thus far). Sigrid was long gone, without any indication of returning, and as the search for Rowen and Locque continued, Alster and Elespeth continued to recover safely in the sanctuary. Isidor had long since been dismissed, once he was stable and strong enough to eat and drink again, and had since returned to the palace to bask in his preferred solitude. Though he realized he had the option to return to the forests of Nairit (and part of him did long for his familiar tower), he hadn’t forgotten the offer he’d made to Alster, to work on his prosthetic arm to make it more functional and far less of a burden for the Rigas caster, and it seemed untoward to simply take off without making good on his word. So as soon as the Rigas lord was well again, they agreed to begin that discussion of what could be done, between the alchemist and the man who crafted the arm in the first place.
And that day--the day that Alster could be deemed ‘well’ again--was fast approaching, as was the case for his wife. By now, the former Atvanian warrior was not only feeling better, but she was reaching heights of stir-crazy that was even beginning to get on the healers’ nerves. Elespeth had returned to herself, autonomy and all, and had only been becoming more agitated at Daphni and Elias’s insistence that she continue to convalesce in bed. They’d finally allowed her daily walks through the Night Garden, and those walks had multiplied in number as she continued to put on weight and regain her strength. Unfortunately, when not accompanied by a Gardener (she often was, but could sometimes make the argument that it was safe without an escort since they always frequented the Night Garden anyway, she found herself taking these walks alone. And for the life of her, she could not understand why Alster, who seemed so happy to have her back and well again, would never accompany her.
At first, she suspected that perhaps he was simply not recovering as quickly as she was, but time and again, the healers and Gardeners seemed satisfied with the gradual return of his health. When she asked about his reluctance to climb out of bed, her husband would provide a throw-away excuse about being too tired, or suggesting they find an ‘alternative’ outlet for their energy. Finally came the day when those excuses wore on her, when she became determined to get what she wanted (and a quiet walk with her husband in a sacred garden was not too much to ask!), and she refused his ‘alternatives’ for the umpteenth time.
“Alster, there is not enough privacy in the world in this little wooden cage; we’re hardly left alone an hour without someone checking in on us.” Elespeth sighed as she paced the room, her eager limbs practically twitching with energy. “We’ve already tried twice, and got damn lucky that we still had our clothes on. Besides, you could really use some fresh air; you’re going to stagnate if you don’t stretch your muscles. It’s beautiful outside, and we’re safe in the garden, so… please? Oblige your long-suffering wife who is only starting to feel like herself again after the better part of a year?”
She pulled all the stops: the reasoning, the logic, the pleading, the hopeful eyes, and finally, finally, Alster agreed. Elespeth could have jumped for joy. “Perfect! I’ll get your boots; you know, you haven’t seen how Cwenha and Naimah’s memorial flora have been thriving. It’s amazing, how the seasons and the elements cannot lay a finger on the Night Garden…”
Grabbing his boots from the foot of his bed, Elespeth eagerly waited for the Rigas lord to swing his legs over the side of his cot and slip his feet into them, but still, he hesitated, as if he were actually weighing the pros and cons of going for a walk. And it just about got on Elespeth’s last nerve. “Alster…” She spoke his name on a breath, but that breath was cut short when he, in a decidedly guilty motion, pulled the covers away from his legs. And suddenly it all made sense.
“How did… when… Alster?” She couldn’t look away from his feet, which were each missing a little toe, counting only eight out of ten. For the first time in weeks, she felt the eagerness to move completely dissipate. “This… how long have you been hiding this? How did it happen, and why… why didn’t you say something?” The former knight raked her fingers through her hair, torn between feeling shock and anger and sadness. In the end, all three feelings yielded to complete and utter defeat, and she took a seat next to him on his cot.
“You know, now that the two of us technically share a heart… don’t you think it is high time there are no more secrets like this?” Shoulders slumped, Elespeth stared across the room at the vine-draped wall. “First your arm, now two toes… why are you disappearing, bit by bit? Does this mean I am on my way to one day losing you, completely?”
Aside from his required presence in the council chambers at Queen Lilica’s request, at which he traveled by wheeled contraption to stave off suspicion of his missing toes, Alster hadn’t ventured outside the sanctuary--much to the frustration of his long-suffering wife. In contrast to Elespeth and her stir-crazy attitude towards convalescence, he didn’t mind staying cooped inside for days or even weeks at a time. He considered it a reprieve, an overdue reunion with the woman who literally shared pieces of his heart. For a man who was constantly on the go, traveling across kingdoms, or even across one, probed for his knowledge, his leadership, and his magical-expertise (all aspects of himself which he lent out freely), it was calming to allow a moment to relax. It was a foreign concept, and one that he tried to cast aside, early on, but at the insistence of Elias, Daphni, and Chara, he reluctantly followed their advice and promised not to exert himself unnecessarily, or use magic in any capacity, until the healers deemed it safe to discharge him and his wife from the sanctuary. As the days elapsed, it actually grew easier to lay bedside and read, sleep off his ever-present fatigue, or, occasionally, entertain Vega and Haraldur’s infants, (which were starting to look less like shriveled pink bags as they slowly inflated from the inside to fill into their skin)--and Elespeth was the primary reason why.
To offset her rebellious energy, Alster countered her restlessness and adopted the role as model patient, in the hopes to set an example without blatantly lecturing her on how to recover. It didn’t exactly go as planned, but Elespeth, at least, understood that their approaches to bedrest differed. So whilst he remained indoors, she--accompanied by whatever Gardeners were on duty--took frequent walks around the Night Garden. Always, she asked him to join, citing that the fresh air and sun would be good for his heart, and they needed to feel like people again, a feat impossible to achieve as layabouts in bed. But he declined, referencing a book or some official D’Marian paperwork as excuses not to go. Disappointment set in her eyes, but she seldom pressed him any further.
Whenever she turned her back and closed the door, he would pull off his sheets and check the bandages around his left foot, tightening the gauze wrappings midfoot to secure the bottom and bunching the loose ends near the sole, to give off the illusion of five toes, instead of three. In close-quarters, his small deception would not pass a cursory inspection; bandages concealed wounds, but did a poor job of presenting, with confidence, a person free of ailment or affliction. The bandages were only for long-distance observation, and even then, Alster made sure no one caught a glimpse of his foot for more than several seconds at a time. If he needed to move out of bed, he did so at night, when eyes had sundered to sleep, or during the rare moments when he found himself alone in the sanctuary. In those rare moments, he practiced his gait, learning not to favor one foot over the other, and retraining his center of gravity, as well as his balance, to perform an untroubled walk that would neither raise questions or cause him to stumble and fall. Unfortunately, he teetered and he stooped, and the steel weight of his prosthesis contributed to the rest of his literal downfall. Despite his daily training regimen, he was not ready to walk alongside his wife without arousing suspicion--nor was he ready to confess his self-inflicted amputation. He would do so eventually...when their hearts recovered in full.
For now, he exaggerated his love of the sanctuary, touting it as his own little study. He never had any time to read as much as he would have liked, but the condition of his heart forced him to turn his mind inward, to the academic pursuits he once loved to peruse. Indeed, he did accomplish a great deal of reading, both from the Gardeners’ libraries and from Isidor’s private reserves, a selection he convinced the reclusive alchemist to let him read if he promised to care for the tomes diligently. Alster gave his word, and kept it. When handling the books, he wiped his hands with a cloth after the turning of every leaf-brittle page, to ensure the natural oils of his skin did not tarnish the ancient, disintegrating volumes. Though he did not lie to Elespeth about his excitement to read uninterrupted (save for routine checkups by the Gardeners), he was still lying by omission, and it gnawed at him with guilt.
About a week after Teselin departed with Hadwin’s sister in search of the notorious scoundrel, Elespeth, at last, lost her patience with him. As usual, she asked that he join her for a walk, and as usual, he declined, favoring the book that awaited his attention, its fat, bound pages poised and sitting at his bedside table. This time, however, she wouldn’t accept his refusal, and proceeded to lambaste him with logic, reason, and his greatest weakness--guilt. With a wince and a defeated nod, he finally fell to her persuasion.
“No--you’re right.” He shifted in his covers as he twisted his head to look out the window. The outside vines, brushed about by the breeze, knocked on the glass panes, also inviting him to explore the sun-bathed Garden on a beautiful, always-moderate,, day. “If I sit idle for so long, my legs will atrophy. A good book can’t supplement an enjoyable stroll with irresistible company. I’m sorry I’ve rebuffed you for so long, El. I--” he paused when his feet touched the floor. To air out his suffocating toes, he undid the wrappings the night before and had forgotten to replace the bandages. They were bare and on display. All Elespeth had to do was look down. And she would, if she were to hand him his boots and watch as he tugged the suede over his ankles. It was too late. She’d sensed his hesitation and called him out on it. Perhaps...it was pointless to hide the truth a minute longer. Bunching the sheets in his hands, he nodded in resignation and yanked them aside, exposing his feet--or rather, his foot-- in full view.
“It’s not such a big deal,” he said, trying to appeal to the part of her who was concerned for the disappearance of his left toes. “Contextually, it’s not. So I will give you context, El. Please--I did not mean to hide this from you forever.” A half-chuckle escaped the side of his mouth. “I can’t hide secrets from you--but I can delay their discovery. I wanted to wait until our hearts recovered, but, well...this is fine, I suppose. Not ideal, but it will have to do.”
The bed groaned as Elespeth took a seat beside him. Though she was still featherlight, the bed recognized its inability to support two grown--albeit thin--humans without audible protest.
“For me to offer my heart for your operation, not only did I need to be your match, but I needed to be in peak health. As we both know, I’m not...even on the best of days. Even within the healing energies of the Night Garden.” The steel digits of his prosthetic hand rested upon his stomach. “I was born with several congenital conditions that have afflicted me throughout my life. So when the results of our compatibility test came back positive, as I knew they would, something needed to be done about my poor constitution, and quick. There wasn’t enough time to find another compatible donor; the longer we waited to act, the more you would deteriorate.” He stared downward, at his eight toes. “The Night Garden’s stasis is not finite. While it prevented you from dying, it was unable to preserve your body in perpetuity. You were beginning to show some wear. So I did what I had to do, El. I made myself healthy. By draining the sickness out of me into one concentrated point and hacking it off. What you see is the result of my culling the infection.” With the fingers of his flesh and blood hand, he lightly grazed them against the incision points, two stubs that once were toes.
“It was a success, but it took two of my toes, instead of just one. Its effects were immediate but temporary; I won’t remain healthy for long. My congenital conditions will eventually return. But it served its purpose. I became the ideal candidate for your surgery, and because of that, Isidor succeeded in the transference of our heart-cells. It’s a win, Elespeth, not a loss.” He twisted in his seat and took her hand. “Because you’re alive, and you’re on your way to becoming well. I’m not disappearing. Does it feel like I am?” He guided Elespeth to his ribcage, to hear the steadying beat of his heart. “All I’ve sacrificed is some of my balance, and if it gets bad, or I cut off more toes...well, I could always commission Glaucus for a prosthetic foot.” He cracked a smile at his uninspired joke, but it fell flat with his audience. His smile faded.
“Those pieces of me that I’ve lost...they’re not the important pieces. You have those important pieces. In your heart. I’m not fading, El. If I didn’t do what I did, I’d stand to lose the most essential part of me, which doesn’t exist in me--until now. Really, El...I didn’t sacrifice much at all, to see you standing again. I would have hacked off my entire foot, if that’s what eradicating my ills required. No price is too weighty, not when losing you would all but ensure my disappearance. And if this small fact cheers you any,” his prosthesis whirred to life over his stomach, rising at his wielder’s command for inspection, “Isidor and I are to discuss plans for streamlining the composition of my prosthesis. If we lighten the burden, my balance will improve exponentially. So you see, El? It’s not a big deal at all. I’ll recover. Here, I’ll prove it to you.” Reaching for the boots she fetched him, he slid them on, rose to his feet, and took her hand. “Let’s go for a walk.”
In an act of role reversal, Alster ended up convincing Elespeth to leave the sanctuary. To have her agree to the trip, she required him to pace the small hut back and forth and not stumble. While he did so without hiccups, when they walked through the doorway, hand in hand, his foot caught the raised threshold and he flew forward. He almost took a spill to the ground, if not for Elespeth anchoring him upright and in place. “That could have happened to anyone!” he protested, kicking the threshold out of spite. “It’s a tripping hazard. I’ll do much better on the flatter paths.”
Their walk inevitably transformed into a proving grounds for Alster as he meandered through the Night Garden in a deliberate and stiff gait, concentrating so much on every step that he did not engage in conversation beyond quick observations about the Garden or the weather. To his credit, he did not lose his balance, but by the low rattling breaths escaping from his throat, it was costing him a fair amount of exertion and endurance to maintain stability. By the time they arrived at the four plots designated as the gravesites for the fallen, the Rigas Lord’s mouth was hanging open, and full gouts of air issued forward.
“I’m not...used to movement,” he explained, in case she cast blame on his missing toes, and not on any other cause. “Bedridden for almost two weeks... I haven’t been active, like you. It’s no wonder a brisk walk would send my heart fluttering into my throat.” As he wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand, his eyes caught the lovely foliage from his periphery. Elespeth hadn’t been lying; Naimah’s red tree was unrecognizable from the sapling of its original planting, its leaves like crowns of petrified rubies, and Cwenha’s rose-bush had bloomed into perfectly-symmetrical white roses, rotund and with spirals so elegant, they served as a brilliant example of the Golden Ratio as it occurred in nature.
“They’re...they’re so much a part of the Night Garden, now. It’s a morbid thought, but it looks like they’ve always been here. The Gardeners say everything returns to nature, but neither do I want to forget that these plants were once people. I don’t want their identities lost to the greater cosmos. Perhaps that’s the human in me, afraid that death will erase whatever good I’ve ever done.” Unthreading his fingers from Elespeth’s hand, he stepped towards the two plots sitting in between the bookend of Cwenha’s rosebush and Naimah’s red-tree. In one plot grew a yew tree, classic symbol of death and graveyards, a naturally hardy plant, red berries festive in any season. The second plant, a bundle of purple hyacinths, too cheerful and too intoxicating a presence not to bob one’s head and say ‘hello,’ to.
“I asked after the names of the carriage driver and the whore who accompanied Naimah. Their names were Erasmus and Myra. If I refuse to forget Naimah and Cwenha, then I refuse to forget them, either--even if I did not know them. They were D’Marian. They followed me...and it led them to an early grave. But that’s the burden of leadership...wondering if you caused deaths that could have been preventable. And yet, I motioned to call off the hunt for their murderer. What did that do, El?” His eyes flicked from the two middle ‘graves’ to Naimah’s red tree. “It alienated Haraldur. It drove Sigrid away from Galeyn. Who knows if she’ll be safe, or well, on her own? But,” he clanked the noisy, segmented digits of his prosthesis together, a nervous habit equivalent to wringing one’s hands, “I have to stand by my decisions. I told Sigrid, in this very spot, when I’d returned from Nairit, that I fight for the living. We can’t do much for the dead but respect their memory. So I chose to endorse Teselin’s mission over Sigrid’s search for revenge. Was that the right decision, I wonder? To prioritize,” he made a face, “Hadwin, of all people? Maybe I owe it to him, I don’t know. But... if something should happen to Sigrid, something that could have been prevented, were she here...could I forgive myself? It wasn’t my decision to make, no. It was Lilica’s. But...am I responsible, nonetheless?”
“I’m sorry, El,” he lowered his hands and flashed his wife a contrite smile. “I’m getting needlessly morose. And maybe I’m imagining things, but there’s a strange...shift in the energy, here. A disturbance in the weather. The pressure is...off-kilter. That might be my nature at work, though.” He linked arms with his wife, both in a bid to draw nearer to her comforting company, and as a human crutch. “Everything affects me.”
“Not a big deal? Alster, how is it not a big deal that you are literally losing pieces of yourself before my eyes? Do you honestly expect me to agree with such a ludicrous decree?” She was trying not to get upset; to Elespeth’s credit, she knew better than to full out rake her husband over hot coals for keeping what she deemed such pertinent information from her. He was technically still in recovery--they both were, if she were being honest with herself--and growing unreasonably upset would do neither of them any good in terms of their health. Well… even if it weren’t unreasonable to be upset. Ultimately, hearing the undeniable guilt in Alster’s voice, and seeing that very guilt mirrored in his blue eyes was enough to incite her to let go of her anger and frustration before it built into a rift between them. Since Solveig had badly injured her back in Stella D’Mare, almost a year ago, they really hadn’t had much of a chance to truly be together, to bask in one another’s company. And the time they had spent thus far as husband and wife had been sadly lacking, given the terrible limitations her affliction had forced on her body. Finally, now, they had the opportunity to resume what was as close to a normal marriage and normal life together as the two of them could hope for… There was simply no room for anger or grudges; the last time she had harbored a grudge for his actions… it had very nearly led to her permanent downfall.
The former Atvanian warrior took a steadying breath to slow the racing of her recovering heart. Elias and Daphni were adamant in making her understand that just because she was feeling better by miles did not mean she was fully recovered, and full on exertion of any sort remained off limits for the time being. “So… that was the cost. Not only were you required to give me healthy pieces of your heart, but you were forced to lose even more of yourself, as a result… just to ensure I survived. To give me a chance yet again at an independent life, where I am not tethered to that wheeled contraption…” Anger really didn’t have much of a chance to flourish by the time her own guilt reminded her of its weight and caused her shoulders to sag. Elespeth looked away from her husband and down at her own boots, which, unlike him, still contained all ten toes.
“...I am sorry, Alster. It isn’t… I don’t have the right to be angry with you. I don’t even have the right to question you, for when we trace all of this back to the source--it is my fault, to begin with. My fault that I ever grew so ill out of obstinacy and belligerence, all because I did not want your help when you offered it.” Afraid to look up into the windowpane, lest she bear witness to that Elespeth once again, she kept her green eyes trained on the floor. “They may not have been ‘important’ pieces that you sacrificed, but they were pieces, all the same… and you never should have had to sacrifice anything in the first place. So I think it is high time that I apologized. For being the catalyst to all of this; because none of it had to happen. If I’d just let you help me from the moment I was injured… it could have been avoided. Frankly,” a small, despondent smile curled the corners of her mouth, “I should be grateful that you still wanted to marry my stubborn ass after all of that. You never gave up on me. And I won’t give up on you; from this day forth, Alster, I refuse to cost you anything more. Time or money or pieces of yourself. And while it is not enough to reverse all of the harm that I have caused, time and again, that is my promise to you.”
Reaching to her left, the former knight took one of her husband’s hands in her own, and got to her feet. “That said… I suppose I’m still not taking ‘no’ for an answer, today. You really should get some fresh air. We can take it slow.”
With the utmost care, Elespeth helped ease Alster’s boots onto his feet, but she was not ready to let him out the door before the Rigas caster could demonstrate to her that he was able to walk at all. He wasn’t at his most stable, that was for certain, but they would not venture far; and he would have to relearn his center of balance at some point. Escorting him out the door, the former knight cast him a worried glance when her husband tripped and nearly landed face first on the ground, were she not there to catch him. “Maybe I spoke too soon…” She admitted, casting him a pitying glance. Was it right to push him to take a walk when he could barely make it out the door without tripping? “We can try another day, when you are feeling more confident…”
But Alster was determined to meet her wishes, this time, and insisted they continue. So the pair ventured arm-in-arm into the Night Garden, moving at a slow and leisurely pace to accommodate the fact Alster hadn’t done more than cross the small floor of the sanctuary in almost two weeks. Even to a point where they were almost dragging their feet, however, the Rigas mage still became worryingly winded by the time they reached the site of their friends’ memorials. “Have a seat; we can stop here for a while.” Elespeth encouraged him gently, as she dabbed perspiration from his brow with the corner of her sleeve. “I’ve been stopping here lately, myself. Just in case… well, I know their spirits are elsewhere. But they were your friends; in one way or another you had a bond with them. Naimah, because the two of you painstakingly sought a way to save Sigrid from Gaolithe’s fate, and Cwenha, because… well, I don’t really know. But while that girl seemed to hate everyone, she did not seem to hate you. Perhaps you just managed to reach her in one way or another, whether you meant to or not. And I just saw fit to pay my respects and gratitude.” She smiled sadly at rosebush, which suited the lovely acrobat and singer just perfectly: beautiful, but prickly. And completely off limits to touch.
“...you can’t blame yourself, you know. Not for what happened. Nobody was at fault.” It was perhaps a bold as well as naive thing for her to say. She hadn’t been conscious at the time of the tragedy; she hadn’t been there before or after it had taken place. Hadn’t been there for Sigrid in the days that followed, when the stricken Dawn warrior searched the kingdom, alone and lost, for her lover’s killer, because it was all she knew to do. Hadn’t been there in the weeks that followed, either, to help in the search… or to talk Sigrid, a warrior she’d look up to, out of leaving. She’d had no part in any of it, and perhaps hadn’t the right to comment. But nonetheless… she knew she wasn’t wrong in what she said. “If they had not followed you to Braighdath, and then to Galeyn, they’d have fallen victim to perhaps an even worse fate in Stella D’Mare at the hands of Mollengard. This tragedy was as premeditated as it was random, I have no doubt; and I know that Locque is in on it. Just as I am sure she was complicit in plotting Haraldur’s death. I am certain it did not sit well with her to fail, on that front.”
Elespeth covered Alster’s organic hand with hers and squeezed gently. “This kingdom had three fronts of protection, too. The palace guard, the Forbanne, and the Dawn Guard. And if not a single one of those trained and seasoned warriors should feel remorse for something that was completely out of their hands, neither should you. And Haraldur… I don’t believe you’ve alienated him. I think he understands; after all, we are still Kynnet’s guardians--whether you like it or not, I might add.” She hazarded a shaky smile, but he didn’t have it in him to return it, so it faded in moments. “...Sigrid was--she is strong-willed. You know that, and Haraldur certainly knows that. I don’t think there was anything you could have said or done that wouldn’t ultimately have turned her away. Revenge is never the answer; and who is to say she wouldn’t have gone off on her own, even after finding and killing Rowen Kavanagh? It isn’t anger or hate that drove her from Galeyn; it was grief. And grief… it does things to your mind and to your heart that you cannot fight.”
The once proud and strong knight of Atvany turned her gaze to the ground, and she suspected that Alster knew exactly the memory she was recalling without needing to elucidate through words. For all she had experienced and suffered since the event, Farran was and always would be a shadow on her mind. A scar on her heart that she could not conceal, and that would begin to sting if ever she gave it a moment of thought. During Alster’s absence, it had stung a great deal, enough that that had been Hadwin’s first impression of her: alone. ‘Friendless’. But grief was like that; it was not something that went away. It just went into hiding from time to time, but as soon as it stepped back into the light… you were helpless but to acknowledge its pull.
“I know what grief did to me. I know what it still does to me. But it is different for everyone. I do not know exactly what it did to Sigrid, but… Haraldur made brief mention that she had planned to ask Naimah to marry her. She wanted a future with her. Losing a brother… and one from whom I had already disconnected, to a great degree, was devastating. I can’t imagine what it must be like for her, losing both the person she loved most and the future she’d envisioned for herself.” Elespeth shook her head and tucked a tress of chestnut hair behind her ear. It had grown several inches, since the spring, and now fell past her shoulders, giving her a shade of semblance to the woman she had once been. Before the injury, before the stimulant, and before her diseased heart. “If I were her… well, I don’t know what I’d have done. Perhaps I’d have left, too. Finding Rowen was the only thing keeping her on her feet; and while it was an unhealthy distraction, it was a distraction, nonetheless. Not that the relief would have been lasting, but without a goal to focus on, I’m guessing… she just succumbed to pain. And the only option left for her was to put distance between herself and the very source of that pain: this place. Galeyn. The place where she had… lost what meant the most to her.”
It was still hard to believe. Sigrid had been such an unshakeable ally; she had been there for her when she’d been injured, advocated for her, and lent her a hand in what she had thought was her ‘recovery’ when she’d awoken in Braighdath. She was someone who Elespeth never would have pegged to give up, but… everyone could be broken, it seemed. There was always a way. And now their beloved Dawn Warrior, and wielder of Gaolithe, had finally succumbed to a defeat to which so many had thought she was immune. “She can take care of herself, though. She is a survivor. So, despite that I know the lot of us would have preferred to see her stay, and to see Briery and the Missing Links stay… we need to respect their decisions to move on, as best they can. Queen Lilica’s decision… which, based on what you told me, had been Teselin’s idea all along--I think it was the right one. If we exterminate Rowen, there is no telling what Locque might then do in retaliation. Not to mention… revenge just isn’t the answer we need. It never is; not with a more serious threat looming. So…”
Leaning to the side, she pressed her lips against Alster’s cheek, and wrapped one arm around his waist as he leaned into her. He might have been the reason that she was able to stand, but being an inch or so taller than he was, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of nurturing pride to continue to be a pillar he could lean against when he needed it most. “Stop. Stop blaming yourself, the way you always do. The decision you made is sound. Of course there is a shift in the atmosphere; the entire attitude of this kingdom has changed as a result of grief and fear. Just because you are a leader does not make you responsible, directly or indirectly. We cannot undo what has happened, but we can take our eyes off of the past and start looking to the future to ensure that it will never happen again.”
Whether or not her words brought him any sense of comfort, she resolved to continue to be that voice of reason when he needed it; when the misplaced guilt threatened to overwhelm him, because she knew what guilt, at its worst, could do. After all, it had almost--needlessly--cost her her life. But the former knight did not have time to dwell on fearing for Alster’s wayward conscience before movement caught her attention from the corner of her eye. “...Isidor. Good afternoon”. Elespeth greeted the grey-clad alchemist, who clearly hadn’t taken notice of them several paces away; her voice appeared to startle him out of his concentration.
“...Elespeth! And Alster. Hello. I’m sorry--did my presence interrupt something important?” Having completely failed to take notice of the two familiar faces due to his tunnel-vision in studying the Night Garden’s flora left Isidor Kristeva flustered; lucky for him, he was among the few people who would tolerate it. “I didn’t even see you there… this place really is captivating. I’ve taken a few specimens already to try and gain a better understanding as to how the Garden works, why it is such a well of rejuvenation, but… somehow, it still eludes me, as of yet. Are… are the both of you well? It is reassuring to see you up and about.”
“We’re getting there. Alster still needs to regain what he has lost in lung capacity, it seems.” The former knight lovingly teased her husband. “But we are both on our feet--which is more than I could say for myself before your help. I know we’ve both said it before, but… thank you. And Alster was telling me you have plans to work with Glaucus, to help him with the burden of his prosthetic arm; that is very kind of you.”
Isidor, who really had no idea how to accept compliments, brushed it off with a shake of his head. “It is no trouble; I find the very nature of that prosthetic interesting, not to mention the properties of this Garden… this is knowledge that I cannot find in my books. Some insights really do require physical exploration. Not to mention, it is my understanding that Rigses live a very, very long time… and I cannot imagine your husband touting that weight for centuries to come.” He smiled timidly at Alster, and then cleared his throat. “As soon as you are feeling well again, Alster, we can approach that task together. I… ah, I haven’t spoken with the man who crafted your arm, yet. I was hoping you would spearhead that initial meeting, when you are feeling up to it. I think it rather goes without saying that I do not have a history of making the best first impressions…”
“If we define our lives by our worst mistakes, Elespeth...then I have far more to atone for than taking some stimulant and running off, haven’t I? For I stand--well, sit,” he knuckled against the wood frame of the bed, “before you, a penitent criminal. I’ve suffered for my actions these past fifty-odd years, rapt with guilt everlasting. One mistake...it was one mistake, but it cost so much strife--outward, and inward. Do you think I should continue to bear its burden?” He didn’t give her time to answer the question as he shook his head. “I know that you’ll say, ‘no.’ That I’ve suffered enough. Atoned enough for a lifetime fit for a Rigas. I don’t see it that way, but it comforts me that I’ve been given innumerable chances to do a little bit of good, wherever I can. And it helps--it really does.” His organic hand sought hers, and gripped it with a weight of something to be cherished. “I hope one day, you can plow forward, in spite of your mistake, and realize that you’ve been forgiven. Nay--there is nothing to forgive. I don’t fault you for what you did; it could have happened to anyone. The consequences were not some divine punishment, either. Nonetheless, we’ve settled those consequences. You’re rebuilding your strength, El. We’re more intertwined than we’ve ever been. We’ve made another indispensable ally. And all it took on my end was an offering of two meagre toes. I don’t consider my heart as part of the trade; it was always yours.” Tilting his head forward, he planted a soft kiss on her lips. “You owe me nothing but your company. Stay--that’s all I need you to do. Stay with me, Elespeth. Whatever you need to find in order to reclaim yourself, promise that it won’t be where I can’t follow, alright?”
And hand in hand, they traveled together, out of the sanctuary; a loving couple, enjoying a warm day. Notwithstanding the complications of mobility, erratic heart, underutilized lungs, and skewed balance all combined, Alster internalized the moment as one to remember, because it was the first time in a long while that he and Elespeth had been afforded the chance to do something so normal, so mundane, together, as promenade around the Night Garden. He would not let his own troubles sour the experience...until, of course, they did, when the wheeze of his breath forced them to stop at the small gravesite, and his ensuing speech dampened whatever attempts at a lighthearted mood they’d attempted to stoke. His subsequent apologies were profuse, but Elespeth did not mind his gloominess, and had in fact much to say on the subjects he broached. Of course, she spoke reason. She always did; a beacon of light to counter his fits of melancholia, which, in his idleness, had become more acute, and harder to tamp down. Much as he required some time to recuperate, his lack of contribution to his people, his friends, or the kingdom at large stirred his nervous energies into a swirling boiling point. With no other outlet to which those energies could escape, they curled their petals away from the sun and turned to the bleak shadows, where his greatest fears and inadequacies persisted.
It neither helped that the atmosphere felt heavy, like a precursor to a storm. But the clouds revealed no secrets in their formations. What little populated the sky were wisps of cirrus, presiding in the firmament, far far overhead.
“Yes...I know you speak sense, Elespeth,” he admitted, his tired body wilting against his wife’s supportive form. “I’m not responsible for other peoples’ actions. Nor am I omniscient; I cannot be everywhere at once, or to prevent the worst from happening. Not that it isn’t beyond my reach, to...become omniscient, were I to merge fully with the Serpent, but we know how well that went, the last time.” He folded the cold, clammy flesh of his left hand over the artificial scales of his prosthesis. A morbid thought crossed his mind; perhaps we are merging. Both mentally and physically. It could explain why I am so cold...and why I’m slowly...losing my limbs. “And it won’t happen again. That version of Alster Rigas would possess little interest in saving humanity. Observing it, yes. But observation is a passive role. There is a reason why gods do not interfere in our wars. Not anymore. Still, even as a mortal, as a human, I feel helpless but to merely observe the happenings that threaten to tear our alliances asunder.” He met his wife’s concerned green gaze. “I know that you must also shoulder that feeling, too. Which is why I find it imperative that once we recover to our fullest extent, we may do what we can to assist. It may not be much. I can’t expect it to be. But I still have a responsibility as a leader and as someone driven by the guilt of my past actions...to continue to do good, and to better a situation. Not worsen one. No one is asking this of me, I know. But,” the shadows of a wry smile crossed his face, “according to Chara, I’m an insufferable, over-achieving ignoramus, so I shouldn’t stray too far from my identifying characteristics. No worries, Elespeth; I won’t make a move without you. It’s been too long since we’ve worked as a team. I think it’s about time we rejoin our forces. As you say--so we can look to the future.”
No sooner did he finish their conversation on a hopeful note than Elespeth spotted the very man who Alster had ridden all his hopes on, and who had delivered, without fault. Bridging some distance from the somber atmosphere of the four graves, the Rigas Lord beamed a smile at the alchemist he had designated as a friend--much to the latter’s confusion.
“Isidor! Yes, good afternoon. Do not listen to my wife; my lung capacity is more than adequate. I can deliver long-winded speeches without gasping for air. Should I also belt out an aria for you, to prove my point? No--it’s because you walk too fast, Elespeth,” he gestured at her legs, mock chastising her. “You sport a warrior’s gait. I have eight toes and a battering ram for an arm. Speaking of which,” he nodded to the alchemist’s mention of his ‘battering ram,’ “...yes, I can introduce you to the metallurgist who crafted my prosthesis. I’ve taken the liberty of passing along your name. He is quite eager to meet you. No need to concern yourself with first impressions, where Glaucus is concerned. He’s had quite a bit of practice with me, because believe it or not, Isidor, I was not the most eloquent or socially competent person, growing up. In fact, it’s more of a recent development. Elespeth here can attest to my general...awkwardness.” He gave his wife a gentle nudge. “Our first meeting was...well, I considered it disastrous. I came across as a rambling moron, tripping over my words in the most pathetic manner imaginable. And here we are, married. And here I am, stringing along halfway competent speeches with my enviable lung capacity--Elespeth--” he cleared his throat before continuing, “so I’d like to think, you’ll do just fine, Isidor. Except...some things never change. I’m still a rambling mess,” he confessed, his cheeks tingeing a faint pink.
“So all rambling aside--yes, once the healers discharge us from the sanctuary, I’ll send a courier to the D’Marian village with a message for Glaucus to arrive at his earliest convenience. Thank you, Isidor. Your assistance is, as always, indispensable. Please make sure you’re also resting and recharging, in the meantime--otherwise, you’re going to look like Vega and Haraldur. I’m half-convinced they haven’t slept in months. It makes me grateful that I have the opportunity to lay my head on the pillow and close my eyes.” And it makes me grateful, not having to worry about rearing children. In case Elespeth could somehow read his thoughts, he twisted his head, poised to prevent accidental eye contact, lest she see his guilt in expressing relief over the lack of something that she yearned for them to have. They hadn’t broached the subject since her initial introduction with the Sorde twins, but whenever their exhausted parents paid a visit, the screaming fleshlings in tow, the desire for motherhood sparked her aura into flecks of gold and pink. The desire hung so heavy, it was palpable. Contrarily, he was warming to the idea less and less. Haraldur, who was juggling the dual roles of father and of Forbanne commander, barely passed for a functioning human being. What then, would it do to Alster, to give so much of himself to a tiny creature, when he’d already given to Elespeth the majority of his pieces--both essential and nonessential? He’d have nothing left for the child. No love...and he would not bring a baby into a world where it was not loved unconditionally by both parents.
“Alster. Elespeth.” The announcement of his name jostled the Rigas Lord out of his deep musings. Tivia, a rare sight in daylight, had approached the trio in the Night Garden, her hair an impenetrable sheet on half her face, as usual. The fact that the girl had sought them out at all aroused some suspicion in Alster. She wasn’t exactly...fond of him. Or Isidor, for that matter. But she had addressed him by name, but did not bother to add the reclusive alchemist to her short list of recognition. There was no sense of urgency in her voice; her pace, too, remained spaced and uneven. No waddled frenzy, or panicked scream frozen in her luminous eye. She appeared calm, focused, and frankly, it confused him.
“Tivia,” Alster elected for a smile, albeit a wary one, “good afternoon. I’m glad to see you’re enjoying the weather and the Garden. And how are you faring, today?”
“Yes. Ah, likewise,” her legs shuffled awkwardly together. “The stars are calm, but they have reported of a...disturbance. A shift in the weather,” she said, delicately. Now that she’d drawn closer, he could make out the red lines beneath her eye and the pallor on her visible cheek. Whatever she’d seen had her rattled. Rattled enough to seek out company, but too proud to wear her desperation like clothes. Instead, she’d adopted a casual, detached air, hoping no one would notice...and hoping someone would notice.
“I felt something odd, too. What do you know about this strange phenomenon?”
“Enough to know that I never want to help anyone again!” She snapped, hugging her arms around her body.
“I’m sorry, Tivia, but whatever it is you’ve seen or heard, we’re here to listen if you need to talk. But let’s not yet conclude that whatever help you provided bears an immediate connection to what the stars have shown you. Elespeth and I were just talking about how we shouldn’t fall to a guilty conscience, when we know other factors are at play. People influence their own fate--”
“--And yes, I am an observer! That is what I shall do from now on; observe, and reveal nothing!” Tivia clutched her head, wisps of hair falling into disarray, curtaining aside to expose ripples of warped flesh. “I am certain this is why Lyra Rigas was driven mad! She tried to help, and it backfired. That is why she cut out her own tongue. The stars rendered her deaf, but she rendered herself mute! No one should know the secrets of the universe. Or the paths as they arc dizzying circles over our heads. Shooting stars, raining from above like millions of fire arrows. They always hit their targets, in one reality, and I cannot parse what is relevant, or what I should do, or if I should do nothing! It is one misery after the other, and I cannot stand it anymore!”
“Tivia,” he curled an encouraging hand over her wrist. A light touch, nothing tactilely invasive. A mere tickle of pressure, resting on the fine hairs of her skin. “Come with us. To the sanctuary. You can spend the night with us...as you’ve done, in the past. I’m sure Elespeth won’t mind.” He glanced askance to her wife, to ascertain if she actually minded or not. “It’s been a while since the two of you last spoke. It might be nice to reconnect.”
Tivia didn’t protest as Alster linked her arm with Elespeth’s. “Go on ahead of me, El, and take her to the sanctuary. Don’t worry about me,” he patted his left leg, “I have the confidence that I can make it on my own, unimpeded. I’ll catch up.” Though reluctant to leave him behind, Alster assured that if he was having trouble, he’d recruit Isidor to see him safely to the sanctuary. Mollified by that arrangement, Elespeth, with Tivia, journeyed back to the sanctuary, leaving the two men alone to process what had happened.
“My apologies, Isidor. You step outside for a moment, and suddenly, you’re confronted by people, behaving at their most distressed.” From their vantage point, he watched Elespeth carefully lead a near-hysterical Tivia down the meandering garden path, conversing with her in low, comforting tones. “I know I’ve briefed you on her condition, before. Tivia is a star-seer. It is a rare confluence of magic, even for a Rigas. As the name suggests, she can communicate with the stars, to see and hear their infinite wisdom. They have knowledge of our past, and of its multitudinous realities, because they’re scattered beyond the skies, like sentinels from millions of years into the future. Only two other star-seers were known to exist in our family--and they make horrid mentors for Tivia, seeing as they both went mad and died relatively young. Due to their tragic fate, she’s convinced she’ll follow in their footsteps. It’s difficult for her to see a silver lining, so she’s resentful, and lashes out. It may be why she clings to Vitali, for what he represents. Death is a certainty, a promise...that nothing is permanent.”
“Well,” he shifted in the direction of the sanctuary, “I don’t want to take much more of your time, busily studying the Night Garden’s flora, as it were. But feel free to visit us whenever you’d like. We’re always happy for your company, Isidor. And--I still need to return the books you let me borrow.”
Despite Alster’s good-hearted attempts to mitigate the Master Alchemist’s painful awkwardness, Isidor was no more reassured by the prospect of independently meeting another individual of a respected profession such as metallurgy. It did not matter the number of times he rehearsed a potential social encounter in his head, or the fact that he carried his very own brand of exclusive expertise which, to some, might have warranted respect. No amount of niche knowledge and skills could offset someone who trembled with sweating palms in the company of a stranger, who fumbled their words, and whose idea of a good first impression simply entailed not running someone over in a corridor. He had no doubt that this Glaucus might be eager to meet someone with a skillset as rare and privileged as Isidor’s, but it only caused him a greater deal of anxiety for the fact that he knew he’d crush the man’s high expectations of him as soon as he let words pass his lips. And that was the sole reason for Maser Kristeva’s procrastination: not laziness or inability, but fear of failure as a functional human being in the eyes of others. Or, rather, confirmation of that failure, as he was already sorely aware that it had long since taken root in his personality. At the very least, Alster was willing to accommodate and be the go-between, before he ventured to tackle his new endeavor of improving the Rigas lord’s prosthetic arm so as to improve his quality of life.
“Well, we were not acquainted prior to your marriage to your wife, so I can only try and imagine that you were once a hopeless as me when it comes to talking to people… although I am willing to bet that even then, you at least had the spine to try.” The Master Alchemist smiled rather guiltily and fidgeted with the sleeve of his grey tunic. It was almost as if everything about him wished not to call attention to his existence; his listless and monochromatic attire, pale skin that bordered on nearly ghostly, the inky-dark tresses that often fell past his spectacles to obscure his eyes. If Isidor could have found a possible way to become the very background into which he wished to blend, he most certainly would have disappeared ages ago. “I’ll admit to my cowardice, and that I’d rather hide away than be forced into social situations of any form. Although I suppose, being Rigas Head, that option is not accessible to you… all the same, I admire your perseverance. And I daresay it has paid off. At least, from what I have seen, you are very adaptable in the public eye.”
“Well, he is not exaggerating; Alster really wasn’t always like this.” Elespeth agreed with her husband’s humble account, a small, amused smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “And while I do like to think that I had some part to play in his social aptitude, I firmly believe that much of it developed out of necessity. Which is really the case for everyone. Contrary to what you might think, Isidor, no one is born with charisma. So,” she reached out and laid a reassuring hand on his arm; a gesture that seemed to terribly confuse the poor man, based on the facial expression that followed, so she promptly withdrew. “Since you will be spending some time here in Galeyn, perhaps now is your chance to realize this for yourself. I don’t think you will find a better opportunity, surrounded by friends, as you are. My husband and I already find ourselves terribly in your debt; the least we can do is help you where you find it necessary.”
Perhaps ‘surrounded by friends’ was not quite the most appropriate choice of words, though. While the Master Alchemist might have found a ‘friend’ in Alster and Elespeth, by virtue of helping them, the whole of Galeyn’s alchemical community did not trust him; and the Rigas lord’s acquaintances--Galeyn’s Queen and her advisor, the Eyraillian Prince and Princess, and of course, Tivia--were not in the least impressed with his presence or his skills.
And, speaking of a certain Star Seer…
Tivia’s familiar voice sent goosebumps up Isidor’s arms. He turned to greet her, after the Rigas couple acknowledged her presence, but quickly reconsidered, and ultimately remained silent. She did not address him; she was not even looking at him. What reason could he possibly have to then make his presence known, or to remind her that Alster and Elespeth were not the only two people standing before her?
“It is good to see you, Tivia.” Elespeth said kindly to the girl, who looked as though she had a lot on her mind, perhaps more than she was willing to divulge. “It seems I may be the only one here who is not privy to changes in surrounding energies… is something amiss? Did you see something noteworthy of which we need to be aware?”
Apparently, that was the wrong question to ask, and if the former knight had been even vaguely aware that the Star Seer was on the verge of a breakdown, she wouldn’t have asked at all. Fortunately, Alster had the tact and grace to temporarily mollify Tivia with the right words and a light touch. The girl who more of than not sought out no one suddenly appeared to be in need of company; to not be alone. And Elespeth understood that need more than anyone. The long months that Alster had been away had made her painfully aware of that. “It has been a while since we’ve really spoken, Tivia. I’ve been incapacitated for far too long.” Elespeth smiled kindly, taking the distraught Rigas girl gently by the arm. “There is plenty of room in the sanctuary. I think you’ll find it quite peaceful, there; both Alster and I would be overjoyed to have your company. Don’t get me wrong, I love my husband, but,” she lowered her tone to a conspiratorial whisper. “Being cooped up in the same place with the same person for weeks at a time, and limited opportunities to change up surroundings… it is bound to drive anyone mad. Your company is a welcome change.”
As the former Atvanian warrior made her way back toward the sanctuary with the stricken Star Seer at her side, Isidor could only watch helplessly from his passive stance, knowing well that there was little he could do to alleviate her distress. And yet… it still sat with him. The heaviness he witnessed in her eye, the desperation for reprieve from something that she could not escape. Something that no one else could understand, for the rarity of Star Seers among the Rigases, as far as he understood. Their gift--their burden--was solely their own. And while loneliness was not exactly something that the painstakingly introverted often experienced, he imagined that it must be exactly what Tivia felt: loneliness, for suffering something that no one else could possibly understand…
“It is fine, Alster; there is no need to apologize on Tivia’s behalf. After all, this is her home… and I am largely the intruder.” Yes… that was the right word: intruder. Not just a stranger, but someone whose presence was not only unexpected, but not at all desired. Tivia already dwelled within a reality that left her shaken to the core, and now not only did she have the stars with which to contend, but an unwelcome presence who had inserted himself into the lives of her family. “She must be… well, as I am not a Star Seer, I can only imagine what it must be like for her. Hearing voices and messages that she would otherwise rather ignore. Or seeing glimpses of a future or the present that she wished she knew nothing about… her condition most certainly must make her feel hopeless and alone. I guess, then, it does make sense that she would seek out trusted company to alleviate some of that loneliness. Although I why that ‘trusted company’ happens to include my brother… well, perhaps I will never truly understand that.”
To cling so thoroughly to a medium of Death, like Vitali… has she really fallen so far out of hope’s reach? Can she not see any alternative solution in those stars that so plague her? Isidor didn’t know why his heart so ached for a girl who wished to have nothing to do with him. He didn’t know why her comfort (or lack thereof) mattered to him, when she hadn’t the desire to show him a shred of kindness. What he did know was that, if it were at all possible, he wanted to help. After all, if he was already rooted in Galeyn for a period of time... what was one more favour, for a person in need? “Why don’t you let me escort you back to the sanctuary, at least? Not that I favour your wife’s opinion over your own, but you do seem a little on the winded side… and what was that you had mentioned about only having eight toes? To my knowledge, fully-formed humans have 10--unless this is a Rigas trait of which I happen to be unaware.”
It seemed the Master Alchemist had not been wrong in his suspicion that the Rigas lord was ‘lacking’ of late, so to speak. Alster, red-faced at this observation, finally came clean and explained exactly what he had done so as to ensure he was perfectly healthy as a contributor to Elespeth’s recovery, and a donor for the procedure. As alarming as that was to Isidor, he supposed that considering Alster had already lost an arm, the Rigas mage likely reasoned that a couple of toes was a small sacrifice to ensure the health and livelihood of his wife. And, well… by many standards, he really wasn’t wrong. “You know, I am confident we could have found another suitable donor within a few days. The composition of your wife’s blood and the genetic markers were not exactly rare. Though…” His thoughts trailed off as realization hit him. “...it was never about finding a suitable donor, was it? It was about you. You wanted to be the one to save your wife, no matter the cost. That is… well, suffice it to say, it is beyond noble, even if not entirely rational.” He hazarded a weak smile and pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his straight nose. “I don’t really know what it means to want to sacrifice so much for another person… my life always entailed merely me. Well, after Master Zenech died, that is. I’ve spent so long looking out for myself that I admittedly find it difficult to fathom the idea of giving away a piece of myself to someone so liberally. However, I do have the sense to realize that what you did is worthy of praise. It kind of makes me wonder,” that smile faded around the edges, “if the life I have been living is to be looked down upon. Selfish, and self-centered… when there is a whole world of people out here who need help.”
At that, the Master Alchemist fell into a contemplative silence as he escorted Alster back to the sanctuary, lending his arm to the shorter man whenever the Rigas mage required a bit of help on his feet. The procedure had certainly taken more of a toll on the donor than Elespeth, who had been the one to benefit from the transfer of healthy cells, but Alster did not appear to have any regrets, or bemoan his lackluster source of energy. He didn’t even complain when his step began to develop a wince, likely due to the discomfort of walking so far with only eight toes. Selflessness and love, Isidor realized, was so very far beyond his frame of understanding…
When they returned about a quarter of an hour after Elespeth and Tivia had arrived, the two women were sitting on Elespeth’s cot. The Star Seer held a cup of tea in her hand, that one of the attentive Gardeners had likely brought, but she seemed to cling to it out of a desire for something to do with her hands, rather than to enjoy its calming effects. The former Knight had her arm lightly draped around the young Rigas woman’s shoulders as her husband and the accompanying alchemist stepped through the door. “Take the time you need to recover, Alster; I am perfectly happy to remain in Galeyn in the intertim. We can further discuss the matter of your arm when you have more energy to spare.” He told the Rigas lord, as he helped him take a seat on his cot. That was the point at which he realized it was probably appropriate to bid everyone a good afternoon and quietly take his leave; in fact, that was probably what he should have done. But no, that would be too reasonable, and instead, he let something else get the better of him. A foreign ache in his heart that spread through his chest and into his stomach, upon seeing Tivia Rigas hunched over a cup of cooling tea that she had no intention to drink.
“Tivia… I think it goes without saying that I know little of your condition. Of what it is you suffer. We don’t know one another that well, and I am only able to piece together what I have learned in the short time that I have been here.” The words started coming before he had a chance to second-guess himself, and by the time his thoughts did begin to backpedal, it was too late. So he continued. “But if what ails you is a sensitivity to astral and celestial interference… it isn’t impossible to dampen that noise. In fact, it has been done before with great success and minimal risk, and the solution happens to be one of my areas of expertise. So, if you ever feel inclined… I would be happy to help, after I make modifications to Alster’s arm.”
His offer was met with silence; which was probably for the best. Isidor wasn’t sure what would have made him feel more nervous: her acceptance of his proposed help, or flat-out refusal. “Well… take your time to mull over it. My stay in Galeyn will be extended for a while yet, and you know where to find me.” Wiping his suddenly sweaty palms on the back of his trousers, Isidor hazarded a smile and nervously pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, despite that they had no fallen down. “I wish you a speedy recovery, Elespeth--and we will certainly be in touch, Alster.”
The Master Alchemist left, quietly shutting the door behind him, as Elespeth exchanged a hopeful glance with Alster before turning to Tivia. “Did you hear, Tivia? Perhaps you needn’t be an unwilling recipient of the stars messages any longer.” The former Atvanian smiled and rubbed comforting circles on the stricken girl’s back. “Isidor is very skilled and capable. He was able to do for me and Alster what not even a party of healers alongside the Night Garden could do. Imagine if you could be rid of your burden; or at least, more in control of it.”
In offhandedly expressing his handicaps to his wife, Alster hadn’t realized that Isidor had been listening to the part where he announced his ‘eight toes.’ Evidently, now that he’d admitted his wilful amputation to his wife, he no longer cared about keeping his secret. But despite his newfound openness to the subject, when prompted to explain his self-infliction to the Master Alchemist, Alster hesitated, not because he was ashamed of what he’d done to procure his position as Elespeth’s donor, but because he did not want to place distance between himself and his friend, as surely, Isidor might deem the Rigas Lord as entirely mad and, out of disgust or unease, cut off all ties and return to his tower, relieved in knowing he dodged associations with the local dingbat, whose contagion was likely to spread. In the end, Alster needn’t have worried; in fact, his actions seemed to elicit praise from the reclusive scholar.
“For someone who claims to have limited experience with humans and their varying natures, you have pegged my intentions to an embarrassing degree.” He straightened the high collar of his tunic, which he’d been wearing crooked the entire time. “...Yes, Isidor. I wanted the donor to be me. It was always going to be me, damning the sacrifices. It is nothing praiseworthy, though. Feel free to call it jealousy, but it rankled me to consider someone else sharing essential pieces of their heart with my wife.” His fingers drifted past the buttons of his collar to the embroidery folded over his chest. “Elespeth and I are already bonded by blood, and bonded by energy. We are linked by star stuff, linked by the Rigas blood seal, and more recently, linked through marriage. An outside contributor should not affect our connectivity. And yet…” he fiddled with the loose threads of his embroidered trim, “I suppose I saw this prospect of donorship as not only my responsibility, as her current caretaker, but as an opportunity to...weave ourselves closer, so that we may also share similarities on a cellular level. Saying it aloud, it sounds so ludicrous. But against all rationality, I fully affirm that it needed to be my heart. That I’d be the chosen fit for her operation. That I’d suffer with her and by her side. That I’d be the one to help save her.” Somehow, the continued proof of his overzealousness hadn’t torn a rift through their developing relationship. By all accounts, it seemed as though the alchemist considered Alster’s self-sacrificing nature as a goal to which one could aspire.
“Please consider, Isidor, not to take the concept of sacrifice too far in the other direction. Or too literally. I’m a bad example.” He rotated the wrist joint of his prosthesis. It clacked, a noisy rattle, like the shifting of a blade in its scabbard. “I’ve been called a martyr. It’s not an...ideal aspiration. Not a compliment. Circumstances led me into believing that I’m only as good as my tireless contributions to society, that I must always bleed in service of the people, of my friends, and of my loved ones. If I were to advise you on a path, then I would say, yes, if it is your predilection to help others, then please do. You have much to offer, Isidor, and I can fault no one for choosing to lend their specialized expertise for the betterment of humanity. But I caution not to readily give away pieces of yourself. That’s my own vice...and I’d wish no one else do the same.”
Whether Alster had successfully veered Isidor off the more problematic aspects of his personal credo could not be observed, for the silence that had swept over the alchemist during their walk from the tiny cemetery to the sanctuary. He chose not to interrupt his companion’s inner thought process and opted for enjoying the scenery, interspersed between taking long, downward gazes at his feet, to ensure he didn’t trip over a protruding root or a divot in the garden road. With Isidor’s supporting arm anchoring his left side, he ran into only minor balancing issues on his return trip. As he slipped through the sanctuary door, relatively winded, but unscathed, he joined Elespeth and Tivia and seated himself in the bed opposite them. He groaned in relief when he peeled the boots from his worn-out feet and elevated them on the cushions of his raised bed. Tivia’s all-seeing eye spotted the three toes remaining on his left foot, but no surprise registered on her face. Only recognition for what he had done.
“Thank you, Isidor. So kind of you to see me back safely. My toes are appreciative.” For effect, he wiggled the eight that remained, before throwing a sheet over them and reclining against his pillow.
Tivia, by virtue of how she sat, stiff-legged and statuesque, did not appear to have said much to Elespeth during the short interim of Alster’s absence from the conversation. She’d since acquired a cup of tea, but, like Isidor, she did not acknowledge it. The drink existed as a mere prop in her universe, a tangible thing, assuring she stay grounded with her current reality and not float upward, through the ceiling and towards the heavens. She demonstrated a patent disinterest in speaking that stood in contrast to her cry for help in the Night Garden--but her sidelong glance at the Master Alchemist explained her reticence well enough.
Alster was not about to tell Isidor to leave. He wanted to provide a safe space for Tivia, yes, but not at the cost of chasing away his newly-trusted ally, whose dangerously low self-esteem would take a catastrophic blow from the star seer’s unnecessary snubbing. Unless his kin scryed some alarming truths out of Isidor’s future, she had little reason to despise him so much. The Rigas sense of entitlement and exclusivity still reigned strongly in the young woman. If someone did not meet her grueling standards, she was not likely to volunteer her attention or energy on that person. Unfortunately for Isidor, she’d declared him unworthy. Considering the monumental feat he’d pulled to restore Elespeth’s heart through a complex cell-transfer procedure, she’d given him such tragically little credit, that Alster resolved to repair her negative impression of him, by whatever persuasive means were available to him.
The Rigas Lord, however, did not need to step in and vouch for Isidor. In a bold gesture, the alchemist displayed enormous courage by facing the distraught star-seer and not only offering his heartfelt sympathies, but also suggesting a solution to dampening the disruptive screeches and pulsations of trillions upon trillions of stars squeezing their infinitude of information into one human brain. Alster’s mouth stretched into a delighted smile. His desire to help was pure, genuine, and it hearkened back to their earlier conversation. Yes, Isidor. Your talents are invaluable to humanity. You have so much to offer. Help whomever you can...but don’t become a martyr.
Tivia finally dignified Vitali’s brother with a glance. Her one eye widened, as though dumbfounded by his proposal. Her mouth opened but hung agape, her attempts at speech quietening before sound had the chance to bounce off her tongue. Although her eyebrow furrowed, tweaking her appearance into one of suspicion, her stiffened body language loosened and opened, petal by petal, in Isidor’s direction. She was processing his offer, and had not rejected him or his services--at least, not outright.
After bidding the Master Alchemist an enthusiastic and grateful farewell, Alster turned to his kin, trying to gauge the range of muffled expressions that passed over her half-hidden face. “Isn’t that wonderful news, Tivia? If anyone can mitigate the intensity of your clairvoyant magic, then surely, it is Isidor. A Master Alchemist of his specialized knowledge can certainly assist you, I daresay.”
Tivia, at last breaking her silence fast, dipped her head, her blonde sheet of hair concealing the whole of her visage. “What if the stars retaliate? What if they push harder? Rage stronger? They’re so desperate to be heard; all of them. We revere the stars, Alster. They’re primordial. Ancient. Is it right of me to disrespect their gifts by putting forth a partition? What if carrying this burden is my purpose? My only purpose? To lose it means,” she snatched the ends of her hair and twisted the strands around her fingers, “I don’t know what it means.”
“Your purpose is to live as you want to live, Tivia. Is this what you desire? To withstand the torment of the stars, all because our family values a liaison between the earth and the heavens? Because we’re so high and mighty as to believe the stars crave communication with us, and only us? Do you find personal fulfillment in carrying the burden of celestial bodies too numerous to quantify?”
“I,” she tightened her eye shut, “I don’t know. I don’t remember the person I was, before...before the stars found me. I don’t know where to go, or who to be, what I want, what I’m able to have…”
“You seemed pretty content with Vitali at the farmhouse.” Alster tilted his head to one side. “Feel free to call me out if I sound too intrusive, but...are you dissatisfied with your current arrangement?”
Her lack of a response seemed to answer his question. She did not seem unhappy. Rather...unfulfilled. Vitali was no bastion of warmth or comfort and she was no stranger to his unempathetic idiosyncracies. Certainly, he cared about her, but did not care for her. As a young Rigas experiencing change and a reason and a place to belong, the necromancer could not provide the specific support Tivia required. It would explain why she sought Alster and Elespeth, despite the antagonizing criticisms that she frequently lobbed in his direction. Estranged from her parents, where else would she find a nurturing, familial presence?
“I see,” he nodded, as though responding to something she said. “Well, you’re more than welcome to spend the night with us in the sanctuary. Whatever it is you’d like to discuss, we’re open to whatever strikes your fancy. We don’t have to speak of anything related to your star-seer ability, if that’s what suits you.”
Tivia, dropping the pretense of wanting any tea to drink, set the cup aside on the nearest table. Now liberated from its weight, she threaded her other hand into the tangle of hair, winding and pulling her blonde tresses absently. “If I...if I am to suffer what the stars show me, and tell me, will they punish me if I say nothing? I am the intermediary; they speak through me. If I do not speak...but then, if I do speak, if I reveal what I know...does that help anyone, in the end? Am I disturbing the natural course of this reality?”
“The way I see it, Tivia...there is no ‘this’ reality. There is no one path we must follow, lest we irrevocably disrupt our world and all the lives in it. What I say and what I do, it matters. I can change destiny, because destiny is ever-evolving and mutable. You are the same...you can influence events around you as little or as much as you want. Your star-seer ability is inconsequential. It acts separate to the personhood that is you. Whether you actively try to change an outcome or prevent one...in the end, only you can control your actions. But you can’t control the actions of other people. The future is out of your hands, Tivia. You can certainly warn people of impending disaster, and they may listen to your counsel, but you can’t expect their undivided cooperation. People will spoil your well-laid plans for the future, because even the most forthright individual has no inkling as to which role they play, at any given time.”
“So...I’m not disturbing anything? By...by interpreting the future?”
“I am saying that you are in control of you. No one else. Our very existence disturbs the balance in some way or another; we cannot agonize over a life completely untrammeled. It’s impossible not to affect the course of a river. Throw enough stones, and it will change direction. So say what you want to say, Tivia. Or do not say anything at all. Ultimately, the decision--and the responsibility--is yours to make.”
Alster was uncertain of the pull his words had on the secretly impressionable Rigas, for she did not react, or input anything else on the subject. Instead, she squeezed out a sigh, and unthreaded her fingers from her hair. Be it wishful thinking on his part, or not, he thought he witnessed the star-seer rise, as though shaking off the shackles of an overbearing weight. She appeared lighter, more buoyant, and it showed in her willingness to engage with the woman beside her. “Elespeth...the stars told me you would awaken, and recover. And you did. I never told you...that...that I am glad to see you well. I’ve ignored you. I’ve ignored...everyone. I apologize.” Unbidden, she rested her head against the ex-knight’s shoulder. “I would...I would like to stay. For a little while...if that is okay with you.”
“Of course, Tivia. You are welcome here. But, I do have a condition.” Alster tossed his head to the door, where the awkward had taken his leave not ten minutes ago. “Not right now, but eventually...I’d like it if you spared a little kindness for Isidor. I hope you’ll do it, not as a favor to me, but as a gesture of good-will.”
Reluctance worked at her brow. “I...will see what I can do.”
Though she spoke the words with a noncommittal air, sure enough, she arrived at Isidor’s door the next day. It took a few dozen knocks to signal his attention from inside, but the scatterbrained shut-in finally responded to her summons. Isidor’s wiry form silhouetted the doorway. Despite no light streaming from behind him to create a silhouette, the alchemist’s monochromatic color scheme called to Tivia’s mind the image of a white sheet masquerading as a shadow.
“I...good morning, Isidor,” she said, with faltering speech, her eye trained on the floor. “I don’t have an answer for you, about your offer to help with my wayward magic, but I appreciate your willingness to assist, and I will give you a more concrete answer once I know for certain what I want to do.” Her words were flat, like recitations on a page. She’d rehearsed the words, but not her delivery. “Th...thank you.” A shade of embarrassment colored the visible half of her face. “And please accept my apologies for being less than civil. I hope we can have a p-pleasant discourse, in the future. That...is all.” Before she melted on the spot from mortification, she shuffled away from the door and darted down the hallway at an unforgiving clip, determined to bridge a fair distance between herself and the recipient of her insipid apology that Alster had coached her to prepare. To make sure no one was privy to it, she scoured the area for eavesdroppers. No one. Nothing...but the stars and their periwinkle lights, masked and faded in daylight, but always watching. Always watching her.
