Four walls of unadorned grey stone pressed in on Sonea's conscious mind, making her acutely aware of the drab ceiling above and the plush carpet below that completed her personal cage. Outside a chill, winter storm raged, a pale echo of the turmoil of her inner self. For one, bleak moment, she longed to be out in the driving rain in hope that she might wash herself clear of the taint, the guilt that plagued her. But no, she was as much a prisoner here as the guilty sadness that had taken permanent residence in her heart.
Leaning her forehead against the glass of the large window, her slow exhales and inhales ghosted rings of fog on the pane as rivulets of water marred her pale reflection. They had moved Sonea from Akkarin's quarters because she was no longer the High Lord's novice, she knew, but also to help her move past her grief. Instead she'd been given a view of the grounds where she could look out to the trees rather than the carnage on the other side of the building. They had meant well, which helped some, but all she could see were the ghosts that haunted her still. One in particular. Dark hair... dark eyes... pale skin... hands that could caress softly or wring the life from something... and a deathly wound where only life should be... Squeezing her eyes tight against the tears that threatened her at every turn, lurking just underneath her carefully veiled expression, Sonea moved away from the window, choking back a sob in time to save herself from grief.
Her eyes opened to the wan light of the silvery globe she kept to the side of her desk and the sight of a few of her possessions. On the dresser was the silver brush from her early days with Rothen as her guardian and the books he'd given her as she was learning to read in preparation for her entrance to the Guild. A soft, sad smile found its way to her lips then, as memories of that time when she had seemed so unhappy broke momentarily through her other thoughts. Oh, but had she known what awaited her, would she have still joined the Guild, Sonea mused, though she already knew the answer, had known the answer for several months. She would never have been content to go back and become a "naive" dwell. Her smile vanished as her eyes took in the contents of her desk and she made her feet move her to them.
A single wooden box and a game board lay there, simple and worn. As she had forced her feet to move, she forced her hands to open the box and remove the game pieces she knew were inside. No one had questioned when she asked to be alone, allowing none but Dorrien as her escort. Even Dorrien had politely not inquired about the hiding hole in the stone by the spring, nor about the contents she had removed from it. He had silently escorted her back to her room and left her to her whims. When no one was looking, she had exercised her long-unused thieving skills to creep out to Akkarin and Lorlen's graves, marked out in honor among the rest of the buried fallen and had dug a simple hole in each grave, leaving behind a white piece for Lorlen and a black piece for Akkarin. Thinking back to that night, she swallowed down the sob that was clawing its way out and set up what was left of the set, trying to keep from knocking down the pieces as her hands shook.
Many days and nights had passed like this, with her wandering her room, unable to sleep, riffling through her memories of days now gone. Though she had tried to fill her life full to bursting, tried to prevent herself from seeing the battle over and over again, tried to find peace in sleeping, Sonea found rest was often beyond her. There was not enough in the whole Guild or all of Imardin that could keep her busy enough to forget her pain forever, though the dwell hospital and the almost-constant companionship of Dorrien, Rothen and Takan were making life bearable.
Classes had begun again, continued out of necessity for the normal, but Sonea had found she was more alone now for all the well-wishing and constant respectful silences. Several times in the last few months, she caught herself longing for the pranks of Regin and his recruits from those first years of her training but Regin had kept an overly-respectful distance from her at all times, casting covert glances at her but never approaching. It was becoming too much to bear, everyone knowing that she and only she was their first and last line of defense should the Sachakans en masse or even one Ichani get a bright idea and come hunting.
Sonea shuddered, recalling with vivid detail the horrors the Ichani had visited on her people. Her people. Wouldn't Rothen be proud? She had finally accepted that the Guild was a necessary part of Imardin, and at such a cost. At night, when she lay in bed, praying for sleep, willing her body to unconsciousness because they refused to allow her any sleeping aids, she could still hear the voices, shouting in her head for her to save them. They haunted her dreams, hounded her in the hallways, the voices that never stopped and the one voice that shouted above them all, called to her, tried to tell her to listen to it... Sonea wanted that one to go away the most. Perhaps then she could begin to forget and recover.
Sinking into the chair at her desk, she stared numbly at the set in front of her and the near-empty box behind it. Sonea knew this ritual all too well, knew what else was laying in the box. Carefully, shielding herself so tight that neither emotion nor magic nor thoughts might stray, she reached a delicate hand to the lid and lifted it, exposing the empty receptacle, lined with cheap brown cloth. But this was no surprise to Sonea who had discovered the secret compartment shortly after bringing the box back to her room.
While setting up the pieces one day, she'd accidently knocked what she'd thought was the empty box to the floor but a small clink had alerted her otherwise. Inside, she'd discovered a false bottom with a compartment housing three broken trinkets of some kind, their significance lost to the ages. Putting them aside now, Sonea reached into the hidden compartment and withdrew two items, scarcely taking a breath.
A glittering knife and three rings, one silver and two gold, with identical gems like rubies lay in the palm of her hand. Several of such knives had been left in Takan's care since he had the most intimate knowledge of black magic practices without actually knowing the rituals and he was not a magician nor would he ever be. One had been Kariko's and others had belonged to certain of the other Ichani, but Takan had passed Akkarin's knife to Sonea without telling anyone else. Somehow, that act had touched her more than any other phrase or gift or token she had received, that he trusted her with such a weapon, when the rest of the Guild did not. She put it to the side, not wanting to think about it right now, and laid out the rings.
The first ring, the silver band, was Lorlen's ring. Akkarin had removed it from him when Lorlen was killed in the Invasion and she had taken it from Akkarin, along with his golden ring, as Akkarin, dead beyond repair, lay on the lawn before the University. It had pained her to remove them, but something forced her hand into the natural rhythms of picking as smoothly as any Thief and had concealed them without anyone the wiser. The last ring was hers that she had made as Akkarin had made one for her. Her ring was the only ring of the three still active.
Running a hesitant finger over the "gem", she felt a catch in her throat. He had never worn it. Sonea knew why he hadn't worn it now, though she cursed herself every day for not realizing the truth of it then. It hadn't been because of some silly notion of love. Akkarin had loved her. He could not have denied that when his mind spoke it so clearly, even in those few glimpses. No, he hadn't wanted her to see his ultimate plan, that he would exhaust himself utterly to save her and the Guild and Imardin in one final act of necessity.
Grabbing the rings, she held them tight to her breast and could withstand the tears no longer. Once the floodgates had opened, her grief poured through, staining the front of her brown robes with countless tears. And through it all, the voices in Sonea's head chattered and clamored and yelled and shouted for her to save them, save them, save them. And one voice rose above them, calling out to her to save him, help him, the voice that haunted her in class, waking or sleeping, until she wasn't sure if she was hearing it or imagining it. She willed him to stop with all her might, the rings biting into her hands along with her fingernails, but she didn't care. Her pain would never be enough, could never be enough to erase all the guilt that she just hadn't had enough power to save them all.
Sonea...
Throat raw from crying, fingers slippery with tears, she looked up from her desk, gaze locking on the door. "Hello?" she sniffed, "Takan, is that you?" Wiping her eyes with the arm of her robe, she cradled the rings in her hand a bit more gently and made her way to the door, willing it to open a crack. Peeking out, she found no one in the hallway near enough to be waiting at her door. A few magician's glanced in her direction, saw her red, puffy eyes and quickly looked away. Suddenly angry, she slammed the door and sat down at her desk. "How dare they..." she began, voice husky with grief.
Sonea... Sonea...
Fear replaced her anger as she considered the four walls of her room, wondering now if she had finally lost all sense of reason. Hugging her arms to her and, with them, the rings in her hand in a tight, sweaty wad of metal, she called out against her better judgment, "Hello?" A great lump rose in her throat as she jumped up, knocking over her chair as she quickly pressed herself back toward the wall. As her back met the smooth stone surface, she felt the chill through her robes and shivered. Outside, the storm had ceased and the din inside her head was, for once, blessed absent. Even still, her eyes tracked around the small room, looking for who or what was calling her name.
Sonea... love...
At that, Sonea jumped, dropping the rings from her hands onto the carpet. "No, no, it... it cannot be..." The words felt so small compared to the confusion of feelings pelting her. Part of her leapt with joy, but fear held her in place, plastered to the wall for several long minutes with the rings fallen to the floor. A sudden knock on the door jarred her to the reality of her situation and, when no other mysterious voices called her name, she called out shakily, "Yes... wh...who is it?"
"My lady, it is Takan. You were late for our meal so I had thought to come find you." His voice was muffled through the door, but she could hear him well enough, knew his accent. It was indeed Takan. "Is everything all right, my lady?"
Gulping down one last lump, she quickly stooped to pick up the three rings and stowed them, along with the knife into the hidden compartment in the box. "I... I'm fine Takan... one moment..." Sonea smoothed her robes, suddenly aware of how silly she must look, tear-stained, puffy-eyed and jumping at nothing. Closing the box, she moved to the door and opened it with a mere thought. "I'm ready. My apologies for keeping you waiting, Takan," she replied softly, watching Takan's eyes slightly widen at her appearance. "Shall we go?"
Turning to lock the door, she gave her room one last cursory glance and allowed the globe light to wink out of existance. A sigh escaped from her lips, heralding the return of her wistful sadness. Yet, for the first time in months, Sonea dared to feel a small shred of hope. Perhaps at dinner she could ask Takan whether he had been hearing voices or if this was common in Sachaka. Perhaps this was normal for black magicians. There was so much she didn't know yet, she thought as they made their way to Takan's quarters for their meal. So much she should know... so little time... She steeled her resolve and hoped her sanity would hold out.
Perhaps all was not lost.