Chapter 1 – Putting the Past Behind

There is a biting chill in the air, and the cold wind pierces straight through the thin fabric of her monk's robe, as she sits with her knees hugged to her chest at the edge of the cliff. She ignores the goose pimples crawling along her flesh as she stares vacantly at the darkened landscape before her.

How long has she been perched here in a daze? She doesn't know. She is vaguely aware of the fact that the sun, which was near its highest point in the sky when she first sat down, has now disappeared beneath the horizon in the west, and where there were blue skies and white clouds, there is now a black velvet blanket studded with cold twinkling diamonds. The silver moon shines emotionlessly overhead, casting its icy, judgmental light on her.

She shivers, not from the cold, but from her own troubling thoughts.

When Mephasm had fired that brilliant flash of light at her, she could feel her skin tingling and her hair crackling from the powerful magic, and she sat bolt upright with a loud gasp, every muscle in her body tensed, ready to respond to whatever the unfamiliar but rather menacing looking spell would do to her. She was momentarily confused when the blue devil, along with the entire alien landscape of red earth and red skies, seemed to have vanished right before her eyes.

Disoriented by her sudden change in surroundings, she sat there blinking, staring blankly at the stone walls around her, at the warped old bookcase in the corner, stuffed full of tomes and scrolls. A feral growl made her jump again, as she felt something cold and wet on her hand. A wolf was nudging her fingers with his nose, making yipping noises, his bushy tail wagging. He appeared glad to see her, as he pounced on her, his front paws on her shoulders, and with small snuffling sounds, proceeded to lick her all over her face.

She was back in the study chamber of her mentor's cave, in her sleeping bag, in the exact same spot where she had fallen asleep, before she had woken up to that surreal scene in that Outer Planar desert.

How did I get from here to there? And how did I get back? Was that all just a dream?

As the events from the eerie nightmare replayed itself in her head, she remembered the gash she got across her arm. She glanced down, expecting to see the bloody hole on her robe, but the fabric was clean and untorn. Rolling her sleeve up, she inspected her bare arm.

No cut.

She let out a breath.

So it was just a dream…

But it was so real…

Just then, she heard her mentor's voice calling for her in his foreign tongue, the clack-clack-clack of his walking stick echoing through the stone corridor of the cave. When his head appeared in the entrance to the chamber, she detected a sense of urgency in his eyes. Even before he said anything, she knew something was wrong.

Another chilly gust of wind blows up from the valley, and she pulls her cloak tighter around herself. Karnwyr whines softly besides her as he rests his grey head on his massive paws.

When her mentor had brought her to where Bishop lay, her heart had wrenched painfully at the sight. His normally tanned complexion had taken on a waxen, deathlike pall, and his cheek bones were sunken. Kneeling down beside him, she placed the back of her hand on his forehead. Where his brow was once hot and feverish and his skin clammy, he was now cold to the touch. Placing two fingers to his neck, she prayed for a pulse, but found none.

It can't be…it was just a dream…

She pulled away the blanket covering his body. Apart from the many old scars marring his torso, she found no blood, no stab wound, no fancy jeweled dagger protruding from his chest.

The fact that all this transpired because Bishop had taken a poisoned arrow aimed at her had not escaped her conscience, and she felt a terrible pang of guilt. When she turned to her mentor, the desperation in her eyes was clear to see.

"He's not…is he…?" she was afraid to even ask the question. The somber look on the old man's wizened face did little to encourage her.

"I am afraid it is too late, child."

She found herself shaking her head mutely as the words sank in.

No…not after everything we've done to try and save him…

She felt a hand on her shoulder. The old man was gazing at her gently, concern etching his wrinkled brow.

"Go," he urged simply, as he ushered her outside. "I will handle things here."

Dumbly, she nodded, as she allowed herself to be led to the cave entrance. Sitting down at the edge of the stony ledge, she breathed in the fresh mountain air. Perhaps staying outdoors a while would help clear her head a little.

As the old man turned to re-enter the cave, something about her haunting dream still nagged at her, and it possessed her to ask after him, "Do you know what the poison is?"

The old man stopped, glancing over a stooped shoulder, and nodded gravely. "It is the most cruel kind of poison: red dragon's blood."

If she had been standing, her knees would have given way.

She feels something furry bumping into her leg and looks down. Karnwyr is nudging her with his snout, as if trying to get her attention. He seems upset as he whines plaintively, his golden eyes wide and shining like two liquid pools.

Golden eyes…

They look so much like his…

Pushing the thought away, she strokes the creature absently, her mind continuing to wander.

So was what I had a dream? The cut on my arm…it's not real…but I remember the pain…and all those people…Bishop's parents…that girl…they all seem so real…and no way could I have dreamt up dragon's blood. I know nothing about it!

The thought that it was all truly some elaborate psychological game designed by the baatezu makes her shudder involuntarily.

If it wasn't a dream…then what Bishop did…

The thought hits her like a punch in the gut.

He had a choice…he could have chosen to be happy…

But why didn't he?

She remembers the bruising kiss he gave her just before he stuck the knife into himself. What was that all about?

A heavy feeling of guilt descends on her chest. She knows it is illogical to blame herself – ultimately, he had made his own decision – but she cannot help it. She hears Mephasm's ominous voice again:

"Why was he willing to give all that up – just so you live?"

I don't know…

If the roles were reversed, she wonders if she would have done the same, or if she would have gone for the selfish option.

This all started because I was too careless with that damned poisoned arrow…

The muffled thud of a wooden cane landing in the soft dirt outside the cave tells her that her mentor is behind her. She shifts to face him.

"I have made the necessary preparations for tomorrow," he announces evenly. "We shall bury him in the morning."

She has always known that the burial is inevitable, but somehow having the old man saying it out loud makes it unbearable all of a sudden. The weight of guilt presses down further upon her shoulders.

"No…" she says suddenly. "No, there must be a way to get him back. I can ride out to find a cleric, bring him back here. Or go to a temple. They may be able to help…" She knows she is rambling, but she cannot stop herself.

"I am sorry, my child," Her mentor shakes his head slowly. "That would take too long. By the time you return, it would be too late."

"No it won't!" she insists heatedly. "You could keep his body preserved until I get back. I won't take long…" Without realizing it, she has lapsed back into speaking in her own tongue.

The old man places a calming hand on her shoulder.

"Child," he says patiently, speaking haltingly in Common. "Indeed, I can preserve his body, but his soul will not wait so long for resurrection."

She stares at him uncomprehendingly. "W-what do you mean? His soul is just in limbo somewhere, isn't it? Surely a cleric can track him down!"

Her mentor lowers himself down beside her. When he starts speaking again, he reverts back to his foreign language.

"When a person dies, the soul is transported to the Gray Wastes of the Outer Planes. There, it will wander briefly before either being collected by an avatar of the deity they worshipped in life, or they will be judged by Kelemvor, the God of Death himself. Once either of this happens, the soul can no longer be retrieved."

The look her mentor gives her is one of sympathy.

"We are too far away from help of any kind. It will take too long, and by that time his soul will be irretrievable. I am sorry, child, but there is nothing you can do."

The old man's soft words crush the remaining vestige of foolish hope she harboured. With an exasperated sigh, she runs her fingers through her hair in frustration.

"This is all my fault…" she whispers, her voice quaking, as she talks more to herself than to her mentor. "If only I were more careful…" The backs of her eyes are starting to prickle suspiciously, and she blinks rapidly to fight back the tears.

"Do not blame yourself for something you cannot change," the old man says quietly.

She says nothing as she stares at the nighttime forest below them, afraid to say anything in case her voice betrayed her.

She feels a gnarled hand squeezing hers.

"A fool could lose tomorrow reaching back for yesterday." The old man's eyes are kind as he continues, "This may be hard for you to hear at the moment, but it is no use mourning over something in the past that can no longer be changed."

Alya inhales deeply, trying to keep her emotions in check. She nods weakly to acknowledge her sifu's words. She knows that what he says is true.

"Do you not have loved ones awaiting you? Do not let them suffer because of your regrets. For both their sake and yours, you have to put your past behind you."

With that, the old man pushes himself to his feet, and looks up at the starry night.

"I am going to rest. Perhaps this would be a good time for some quiet contemplation?"

She understands that means her mentor is suggesting meditation to calm her raging thoughts.

"Yes, sifu," she agrees dutifully, as she makes herself comfortable. As much as she hates to admit it, everything the old man said makes perfect sense: there is no way she could be blamed for what had happened, and there is nothing anyone can do about it now. No sense lingering on things that cannot be changed.

With her legs crossed and her hands in her lap, she closes her eyes, and starts to focus on her breathing, inhaling slowly and deeply through her nose, feeling the cold night air filling her lungs. She holds it in her chest for a moment, before just as slowly exhaling through her mouth, imagining herself breathing out all her negative thoughts.

Sifu is right; I have people who care for me waiting for me – back home.

Resolutely, she tells herself that she would return to Crossroads Keep as soon as the burial is over. She smiles slightly as she imagines herself reunited with her friends: Daeghun, Bevil, and Elanee and Neeshka, who she heard have also survived the battle against the Guardian…

It would be good to see them again…

As she continues to concentrate on breathing deeply, she feels the knotted muscles between her shoulder blades relaxing, as the cluttered thoughts in her mind start to sort themselves out, putting everything into perspective.

Time to put the past behind me…

She tries to ignore the solitary tear rolling out the corner of one eye, tracking a salty course down her cheek.