Twelve Doors of the Soul:
Shadows of Amn
This is a follow up to my BG1 story, A Fragment of Substance. Rated M for violence and mature themes.
All Bioware characters are owned by Bioware. Finn and Anna are my own. Xan inspired by Kulyok's mod at Pocket Plane Group.
Elvish language references courtesy of The Grey Company
...
"Better than last time. I think they are fading nicely!"
Eloesa clucked her diagnosis cheerfully, or as cheerfully as one could while gazing at a pattern of scars. Her client though remained unconvinced.
"The redness is fading…but they still burn sometimes."
"All part of the healing process, I suppose," the apothecary replied, though it was her turn to sound dubious. "I would carry on with the ointment for another month and see what results it brings. Morning and night, remember that. And try not to bath more than once a tenday; soap is very irritating to the skin."
Anna muttered something in reply. Eloesa went out into the front shop and busied herself with making up another bottle of ointment. Anna pulled her dress back on slowly, watching as the fine lines disappeared beneath the fabric.
She could cover them but they never really felt hidden. How strange they were, those scars Sarevok had left her with. The redness had faded leaving them more in a match with her pale skin. But each rune retained its form, the edges never blurring. Each line was precise as if he'd drawn them with a pen. And they were prone to burning at times; sometimes one or the other, never the same. And one terrifying night she had woken in a sweat, feeling her entire body burning as if consumed by fire. But those instances were thankfully few. Slowly, the marks seemed to be healing.
Anna finished dressing and followed the apothecary out into the shop. Eloesa stood behind the counter, humming a quiet song to herself as she mixed together various oils of herbs. The shop was well-lit in the afternoon sunshine, and the light glinted off the shelves filled with jars of herbs and resins. The air had a dusky smell, pleasant, like a meadow in the autumn.
It was strange that Anna should need to be there. Potions were her trade, after all. But it was less the woman's stock of herbs that she needed, than another pair of eyes. She felt the need to confide her injuries to some other human.
"That should do," Eloesa said, pouring her mixture carefully into a tall amber glass bottle. "I added a little extra calendula this time; that may help with the burning. If it doesn't let me know, and I'll do you up a salve."
"This will be fine, thank you," Anna said quietly.
"Are you feeling quite well, dear?" the apothecary asked. "I couldn't help but notice you seem rather pale today. Perhaps a blood tonic would do you good."
Anna looked up to see the woman smiling kindly. She always did like the village apothecary, even though as merchants the two were in something of a competition with one another. But Anna felt dull and the woman's kindness was lost on her.
"Not today, thank you. I haven't been out in the sun much, that's all."
"A bit surprising for you," the woman remarked. "You've got those big gardens and all."
"Yes," Anna sighed.
The apothecary smiled a little, but didn't respond. Her comment had only served to remind Anna how little work she'd accomplished that spring. There were as many weeds growing as herbs, and the bushes were growing out of control from lack of pruning. But she didn't have the energy to tend to it, and pride stopped her from hiring anyone else.
"Well. If there's nothing else… I'll send my boy round to yours with the bill."
"I'd rather settle up now, actually," Anna replied. "I'm not sure when I'll be in town again."
"I see. Nothing wrong with settling accounts early!"
Eloesa made a little joke, but Anna could feel the woman's eyes on her. She counted the coins out of her purse and set the big glass bottle carefully into her basket.
...
Anna said farewell to the apothecary, then paused to draw her shawl up over her head before stepping out into the street. The weather was too warm now for a cloak, but she hated feeling exposed. That narrow cobbled lane felt like a gallery to the gaping stares of the entire world.
Anna knew it was foolishness, but she also knew the way country people talked. She'd overheard more than one passing comment as she hurried about her business in Beregost. Those marks…and where was that husband of hers? The last point stung all the more, because Anna herself didn't know.
She'd had two letters from Finn that winter. They were odd letters, drifting between the monotony of daily life in Baldur's Gate to strange episodes filled with humour. They felt strained as if he was searching for something to fill up the parchment. But never once did he mention coming to Beregost in the spring, as they'd agreed. He never mentioned how he was…managing. And then, there were no more letters.
The ground was still thick with snow when the messenger made his way to Anna's cottage, bearing Finn's last letter. And now Mirtul was going by. It was nearly Kythorn, the Time of Flowers. Spring was passed. Summer was nearly here. But Finn was still gone.
Anna finished her errands in Beregost, head kept down as always these days, hiding like a beggar. She looked up hearing a clattering, jostling noise; a jumble of shouts as another caravan drove in from the north. The trade season was well under way, and new caravans passed through town every day. But none of them bore Finn or Imoen, and no news of where they might be.
Something had happened. She knew it. If Finn couldn't write, then surely Imoen would. But slowly another fear had been building… Perhaps he did not want to come back?
The thoughts began to chase themselves around in her mind, as they'd done a hundred times before. Waiting was madness. Not knowing was madness. Feeling that her life had stopped, even as she walked through the sunlit countryside… Anna could hardly bear it. But she needed to bear it. She needed to wait.
...
At last she pushed open the gate to her own cottage. Looking the yard over caused her to snap back to reality. The grass had been up to her knees, but someone had cut it back in her absence. Part of the fence had been broken when a tree branch fell on it during the winter, but it was now repaired. For one mad moment she imagined that Finn had done it. Could he have returned?
She dashed round to the kitchen door. It was open to the air, not shut as she'd left it. Breathlessly Anna stepped over the threshold, calling out in greeting. There was a fire in the hearth, but the kitchen seemed so dark after being outside that she could hardly see. But it wasn't Finn's voice who answered her, but a slow, thick drawl.
"Back from town, I see. I was wondering where ye'd got to."
"Maya?" Anna exclaimed.
Her former housekeeper hadn't set foot in that place since she walked out last year. And although the venerable matron was only living down the hill at her daughter's place, Anna had barely seen her since she'd returned home.
"You may well be surprised," the woman replied. "But I figured it was high time I took back my duties."
"But…" Anna said.
She stared as the heavyset woman pushed herself out of her chair with a grunt. She hobbled over to the hearth and stirred something in a pot.
"I had Daffid tend to your yard there," she continued. "No job for my back, that's for certain. But I can still cook a meal, all right."
"I thought you were ill," Anna said quietly.
So her daughter had said, anyway. She looked at Maya harder. She was slightly less of frame than she had been, giving her an oddly shrunken appearance. She seemed to move slowly and with less determination than before. The grey had swept over her hair, making her severe top-knot look wreathed in snow.
"I have been poorly this winter, no denying that. I reckon it was all that strain ye've put me under. You'll be the death of me, girl. But between the priestess and my Una's good broth, I'm alive yet. Pass me the nutmeg grater, will ye? It's on the table, there."
"But, you're…here, again?" Anna asked, still confused.
She passed the grater to the woman, and she nodded slowly as she carried on her work.
"Didn't have much choice, did I? It's not right for a body to be all alone. I hated thinking of you up here by yourself all winter long. Especially not when you're ill yourself. Did he do that to you, Anna?"
"No," Anna said, starting. She grasped her skirt, trying to hide her hands.
"I was just wondering," the woman continued, her voice still hard. "Had to be some reason why that man of yours weren't here. Or has he given up on you already?"
"He hasn't given up," she cried, louder than she'd have liked. "And if you've just come here to…to…gossip you can go back…"
"Easy, now, missus," Maya said, turning from the fire. "I'm not trying to get you worked up. But I don't know the reasons, and given that fellow's history, well, it could be anything. You haven't said ought to anyone since ye've come home, and you could hardly blame tongues for wagging. But more than that…Una's kitchen were feeling a little small for me. A body gets used to their own place, you know. Where's the pepper grinder? Couldn't find it before."
"Oh, it broke…" Anna said, throwing her hands up in distraction.
"Ah, well. Is that useless old tinker ever going to get up this way again? Not seen him since summer last. I heard they found him up on the north road, out cold from drink. Fell off his cart and the horse kept going! Creature went straight to the nearest tavern, just as if his master had bid him. No shame in some folk. Ah, salt. Ye've got that, at least. Cupboard here is bare as an old dog's bone. No wonder you look about a stone lighter. Need to put in an order with the butcher. Though you probably haven't heard about him…"
Anna drowned out the tale of Maya's latest scandal and sat down hard in a chair. For one moment, it was as if nothing had changed. Maya was there, tending to the hearth. Anna had nothing in the world to worry about but her garden, and the endless day-to-day in a quiet country place. The fresh breeze brought the promise of summer wafting into the kitchen. The long, happy days were coming, the deep twilights, and all the blessings the Earthmother would bring.
But a quick glance around the kitchen brought that vision down hard. The floor was half-swept; Maya had started the task, but abandoned it. The dirty crocks were still in the dishpan. She'd tried to clean the glass in the windows, leaving the dirt smeared where once she left it sparkling. Maya sighed heavily and drew a chair nearer to the hearth. She sat with a groan and let her arms drop to her side.
"Can I help?" Anna asked meekly.
"If you don't mind," Maya puffed. "Here, Sophie said she'd be around to feed the hens. Where is that girl? I don't know but Una needs to crack the whip with her, that's what. Getting lazy. Probably out…never mind."
Maya gave up the thought and watched in silence as Anna tended to the pot. Nothing more was said between them until the pottage was done.
...
The next few days were filled with work and silence. From Maya's prodding and a little help from the itinerant Sophie, Anna set to the monumental task of weeding the garden. She was glad of the work; it kept her from thinking too much.
And the garden was not the only thing in a state of neglect. Anna had barely seen to the housework since she'd been home. There seemed little point in tending to anything; she grew tired easily, and headaches were her only visitor. But slowly the place began to look like itself again. The chambers were turned over, corners swept, shelves dusted.
In spite of her housekeeper's return, Anna did most of the work herself. Maya trundled around the cottage, helping here and there, but mainly confined herself to her chair in the kitchen.
Anna put off tending to the upstairs hearths till the last. Sweeping out the ash and polishing the firedogs was a grim and dirty task, but the season for fires had passed, and it needed doing. She spent a miserable morning tending to the business, then with a thankful sigh went back downstairs to wash up. She was starving and hoped to see lunch ready, but surprisingly Maya hadn't even peeled the potatoes.
"What is the hour?" Anna asked, pouring some water into the basin to scrub her filthy face and hands.
"Ah, must be about mid-day," Maya said. "Begging your pardon…been busy with this spinning, I have."
She set down her spindle on the table, but the shaft was barely a quarter full of the creamy spun flax. A lifetime of experience had allowed Maya's plump fingers to spin thread that a spider would envy, but this stuff was lumpy and uneven.
"Well…just let me finish washing, and I'll tend to it," Anna said, reaching for a towel.
"No, you won't," Maya replied, forcing herself from her chair. "You're not the hired help. I'll see to it."
Anna didn't reply. Anyone who walked in and saw the state of her might think otherwise at the moment. She didn't mind helping with the housework, and she always had. But it couldn't escape her attention that she'd been doing considerably more of it lately than usual.
"Are you well, Maya?" she asked, braving the question.
"Course I'm fine," the woman answered, gruffly. "Just taking me a bit longer to get the spring back in my step these days. You don't need to nag me to tend to my work, missus. I'll do it."
"I'm not…" Anna began, but decided to drop the subject. She hurried back upstairs to change her clothes.
At last the meal was done. A simple broth of spring greens with the last of the winter's store of potatoes. Anna ate hers carefully, trying to push aside the brown bits of spoiled potato that had found their way into the pottage.
Maya scarcely ate at all. She sopped up the broth with a crust of brown bread, sucking the juices out of it. Anna drew a deep breath.
"I was thinking… Maybe it's time Sophie took up a situation here. I don't think Una would mind. She could take the back bedchamber. It would be helpful…"
"Sophie, here?" Maya exclaimed. "Why do you…"
"Well, there's a lot of work to do in the garden…" Anna said quickly. "I can barely keep up with it. Sophie is surprisingly good with the herbs."
"Aye, but she can come up from the house for that. No need to have her stopping here. Una needs her girl at home."
"Una has three other girls at home," Anna remarked. "And three boys. Sophie is likely to be looking for a position in the next couple years, anyway. And she couldn't be any closer to home."
"I reckon," Maya said. "Well, I've nowt to say on any of it. It's not my house, and I'm not her mother. Do as you like."
Anna sighed. In honesty having Sophie there wasn't ideal for her, either. The girl only worked when she chose, and she wondered where she'd scrape together enough coin for another wage. But they needed the help.
Anna looked up in surprise as a shadow darkened the kitchen door. She jumped to her feet, but deflated when she realised it was only the butcher's lad from town. So lost in her own thoughts had she been that she hadn't even heard his cart coming up the lane. She tended to the business and the lad went whistling on his way.
"You all right, missus?" Maya asked as she sorted through the parcels. "I thought you'd jumped ten foot in the air when that lad knocked."
"I just thought it might have been…someone else," Anna sighed.
"You expecting him back, then?"
Conversation had been thin since Maya returned, but one subject she didn't raise was Finn's whereabouts. And the edge in her voice didn't leave much doubt about who she spoke.
"Yes. I hope so," Anna said. She couldn't help but add the last.
"I reckon the Flaming Fist keeps them busy," Maya remarked. "He's not been stationed in town. He been sent out Berdusk way?"
Anna shut her eyes hard; Maya didn't even know that Finn had been discharged.
"I don't know when he's coming," she replied.
"Well then," Maya said. "Just gossip, of course. But I got the impression he might not be coming back."
"Is that…why you're here?" Anna asked slowly.
"Well, missus, let me put it this way…if he were here, then I wouldn't be."
"And if he did come back?"
"Then I'd be gone again," Maya said sternly. She looked up from the joint she was inspecting and gazed at Anna hard. "Not because I want to leave you, but because there'd be no point."
"What do you mean?" Anna asked.
"Are you kidding yourself, missus?" the woman said. "There'd be something else. There'd always be something else. A house with no peace, no rest. And I've looked after you since you was a young maid…I wouldn't stay to see it happen again."
"Maya, you don't…" Anna began.
"What, I don't know what he's like?" she interrupted. "Give over. You get to be my age, you'll have seen it a dozen times. Women who do nothing but make excuses for their men. But the worst most men around here get up to is falling asleep under the haystack with a bottle of whiskey. But with your man… I don't like him, Anna, and I never did. Something about him…he sets me wrong. Ye'll end up dead with him, and that's the gods' honest truth."
"Will you stop!" Anna exclaimed, nearly in tears. "It's over now. It's done with. Finn is…"
"What's over? What's done? You won't even say where he is! How'd you get them decorations then? Tell me it didn't have something to do with him. Tell me, and I'll call you a liar."
The woman's fat face was red from anger. Anna felt like she'd been slapped. How could she explain? But there was nothing to explain. She knew Maya was right. Every fear she'd held suddenly poured out of her, and she gave way to choking sobs. Her fantasies, her excuses were no match for the raw reality that Maya possessed. Anna could bear no more. She fled up the stairs and flung herself down onto her bed, and spent the next hour sobbing alone.
Anna couldn't rise from bed. She didn't know how. How could she go on…with life? She felt so utterly lost. She had come back home, but she came back as a stranger. This was not her house. This was not her bed. Maya was not the woman who would surprise her with gingerbread on a cold winter's eve, who was always there with a reassuring word. It was all a mockery, a distorted image in the glass.
...
The rest of the day felt bleak. Anna and Maya said nothing to one another as they carried out their tasks. Anna thought Maya looked tense, worried even. She seemed nervous, wandering aimlessly around the kitchen. But Anna didn't feel much better herself. She went to bed as early as she could.
She slept, only to wake a short time later. Too many thoughts were dancing in her head. The faces of people she hadn't seen in over a season. Her scars hurt, and no ointment would cool them.
Anna threw off her covers, trying to get rid of that heat. Exhausted, she rose from bed and padded across the room to the window. She drew the frames open wider, hoping to call in some cool air. The night was still, with a little light from the waning moon illuminating wood and field. Anna sat at the window for a moment, drinking in the fresh air.
She saw an animal dart up the lane; was it a cat, or a fox? Somewhere in the distance an owl cried, and another answered. The breeze picked up, fluttering the new leaves like thousands of little flags.
It was an image of peace, and Anna felt a wave of sleep wash over her again. She was about to return to bed when a sudden cry downstairs nearly shook her out of her skin. She hurried down the steps, nearly tripping over her long shift as she went. She ran to the kitchen where she'd heard the noise, and paused in alarm.
Maya was there, still fully dressed. The candle on the table was lit and the fire was up in the hearth, giving the impression that the housekeeper had not gone to bed. But the woman was flailing around, crying out and screaming as if she'd suddenly gone mad.
"Oh, No! No!" she cried.
"Maya! What's the matter?" Anna screamed in return.
She tried desperately to restrain the woman, worried she might do herself an injury. But Anna could do little against her ravings. She looked all around the kitchen, trying to work out what was wrong. The door was bolted. The shutters were closed, and they were all alone.
"No! Don't…don't… Not again! Not again!"
Maya gasped hard, her eyes suddenly gone wide as a fish. Her entire body shook, and she went down hard onto the stone floor. Anna screamed out again, but Maya didn't reply. She was frozen. She was gone.
...
The next few days were mercifully blurred. Although she offered, Anna was secretly relieved when Maya's daughter insisted that her mother's body should lay at their house while the mourners paid their respects. Anna couldn't bear the thought of it. She did what she could, gathering the herbs that would fill her shroud. Rosemary for remembrance, rue for bitterness. Too many herbs.
They buried her in a simple grave at the back of the farm; no casket, only a shroud, that the woman could lie in the arms of the mother that bore her. The Pastoral Mella brought the blessings of Chauntea upon Maya and her family:
See now the mother laid to rest, to live on through her children, and her grandchildren, and her great-grandchildren. The circle of life never ending. Great Mother, take us in death, as you gave us the breath of life…
It seemed that half of Beregost was kin to Maya, and Anna hung back at the edge of the assembled crowd. Surrounded by tears, Anna didn't cry. But that sadness hung on inside of her, gripping her tighter than anything she'd known. Her loss was complete now. She was completely alone. The remorseless sun that shone down on Maya's grave only seemed dark to her.
In all the emotion Anna tried to overlook the reason for her death. Her heart; everyone thought it was her heart. She'd never recovered from the shocks inflicted on her in the past year, and with her size and her age…everyone thought the same. Even Mella said so. She'd had a fit, that was all. But Anna had seen the look in that woman's eyes before she died…she was afraid. Something had terrified her. What was it? Anna had no answer.
But even in the midst of death, life needed to carry on. Somehow she could feel the nagging of the matron, prodding her from beyond the grave. The gardens needed tending and the hearth needed sweeping. Winter was over, and Anna couldn't go on avoiding life forever.
With a sigh she took up the broom, sweeping up the dusty corners of the kitchen. Anna hadn't built up the fire since Maya died; the nights were not so cold now, and she had no appetite regardless. In the hearth was a pile of cold, grey ashes. She took up the brush and swept them into the pan, but surprisingly the brush drew out a crumpled piece of paper. The frugal matron would never use valuable parchment to light the fire, and Anna wondered what it might be.
The note was charred and covered in ash, but most of it was legible. Anna's shaking hands clenched the parchment tighter.
The outside was covered in a strange scrawl, not a proper address, just words. Anna…Yellow Hair…Mage…Berregost. The words were shaky but recognised that handwriting immediately. And what she read sent a cold breath of winter running down her spine.
Anna… Trying to remember… That is your name? Are you my wife? I remember you. You have yellow hair. A smile. I remember your name.
They tell me it's Mirtle. I don't know why it's now, why I'm here… It's not where I was. Not when. Kalid is dead. He carved him up…the man with the knife. He put a knife in my head, now I can't remember… Imoen is gone. They took her away. Jaheera says she knows what to do, but I can't think… Can't remember. But I can remember you. I think I can. Are you real? I'm always dreaming.
They say this is the city of coin, but we don't have any. Jaheera knows an innkeeper. Copper, something. She says she'll fix it. But I can hear her crying…
My head hurts. Can you find me? I need to see your face. Maybe I will remember.
Someone else is here. I'm not alone, even when I'm alone. I can see him in the shadows… He won't tell me his name. My head hurts too much now. I need to sleep.
MY NAME IS FIN.
FINGAN.
FIN OF CANDLE-DEEP.