Chapter 10: Given Back and Taken Away
Maeve woke in the half dark of dawn. She was cold, but the ground felt surprisingly soft. She opened her eyes just a crack, and then sat bolt upright in shock. It wasn't what she saw, although that was amazing in itself, but it was how she saw it that shook her to the core.
All around her the trees and grass where bathed in a silvery sheen. The silver sheen of darkvision. It had returned. Maeve knew with no uncertainty that if she was to look, the face of Sune would be on her back again. She wasn't sure if she should laugh, cry or curse.
She closed her eyes and shook her head, and then opened her eyes again, just to make sure she wasn't dreaming. But nothing changed. She looked around, and noticed a pack sitting just a few paces away with an iron flail. Both were perched on a small buckler. Frowning, she crawled over to them, certain that her wobbly legs wouldn't be able to support her if she stood. She flipped open the flap on the pack. Inside was . . . was everything she'd left West Harbor with more than two years earlier. And a pouch of gold. With the exception of the gold, the items inside were exact. Flint, a small dagger, some dried rations, and her old necklace with the symbol of Sune etched on a tiny copper medallion.
She reached up between her breasts, feeling for the symbol of Beshaba; it was gone. And even more shocking was that the ridge of rumpled flesh underneath, the scar from the shard, was gone as well.
If the slightest breeze had been blowing, it would have been enough to knock her over.
Maeve sat motionless, staring blankly at the trees. For a while, she couldn't focus on anything, but eventually, she realized that just at the edge of her vision, the trees disappeared into blackness. The border of Illefarn.
The sound of a jangling harness snapped her back into reality. She wrapped her hand around the grip of the flail and leapt to her feet, spinning around. When she saw the old man and his bedraggled looking pony and cart, she sagged and dropped the flail to the ground. In the half dawn light, he hadn't seen her yet, she supposed, or the poor fool would have been scared out of wits. But then he raised his hand and waved to her in greeting. Her stomach flipped over.
Once she stepped forward, it was all over. There was surely no one on the Sword Coast and far beyond that wouldn't know her face. She was infamous. However, there was no where else to go, and Maeve had no idea where she was. She didn't have a choice.
Taking a breath, she pulled her shoulders back and took the few steps out on to the road.
"Strange place for a rest lass," the man said before she could speak. "Not safe to rest so close to the shadows, or so they say at the temple anyway."
"I . . . ," she started, but couldn't finish. What in the hells could she say?
A puzzled expression crossed the man's face. "Are you lost? You look lost."
"That doesn't even begin to cover it," she sighed.
"Well," he replied. "I can remedy that. I'm on my way to the Shadowgate Inn, you're welcome to come along. I'm sure we can get you all straightened out."
"Thank you," she said, reaching down to grab her pack. "But don't you know who I am?"
"Should I?" he asked, quizzically.
Steeling herself for his reaction, she said softly, "I'm Maeve. Maeve of Sune."
"Lovely name, but doesn't ring a bell. Should it?"
"I would think it might," she said. "With the King of Shadows, and the war and all."
"The war?" he asked. "Begging your pardon, but there's been no war with the King of Shadows. The shadows have been there. . . well, forever. Ever since Illefarn fell they say, back in the days before any one else lived on the coast. Lass, that was long before even Neverwinter was around, and somehow, I don't think you're quite so old. Even elves don't live so long."
"What do you mean?" she asked, incredulous. "The shadows have only reclaimed Illefarn . . . less than a year ago."
"I don't mean to be rude lass, but did you hit your head? Must be nappin' by the shadows, giving you these strange thoughts if you didn't."
Maeve just stared at him. He raised an eyebrow at her, frowned, and then patted the cart behind him.
"Come on lass, hop on," he said soothingly. "I think we need to get you out of here." Woodenly, Maeve obeyed, sliding herself on to the burlap sacks of grain piled in the little cart.
"Name's Woelden by the way, and don't you worry lass, " the man said. "We'll get you all sorted out."
Woelden walked in silence for a moment, then began to whistle. It was tuneless, but strangely comforting. The cart bounced and shuddered on the rough road, but Maeve didn't mind. It reminded her of riding in carts from the fields back in West Harbor when she was a child.
She let her mind wander. She remembered everything; the horrors she'd committed, the war and how the world was different than it had ever been before. But yet, this man spoke differently. Perhaps he was addled. She'd find out soon enough, once they arrived at this inn he'd spoke of. Strange again that someone would build and name an inn the Shadowgate, so soon after what had happened. Maybe the whole world had gone mad since she was gone. Or perhaps she was crazy herself.
What was strangest of all was that despite how she could remember all she'd done, it was like watching a play, more than a memory. She just couldn't fathom how all of this had happened, how she'd done all this. There was a memory of anger, violence. Blood. So much blood.
Bile rose in her throat, and she choked it back.
What in the hells had she done?
Her eyes burned, and her vision went blurry. Fumbling in her pack, she grabbed the amulet of Sune and slipped it over her head. Grasping the amulet tightly, she closed her eyes, and prayed without words. Nothing happened. She sighed and dropped her hand to her side, just as the cart came to a lurching halt.
"Here we are," Woelden said. "Just head on in and talk to Sal, just tell him I sent you. He'll get you a nice room. I think you're in need of some good rest." Maeve slipped down from the cart, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand hastily.
"Thanks for the ride, and the help Woelden," she said softly, not trusting her voice.
"Always happy to help a pretty lass in distress," he replied with a smile. She turned to walk away, but his voice to stopped her.
"Wait," he said. "Maeve . . . of Sune?" he asked. Again her stomach flipped over.
"Yes," she whispered.
Woelden grinned and blushed. "You might want to leave that Sune part off for the time being," he said. "Don't want to get yourself bothered until you've had some rest. You Sunites do have a reputation you know." Maeve opened her mouth, but then clamped it shut again. She nearly grinned, but then thought better of it. She nodded, and turned to the door.
The Shadowgate Inn. The rough hewn wooden door looked surprisingly old and worn. She pulled the door open and the hinges and planks creaked with age. Inside, it was dark, as inns and taverns tended to be, but not so dark that her darkvision took over. A fire cracked in a well blackened fireplace. A man stood behind the worn bar, polishing the wood, his head bent down so she couldn't see his face. Maeve took a few steps inside and let the door close behind her. At the sound of the door closing, the man looked up. It was Sal, Duncan's Sal, her Sal, former owner of the Phoenix Tail Inn. And unless she was completely out of her mind, surely long dead.
I am mad, she thought. This settles it.
"Welcome!" he said, setting his rag down on the bar. "What can I get for you?"
"I . . . I'm looking for a room," she stuttered, crossing to the bar in only a few steps. "Woelden said you could help me."
"That I can," Sal said, grinning broadly. "Always have room at the Shadowgate for lovely ladies. Don't see too many out here, so close to the line. I'm sure Woelden told you, but I'm Sal, formerly of Neverwinter, and this here's my place." He reached under the bar and set a key down on the bar. "Room 4, nicest room in the house," he smiled. "Want anything before you head up?"
"No," Maeve said softly, swallowing hard. "But can I ask you a question, before I go?"
"Anything," he said as he handed her the key.
"Do you know me? I mean, do I look familiar to you?" she asked.
"Can't say that you do, and it'd be hard to forget you, with all that orange hair and all," Sal replied. "But I can tell you, I'll remember you from now on. Although, it'd be good to know your name." He winked.
"Maeve," she said. "Maeve of . . . just Maeve."
"Well, Just Maeve," he chuckled, reaching out his hand. "It's a pleasure." She took his hand and he kissed it. Feeling suddenly lightheaded, Maeve turned away.
"Could you have a bath brought up, in a few hours?" she asked quietly.
"Absolutely," Sal said. "I'll have the girls bring it up around mid-day. You look like you could use a few hours rest first. Don't want you to fall asleep in the water."
Maeve forced a smile. She walked to the stairs slowly, but her pace quickened once she was out of his sight. Once she reached the door, she fumbled with the key in the lock and managed to get inside and throw the bolt. She found the chamber pot just in time to be loudly and painfully sick.
Once she'd stopped heaving her insides out, she stumbled to the bed. Curling herself into a tiny ball, she wept at the horror of what she'd done until she feel into a deep, and thankfully dreamless, sleep.