Act I, Chapter 2
HUNTED HUNTER – PART 2 OF 3
It was long walk, amidst the forest that only darkened as the elves and Alice went further in. For long moment – hours, Alice thought, there was no sound but those of the forest and of Alice's own steps. The numbness she felt after Alborth's departure was beginning to fade, and by now, she realized that while there were five people walking, her steps were the only one that could be heard, even in the floor covered with dry leaves and dry sticks.
Alice's feet were aching – she was not used to such long strides, after all, an in the past three days she done naught but walk, and walk. Besides, her traditional mage robe was already ragged at its hems, and up until her knees, it was brown with mud. She desperately needed a bath, she desperately needed to rest. Her sudden attempt of rescue had turned out into a tragedy bigger than she could handle. Her last thread of hope was that the Dalish said a templar killed their Keeper, and it had to be Cullen. It sounded like him, as he had said before; he was of more use outside then locked inside the tower, waiting for transference to a monastery that would but render him unable to do his sacred duty as a templar.
"I never got to learn your names." Alice said, for all the four elves to hear, even if the only one next to her was the leader. The others were around, unseen, scanning the perimeter around their leader and the mage.
Now that the tension had ended, Alice was able to pay more attention to the leader's features. He was tall for an elf, much taller than the elves in the Circle, and such were his subordinates. His long hair was of a dark tint of gold, the same color of his big, angry and expressive eyes, braided in half its length. He wore a suit of greenish brown leather and a dark green cloak, with black leather boots. The tattoos on his stern and slender face depicted a pattern that resembled the stripes of a tiger, which matched with the color of his hair. Unlike his subordinates, his cloak was not covered with leaves and dirt camouflage.
He gave Alice a mistrustful glance, and sighed softly. "I am called Súrinen, for my people say I am to be like the wind." A pause followed, and once again, Súrinen looked at Alice mistrustfuly. Apparentely, he wasn't sure if he ought or not talk to our hero. But there was still a long path to go, and there were things he wanted her to know, so she could help. Thus, he moved the conversation forward. "Alice. What does this shemlen name means?"
She smirked slightly, crooking a side of her beautiful lips in a kind smile. She enjoyed that he would talk to her. This would make things so much easier, after all. The death of a templar and the standing before Alborth still took their toll on Alice's humors, and thus engaging in conversation would be a good thing.
"It means 'noble', 'exalted'." Said she, "But I must say the meaning is overrated. It is not like I am a queen, or even a noble for that matter, amongst my people. There is also another meaning that I find more true to me: 'the true one'. And I am naught if not true, ser Hunter. There is nothing I despise more than lies."
Alice shrugged and continued. "Still, that is the way of humans. They name their children with names whose sonority they are fond of. I love my name, both for the way it sounds as well as its meaning."
The Dalish elf said as he kept walking, now looking straight ahead: "Anyway, I find it odd. You are not the first gifted we help. While camped close to the lake, it is common for shemlen gifted to come to us for aid, and we usually give them the help they need."
"And it is a fact that puzzles me. I know you Dalish are not fond of humans, so why do you help apostates that manage to find you?" asked Alice.
"Because they help us in return. And also, because what you call apostates are the friendlier humans we find in our travels. They do not begrudge us for whom we are, nor try imposing their laws over us. Also, we benefit of their magic."
Alice made a brief moment of silence. She looked down and felt a pang on her chest as she spoke: "You should not do this to apostates. Their—
-our magic is cursed, more than it already was when we were in the Circle, and it is something that displeases the Maker."
"You called mages 'gifted' before," said she, "but what you do not understand, honored Súrinen, is that this gift is the Maker's, and his only, and it is not ours to take. Thus, you would do right to call us 'usurpers', for we have usurped the Maker's gift."
Now, the big golden eyes of Súrinen were narrowed, and his pointed ears turned to Alice, for he could not actually believe in what he heard. "I may call you shemlen usurpers. But mages as a whole? They are the better lot of your kind. And what surprises me, is that while you condemn this 'apostates' so, still you are one of them. Would you mind explaining?"
Alice's eyes filled with tears and she simply nodded, taking hold of her ownself not to spill them in front of Súrinen. Alice's first impression of the Dalish was not a good one. Hunters prone to violence, aiders of apostates, and who spoke of the Maker with such despise in their voice that, in a different situation, would have Alice pick a quarrel for such blasphemies. "It is a long story that I will try to make short-"
"You should never make stories short, shemlen. This hurrying about all things is what thins the blood and brings death so soon in a lifespan. Hurry must be avoided, especially in stories, which hold so much power."
Alice blinked at the interruption, and was a little mad at her ownself for agreeing with him. "Well. It has to do with the man who killed your Keeper. Cullen is his name. He and I…" she hesitated. "We were friends. Very dear friends. He was a righteous man, the most righteous of them, pious and kind, like a better version of ser Alborth, who we just met and whose life you kindly spared."
"Until one day, a bad man, a Maleficar, high in the hierarchy of our Circle, brought a revolution, slayed many, spared none but those who escaped, and let demons and abominations loose on the Tower."
Súrinen merely listened, walking a few steps ahead of Alice, one of his ears turned back to the mage.
"Then came a man, a warrior, followed by his band, and killed Uldred. Maybe you know of him. His name is John Cousland, also known as the arl of Amaranthine, and Hero of Ferelden."
Súrinen turned to Alice then, and matched his pace with hers; smiling a smile broader than any he had smiled so far. "I know who you mean. I was in Denerim, and fought by his side against the darkspawn that took the shemlen city. Amongst us he is known as Tïntalle - the Kindler."
"Kindler?" Asked and exclaimed Alice at the same time, taken by surprise, not able to hide her revolt at such a title.
"Yes, kindler, Tïntalle." said he, tilting his head the slightest bit to a side. "It was him, mind you, a shemlen, that united the clans once more, and now, many clans travel to Amaranthine, where they cannot be harmed by the local shemlen law, and unite. That is where we are heading, coming all the way from the land your kind calls Rivain."
"The only thing he kindled was Cullen's madness! After he was done defeating Uldred, he allowed maleficarum and apostates to go loose, demons to live and templars to die! Because of him, Cullen is as now, and it is 'Tïntalle's' fault that your Keeper is dead."
There was so much bitterness in the word 'Tïntalle', that if I twisted it on its ends, it would drop poison. And Súrinen didn't like it a single bit. He stopped walking and narrowed his eyes once more to Alice. His voice lost all the friendliness that was growing slowly as they spoke. "Few are the shemlen who can be called friends of the elvhenan. Most apostates are amongst these few, and if there is only one shemlen alive we Dalish call hero, a single one, this one is Tïntalle. So, stop insulting our friends, for we do not take well offenses upon those we hold dear."
Alice met the elf's fiery gaze and held hers as well, anger burning inside her. But she needed them. She needed to reach their camp, find the trace of Cullen's whereabouts, and then leave these heathens, friends of other heathens, for good. Meeting the Dalish had been nothing like Alice thought it would be. She knew they did not follow the One True God, but this was going too far. Now they were flocking around John Cousland? Did he have to help all who denied the Maker, and never those who had the true faith?
Alice went silent the rest of the way, and Súrinen would have it that way. The elf already regreted having risked his life for Alice, but still, she had some answers and the healing magic that would prevent the injured hunters from dying. Falon Din knew, they were already very few as they were.
Finally after another ten minutes of walking in the forest, a clearing opened suddenly before them, and the sight that followed took Alice's breath away.
Try to imagine this: a clearing that resembled a circle in shape, very, very wide, its berth reaching probably a quarter of a mile. In the very center of this clearing, a massive tree spread its golden canopy all over the clearing, with the sun shining through the dry leaves in spots of shimmering light that moved according to the whim of the gentle breeze. The tree trunk had a light blue tint to it, and around it, there were shrines, statues and offerings.
The Great Ironbark was so impressive that Alice took a while to notice the bonfires and the aravels scattered all around it. The Dalish wooden cars, astonishing if not seen next to the tree that gave them shadow, were fully loaded, and the only sing of all the Dalish hardware was the religious paraphernalia scattered precisely around their own Vhenadahl. Rows and rows of mighty hallas ate the green grass of the floor, waiting to be linked to the aravels and set travel. And, finally, about a dozen elves glanced as the stranger that followed the hunters.
It was the First, a young male elf whose dark hair blowed in the breeze, who greeted them. Alice noted that while the other of the Dalish elves had the tattoos on their faces painted in totality, that means, they were not just outlines, but intricared patterns of deep burgundy, this elf, the First, had his tattoos made only in the outer lines, as if the insides waited to be filled. "Andaran Atish'an, shemlen." Said he, in a kind and distant voice. "I am K'haron, First and next Keeper of this clan."
Alice realized soon this elf was a mage, and all the reverence that was paid to K'haron frightened her. He carried his staff with him as if it was a mark of deep honor, an instrument of authority. As soon as he spoke, Súrinen bowed before him as if K'haron were a Revered Mother. But still, Alice knew she was the foreigner, and thus she bowed her head in respect. "I am Alice Amell, ser First, from the Circle of Magi."
"I see. Would you wish to ride with us to Amaranthine, Alice Amell? There are others like you who-"
"First K'haron, I am sorry to interfere." Said Súrinen, interrupting the First in the middle of his sentence. Alice narrowed her eyes at that, after all, it seemed the First was about to say something about other apostates. Súrinen went on. "Alice is not an escaped gifted. She is here to track the shemlen who killed the Keeper, and then she will return to her Tower. I brought her because she is skilled in healing magic, and might help our fallen lethalinen."
K'haron narrowed his very light gray eyes at that affirmation, and the next words he exchanged with Súrinen were unintelligible for Alice. The words seemed like sang instead of spoken, and their sound resembled the accent that marked the way the Dalish spoke the Tongue of Commerce. But she knew it was not truly the language spoken at Arlathan, it was not the elven tongue. It was a dialect developed after millennia of exile, which tried to emulate the elven tongue, but was not it. Still, it was beautiful.
Finally, K'haron turned to Alice and smiled again while Súrinen bowed to him and simply left, without further words given to Alice. "Please, Alice Amell, come this way. I know you have walked a long way, and your kind is not used to walking long distances, but I would ask of you that you first gave our wounded the kindness of your spells. Later, you can rest in one of our aravels, and I will answer yours questions to the best of my ability."
Alice nodded and she followed the First towards one of the shrines around the Vhenadahl, one that had an indigo tent erected over it. It was the larger tent around, Alice noted. It was clear that the Dalish were eager to leave that place as soon as possible.
As they entered the tent, Alice saw three young male elves lying in beds made of soft grass over the ground. A thick scent of incense and herbs hung on the air, its smoke spiraling up from colorful candles, and small statues of dozens of gods were placed all around the grassy floor. "I would like to be left alone as I do it, ser First." said Alice in a small voice. K'haron merely nodded and left the tent, leaving Alice inside.
The loneliness of that tent was different than the loneliness of the forest, and yet Alice felt equally lost. The sight of the fallen Dalish was something she was not ready to witness: the blood stained bandages around their waists, the lack of a hand in one of them, and the heavy breathing that made the grayness of the scented air swirl around. She fell on her knees, covered her face, and cried.
Her purpose was still firm in her heart, but the path she trailed so far had not been easy. All certainty, her very ground, had been swept from under her feet in a sudden spin of fate. There she was, casting spells in a heathen shrine, before the statues of gods whose name she knew not, abominations in the eyes of the Maker, bringing these very heathens and heretics back to life. Heretics that were led by and bowed before and payed respect to a usurper who refused to sing the song of salvation.
But they would bring her to Cullen. To the one she would not admit as her one true love. So, for hours, she placed her hands over the elves, reciting the Words of Authority, bringing their wounds to heal, their lost limbs to grow, their breathings to ease and stead. By nightfall, the three Hunters opened their beautiful elven eyes while, exhausted, Alice closed her human ones and passed out, falling immediately asleep.
