My laptop, my only source of NWN, inexplicably crashed and is not expected to recover, so until I find another one, this fic is my only outlet for all NWN-related bursts of creativity. *sigh*...it'll have to work....although now I really want to play SoU and HotU.
Edit: Eek! I accidentally titled this as the third chapter in its first upload while it is really the second. That error has now been corrected and the chapter uploaded again.
Chapter Two: Seeking Answers
The ranger nodded once, and Cath unclasped her grip around his forearm and let her arm slip back into the close curl of her body. The ranger straightened up – not all the way, but into a sort of half-crouch – and disappeared beyond the circle of firelight.
Cath realized that the leather book was still cradled in the curve of her spine, nestled between her thighs and her chest. The gold lettering gleamed faintly in the firelight. Neverwinter Nights.
Giving a sort of half-choked gasp, she grabbed up the book in both hands and pitched it over her head, into the bushes. Zephyr whimpered and lay down next to her, his soft, warm back pressing against hers.
There were no tears. Just a feverish desire for everything to be gone.
Scrambling to her feet, Cath raised her palms to the sky and chanted the familiar incantation of unsummoning, thanking the Mother for the gift of her animal companion. Zephyr whined anxiously and pressed his hot, wet nose once to hers before disappearing in a halo of lake-colored light.
Alone and comfortless, Cath staggered away from her bedroll into the trees, blindly seeking deeper forest.
Unseen, Tarrel followed.
* * *
After four consecutive roots tripped up her feet and sent her sprawling onto the mossy forest floor, Cath's internal druid kicked in, allowing her to slip silently and gracefully through the trees without thinking about it. The miles of forest fell away until she was standing before an altar at the mouth of a stream, littered with ancient bones.
The blood-encrusted stone dagger lay placidly in the stream, exactly where it had fallen after it slipped from her lifeless fingers, the last time she had come here.
"Please, Spirit," Cath whispered brokenly, gripping the dagger tightly in both fists, "please help me."
And if the Spirit's realm is closed to me and I simply die, so much for the better.
Baring her teeth in what was neither grin nor grimace, Catharine Rainier raised the dagger in her trembling hands and plunged it deep into her own chest.
* * *
Tarrel let out a loud yell and reached forward, a hand outstretched to help, but it was too late; the woman's body crumpled into the stream, the dagger sliding from her limp hand to lie in the flowing waters.
Born of a lifetime of guilt, the first thought that occurred to him beyond the blind urge to help was, They'll think I killed her.
Backing away, Tarrel turned and sprinted for the druid encampment. His piercing voice carried ahead of his stride. "Aawill!"
* * *
"There is nothing to worry about, Tarrel," Aawill said calmly, folding his arms over his chest. The campfire crackled behind him, silhouetting his powerful form. "Catharine has merely gone to visit the Spirit."
Usually, Tarrel, being a practical, martial ranger, would have raised a skeptical eyebrow, but the shock of seeing the fabled Hero of Neverwinter commit apparent suicide and the subsequent relief of knowing her fate rather changed his outlook. "The Spirit?"
"You are not the only one who has assisted the Neverwinter Wood in the past," Aawill informed him with a slight smile. "Not long ago, after the plague was cured, the Spirit was poisoned, and the animals in the wood turned vicious. Cath learned how to enter the Spirit's realm and cured her. She also rescued three of our druids in the process."
Tarrel's confusion must have shown on his face, since Aawill added, "Is it so hard to believe that the Hero of Neverwinter could have cured the Spirit? If anyone, it would have been her. She is a druid, after all."
"No, no. It's not that I don't believe she did that." Tarrel stared past Aawill, into the bright flames of the campfire. "It's just that…well, I always knew the stories of the Spirit, but…it always seemed more of a fable to me. Do you mean to say that this realm actually exists?"
"Of course. And if you return to the gateway, Catharine's body will have disappeared. The only way to enter the realm is by ending one's life with the ceremonial dagger. It was lost for many years, but Catharine managed to find it. Tarrel, what's wrong?"
At the mention of the ceremonial dagger, Tarrel's fists had clenched tight and his eyes had closed, his shoulders trembling. The old, pale crimson scars on the back of his left hand stood out vividly against his white knuckles.
"I'm fine," he hissed out through clenched teeth. "This dagger. I saw her use it. Would it – would it work for me?"
"It works for anyone, Tarrel." Aawill was watching him so closely he felt like the druid's stare would burn through his flesh. "The Spirit will ensure you can leave her Realm; if you cannot find her, there is a portal in the Realm that will take you back to the gateway. Take care that you do not stay too long – that realm was never meant for living beings."
"Thank you, Aawill." Tarrel turned toward the dark trees, and then turned back to Aawill. "I think it's time that I moved on. Don't worry if you don't see me again. I'll be sure to come back and visit someday."
Surprise flashed across the druid's face. "You've only been here for a day, Tarrel. You've hardly outstayed your welcome. Welcar was counting on sparring with you tomorrow morning."
"It's time that I moved on," Tarrel repeated firmly, and ran fleet-footed for the trees.
* * *
The Spirit was waiting for her near her enormous tree. The Spirit's stag form rippled and flowed with light, fingers of snowy whiteness wrapping around the antlers and sprouting out again to form new tines. Once again, Cath was overwhelmed by the beauty of the Spirit.
The slender form did not move, though the Spirit's wise eyes watched her as Cath drew closer. Only when she extended her hand and bowed her head slightly in a token of respect did the Spirit gently lay her head in Cath's palm. A shock, almost electric, jolted through her arm, but she was careful not to jerk it back.
The electricity faded, and the Spirit's welcome flowed through her entire being, sending tingling warmth up each of her limbs.
"Thank you," Cath whispered, "but I don't deserve it."
The Spirit withdrew her head from Cath's hand and surveyed her. Cath remembered with a pang the wounds she had inflicted on the frenzied, angry Spirit when they had first met. Being a druid, she had had to detach herself from the very heart of her forest-born soul to bring herself to harm the Spirit.
Sensing her thoughts, the Spirit blinked slowly and the warmth of her forgiveness surged through Cath, even without physical contact. Somehow the sympathy in her wise eyes made Cath's breath choke in her throat, and a tear beaded at the corner of her eye. Angrily, she raised a fist and wiped it away.
"Why should it hurt this much?" she demanded furiously. "I've already done everything I can for Neverwinter! Where's the justice?"
The Spirit's explanation unfolded wordlessly in her mind.
Cath struggled not to fall to her knees, her voice cracking. "I know, I know. The pain doesn't come from Neverwinter – it comes from me. But why? What did I do?"
In response, a single image burst like fireworks in her mind's eye: Lord Nasher's spymaster, his arms folded over his powerful chest, dark eyes watching her intently.
The sight of his face made Cath gasp in pain, and this time she did fall to her knees. No words escaped her leaden tongue as she sobbed at the Spirit's feet, her hair strewn over the ground. She thought of nothing as she expended all her energy into the outpouring of every single one of her feelings.
She felt the Spirit touch her forehead gently with her muzzle, just the faintest of pressure. Then the Spirit melted silently away, white tendrils of light coalescing and vanishing into smoke. Raising her head, Cath could not see the Spirit with her tear-filmed eyes, but she could feel her presence around the clearing, warm and fragrant.
Then she felt another presence, behind her.
"Cathar – Cath?"
* * *
Tarrel stared down at the woman's slim form and her shoulders heaving with the force of her sobs, the fury that had brought him to this place fading. The Spirit was nowhere in sight, though he could feel its thrice-damned presence all around the grove.
He said her name quietly, once more. "Cath?"
He waited while the bucking of her spine cooled, and her sobs quieted, until eventually she staggered to her feet and turned to look at him. Her face was flat and emotionless now, though stained with tears. "What are you doing here?"
He had to consider his answer before he gave it. One reason he might be here was to follow her – to make sure she was safe. He couldn't deny that that had been part of his motivation. The Hero of Neverwinter couldn't be easily lost. However, the other reason – the main reason…
"Aawill told me where you had gone, and I wanted to see for myself."
The flat finality of his words was lost on her. "And you just happened to know how to get in? Why did the Spirit disappear when you came?"
Perceptive. That was to expected, though; the Hero of Neverwinter had to be seasoned in both physical and verbal fields of capability, as well as perceptivity. She would never have survived all of her trials without it.
"Aawill told me to get in. And as for your second question, I've no idea how I'm expected to know the habits of such a creature. I spend my days in contact with less unpredictable beasts."
He was unprepared for the anger that flared in her words. "Don't – don't talk about the Spirit like that. Like she's just a common animal. What do you know about her, anyway?"
He hadn't meant to upset her, but neither was he able to control his hatred for the Spirit. Struggling to remind himself that the woman had no idea of his feelings, he forced out, "Fine. I don't know anything. It's – she's not coming back anyway. We should leave."
A spark fire flashed in her eyes. "You go on ahead. I'll leave on my own time."
Stung, he took a step back. "Fine."
* * *
Cath watched the ranger stalk off with the faintest stirrings of regret. She barely knew him – it was a miracle she could remember his name from Aawill's brief introduction – and yet the callous way he spoke of the Spirit had inflamed her. Still, it wasn't wise to be making enemies of someone she had just met and had no reason to hate.
He probably hadn't even known of the Spirit until Aawill told him. All druids who entered the Wood could instantly sense the Spirit's warming presence, but rangers had a less instinctual and spiritual attachment to nature and more of a martial one. Aawill had only mentioned that he had done the Wood a service in the past. That could mean anything, from healing a deer to driving off a few bugbears. The druids weren't exactly choosy when it came to hospitality.
She turned her face back to the Spirit's tree and whispered softly, "Spirit? Are you there?"
There was no response aloud, but a gentle farewell coursed through the positive presence around her, and Cath sighed as she recognized that it was time to leave. She had gotten what she had come for; comfort and a few answers, although not ones she would have had trouble finding herself.
"Thank you, Spirit."
With that, she turned and narrowed her eyes, letting the elfin blood coursing through her veins take over her senses; then, satisfied that the ranger was nowhere near, made for the portal back to the world of the living.