It had stormed all day. Rain had poured from the overcast sky in sheets, the only change in the dreary grey were brilliant flashes of lightening that cracked the sky and threatened to tear it asunder. It had stopped close to nightfall, but stagnant water pooled in the uneven ground of the slums. The greyness of the sky dimmed even more, reminding Anomen that he shouldn't be venturing out this late. Bodhi's minions were bound to be on the hunt, looking for Sumara and Imoen.
His task was a grim one that night, but he was the only one left to do it. Sumara, even if she was herself, would have laughed at the request. Jaheira was long dead, and Imoen, even with her soft nature, too tired and weak. No, this was a task he had to undertake on his own.
The former priest cursed softly as he stepped into a puddle, and almost dropped the small bundle he carried. That wouldn't do – he could not present a water logged heart to the Ilmateri priest.
The shadows were growing longer and heedless of the pot holes, he quickened his pace. Once, not long ago, he would have been horrified by the actions he was about to take. Never betray trust. The words he had studied and worshipped with fervour seemed hollow to him now. Traitors deserved no mercy, Helm was quite clear on that. But now, laying Yoshimo to rest seemed to the only thing that had felt right to him in a very long time. Helm would sentence the thief to an eternity of anguish, but Anomen wasn't so he deserved it. He had seen the anguish on the man's face, the desperation as he spoke of the geas.
After all, hadn't Anomen lost Moira as well? Hadn't he taken his vengeance upon the wrong man? There was nothing he could do for himself, but he could aid Yoshimo, at least. Perhaps the Crying God would take mercy upon the rest of them as well, the Gods knew they needed it. If he could save Yoshimo, maybe he could save them all.
As he was nearing the Copper Coronet, Anomen wondered, not for the first time, how different things would have been if it had been Sumara captured by the wizards, and Imoen whom he happened upon in the cesspool.
He would be knighted by now. Innocent Sarayuh would be peacefully sleeping in her bed of Calimshite silks. He wouldn't be a patricide. He would be in love with a sweet, mischievous woman who wore her heart on her sleeve, not a cold, dark elf.
He would still have the favour of Helm.
Anomen wouldn't, nor couldn't, blame Sumara – not when he knew first hand the sway blood had over her. She had told him once that she wasn't a good person. He, the fool that he was, had simply laughed and scolded her for a bad jest. She hadn't said anything.
He should have realised the truth when Jaheira never returned to them after her Harper meeting, and Sumara ... Sumara had been silent even as she washed blood out of her dark hair.
They were both so different: Imoen with her quick smile, and bright, inquisitive blue eyes, and quiet Sumara with her dark looks and even darker spirit.
But, by the gods, he recognised something within the elf upon their first meeting. The darkness in her soul was kindred to his own, it resonated within him, even if he had not understood it at the time. She was tainted by the virtue of her blood, but by Helm, so was he. He called her a dark flame, and had thought himself a month, forever drawn to her, but now he knew differently. They were both dark flames, dancing in the wind, forever trying to overcome the call of bad blood. Forever failing.
And by Helm, he loved her all the more for it. He had grown up with her. Yes, he had been naive when they first met, and had tried to put her on a pedestal, and been bitterly angry when she both rose above and didn't meet his expectations – but that is what he had been taught. A knight should only a court a woman with impeccable virtue, grace and beauty. A knight shouldn't, nor couldn't be attracted to any other kind of woman. He had been wrong, and all those old, withered men trying to teach the young about love had been wrong. Sumara wasn't a maiden with unattainable virtue like in his sister's romance novels, she was so much more.
With her, he had learnt the passions of love, and the height of depravity and despair. Death followed her, just as Anomen's own father had followed him.
Anomen shook his head. This was not a night for listing failures and regrets. He had a task to preform.
The break in the rain had been only momentary, and it was drizzling as Anomen climbed up the stairs inside the Crying God's temple. Over a decade of training told him to leave the place at once, fraternizing with other gods was not the way of Helm's priesthood. Instead, he held his head high and steeled himself.
The decaying, half broken steps groaned as he climbed them. This was a temple? It was no more than a hovel. Anomen was taken aback. This was no proper place of worship. Thoughts of Yoshimo briefly left his mind: he should find a real church.
Anomen was about to turn away, when the temple's door swung open and an old man peered at him through spectacle covered eyes. "Come in, young man, come in! Don't just stand there with the door open, you'll let the rain in."
Contrary to the outside, the inside of the temple was more fitting or its station. A bight fire cheerfully lit up the tidy, meticulously cleaned room. A small alter sat in the centre, and shelves filled with books and medical supplies lined the room.
Anomen shivered from the sudden warmth, noticing how wet he truly was.
"Let's get you by the fire before you get pneumonia. Sit!"
Anomen could not help but do as he was told, and obeyed the man. He found a chair near the fire and sat, willing himself not shiver as chills racked his body.
"Well, my boy, what brings you here? I think I've seen you around Helm's temple. Aren't you one of Oisig's?"
Anomen found himself shifting uncomfortably at the priest's gaze. "I was," he finally admitted, "but," he added before the old man could ask him more, "this is a task not fitting for the Vigilant One."
If the priest was surprised, he didn't show it. "A task?"
"I have – I have the heart of a traitor with me. Before I killed him, he asked if we ... if I would give it to Ilmater."
"And this man was your friend?" the priest asked kindly.
"No. Yoshimo was a common thief."
"Then why go through the trouble, if he was not someone you care for?"
"He betrayed us, led us into the den of the enemy, but I believe he was was tricked. I think – I think he did not mean to harm us, not truly. He does not deserve Carceri."
"I see. And what, exactly would you have me do?"
Anomen swallowed thickly, "Pray for him. Ask Ilmater to grant, to grant him mercy."
"You forgive this man, then, for betraying you."
"I have no choice."
They sat in silence for a while, the old priest seemly deep in thought. "It can be done," the old man said, breaking the silence. The Ilmateri sounded solemn, "I will petition the Crying God on your behalf. The act of compassion holds much power, more so if it is compassion for a foe. If you honestly forgive, He might be able intercede on Yoshimo's behalf."
"That is all I can ask." A chance then, for the fallen thief. A sliver of hope. It was more than any of them had only this morning. Anomen slumped in his chair. Now that his duty was done, he felt exhausted.
The priest laid his hand on Anomen's shoulder. "I will pray for you, too, my son."
Once, Anomen would have been insulted, and raged at the old man. Now, he simply bowed his head. "Thank you," he said quietly. "I think we shall have need of it."
Anomen tiredly lifted himself out of the chair. The chill of the air bit him as he left the safety of the temple, and returned his alertness. It was still raining, but this time, the shadows did not seem so long, and he did not mind the water half so much. He even smiled a little at the thought of returning to Sumara's side. Somehow, the bleak future didn't seem nearly as dark.
My apologies for wrong terms and names. My source books are several thousand kilometres away, locked in storage, and Wikipedia isn't always infallible.