She lifts the cup to her lips and drinks.
His knees go weak and he clutches the doorframe harder to steady himself. The cup clangs to the ground and Wander is about to follow, but Mono is still alive and still smiling at him. She blinks, each one slower and slower, until she can no longer open here eyes, and she's being laid down on the altar. He has to bite down on his arm to keep himself from crying out, to keep his tears from spilling over.
He watches as the rising and falling of Mono's chest slows and eventually stops. Emon covers her with a woven blanket and Wander steps back on shaking legs.
It's finished. Mono is dead. There is nothing left for him here.
He waits until the chanting begins again and slips away unseen, unheard.
He climbs atop his horse and rides, urging Agro into a gallop as fast as he can. The two of them race out of the village and don't stop for what seems to be hours, until they are far, far away, far enough that they won't be found.
He knows nobody will be looking, anyway.
He waits until the sun sets to return. In the dark, nobody will see him. But they will still hear him, if anyone remains awake, so he dismounts just outside the village, and enters it alone. He does not need to tie Agro up; she will not move until he returns and urges her away.
Quietly, he sneaks to the temple. The candles are still lit, but there are no voices coming from inside. He's safe, for a time, but he has to move quickly.
The body is still there, covered in the woven blanket. He has no time to spare, no time to lift the sheet and gaze at his lover's face - she will be moved soon, prepared for the next morning's sky burial, the completion of the ritual - but longing overcomes him and he does. He steps as quietly as he can to the altar and lifts the corner of the blanket, drawing it back from her face. He feels his balance waver again, but he stands firm where he is. Mono looks peaceful, almost happy: there are still faint traces of her final smile on her lips. Tears threatening to fill his eyes, Wander slowly brushes a strand of hair behind his lover's ear and steps back. He must leave her now, but only temporarily: there is something in here that he needs. Something that they both need.
Setting the blanket back over his beloved, he turns and moves deeper into the temple. He makes his way through the back halls to a room few have ever seen, but all knew of. He remembers tales told around fires of forbidden wilds and magic and artefacts hidden away and sealed by holy magic, never to be touched by mortal man, and prays that the rumours are true.
He finds it.
The room is unguarded except by a stone door. Hastily, he pushes it open - just a crack, barely enough to see inside. The room is dark; the only source of light comes from the candles outside it. But this is all Wander needs: he can see, at the back of the room, a glint of metal on the wall, beckoning him with the silent promise of hope.
With redemption.
He swallows and slips inside. The sword is mounted on the wall, its sheath directly below. Delicately, reverently, he lifts the blade. The rush he feels does not come from the texture of the hilt under his fingers, nor from the magic he knows the sword is imbued with, but from the knowledge that now there is no turning back. He has taken the first step, and now all that's left is the path the theft has laid.
Mono will live. He will bring her back.
