Chapter 10.

What Lurks Within The Heart

"Musick has Charms to sooth a savage Breast,

To soften Rocks, or bend a knotted Oak." - William Congreve

o - o - o - o - o

The heart of the forest was every bit as dark and ominous as Esmerelle remembered it. Either the birds avoided this place of tall, light-stealing evergreens, or they refused to sing inside it. The loudest sounds were of woodpeckers drilling on trees, and even they were a welcome from the pervasive silence. Judging by the reactions of the others, she wasn't the only one who found the heart of the forest disturbing. Belvar practically tiptoed as he walked, and kept his hand hovering over the handle of his axe as if he expected to use it as any moment. Kiree's light-hearted chatter faded away, replaced by wary glances at the trees around her. Duncan was, for once, as quiet and withdrawn as Daeghun, and even Shayla seemed to be trying to move as though keeping herself small and unseen. Only Lucas was his usual self, humming and muttering under his breath. She was beginning to wonder if he was completely right in the head, but felt that offering to heal him might only offend him.

"It feels like we're being watched," said Kiree. She tried to be quiet, but her voice seemed to echo around the empty forest, and she winced.

"We probably are," said Shayla. "This place is old, and the spirits that inhabit it are old, too, and primal. Nothing at all like the spirits of the Kryptgarden."

"Are we going to be safe here?" Belvar asked.

"I think so. As long as we do nothing to harm the trees and the animals here."

"Esmerelle," said Daeghun, "you told us that you'd been here before, with your grandmother. How far in did you go?"

"Not very far," she admitted. "Which is one of the reasons my maps are incomplete. We came in far enough to find ingredients for medicine or potions, and then left. We never even stayed the night here. I think Ag... my grandmother... didn't like this place much either. And the pixies never ventured this far either. At least, not that I'm aware."

"My people believe," said Shayla, "that the lands of Faerûn were once entirely covered by forest. Before the time of the elves, when the world was still young, it was inhabited by primitive spirits of elemental nature which predate even the gods. I can well imagine such spirits dwelling in a place like this, but I'm loathe to reach out and touch them."

"How long will it take us to get through this part of the forest?" Duncan asked. Shayla glanced at Esmerelle's map in her hand, but it was now useless. This part of the map was blank. The elf closed her eyes.

"Three days," she said at last. "Maybe four. But there is at least one thing in our favour."

"And what's that?"

"The pine needles," said Shayla, gesturing to the cushion of dead needles they were now walking upon. "When needles from seeds such as these grow, they decompose very slowly, and they release acid into the soil which makes it difficult for other plants to grow. there will be no vines and creepers, here. No thickets and bushes to slow our journey. As dark we this part of the forest is, we should find travelling through it much easier than we have so far."

"We have to stop," said Lucas suddenly.

"We can't stop," said Belvar. "We have to keep going. The fastest way to reach Everlund is through this forest. Even if we went around the middle of it, it would still add days to our trip."

"We don't need to avoid it, but we need to stop. Here. Now. Shayla, I need to go on a vision-quest."

"Here, of all places?" the elf asked, one elegant eyebrow arched.

"Yes. Here."

"But it's barely even midday!" said Duncan. "Can't it wait until we make camp tonight."

"No, it can't. It has to be here. If you don't want to wait, Shayla, then leave me the tent and the herbs and I'll catch up with you tomorrow."

"I'm not going to leave you alone here," Shayla said firmly. "I will stay with you. Everybody else can stay or go as they please."

In the end, everybody ended up staying. It seemed nobody wanted to go too far into the heart of the Forest without Shayla there too, and Esmerelle felt inclined to agree. She sat down and watched Shayla and Lucas erect a small, circular tent a short distance away from their impromptu campsite. As everybody else began to gather deadwood for the fire, she sat and watched the elf and the old man as they began to measure out herbs into a small cup. Her curiosity got the better of her, and she wandered over to watch more closely.

As she watched, she remembered Shayla's words. Vision-quests always show you the truth, in one form or another. For almost five years, she had been longing for the truth, for some glimpse of what had happened after she'd run away from the temple. Was this her way of finally seeing it? Was this why she had come across Shayla and the others during their travels?

"Can I do it?" she asked suddenly, before she could talk herself out of it. "The vision-quest. Can I do it, too?"

"Why do you want to do it?" Shayla asked, subjecting her to a questioning gaze.

"You said that in vision-quests, you can see the truth." She waited for the elf to nod. "I want to know the truth about something. My only other alternative is travelling far in another direction... to a time in the past that I can no longer reach."

"The vision-quest is a journey of self discovery," Shayla explained. "It is a journey inwards, into ourselves, far moreso than it is outwards, into the world. You may not like the truth that you find inside yourself."

"I'm willing to take that chance," she said firmly, feeling Lucas' eyes upon her too.

"Very well," Shayla relented after moment of silence. "I will guide you both into your visions, and remain with you throughout, but what you see and hear will be for each of you alone."

"What do I need to do?" she asked.

"Normally, I would advise fasting, but that's too late for any of us. Next time, perhaps you could plan when to do a vision quest, Lucas, then we may prepare properly."

"The muses keep their own schedule, and they wait on no man, much like time and tide," said the old man. "Can we start, now?"

"Almost."

"What herbs are you using?" Esme asked, trying to discern what mixture Shayla was putting into the cup.

"That is a closely guarded secret of my clan," the elf said coolly.

"Oh, sorry."

"Don't be," Shayla said with a smile. "Each clan or tribe of wild-elves have their own methods and traditions. We rarely share them with each other, and never with outsiders. Inviting non-elves into the vision-quest is rare enough."

"Thank you for letting me join in, then," she said, genuinely grateful to be given the opportunity.

"You're welcome. And now, I think we're ready. Please remove your outer layer of clothing. You'll need neither cloak nor coat."

As soon as Esme followed Shayla and Lucas into the tent, she realised why she wouldn't need her cloak. A fire had been lit inside it, and the air was hot. She immediately began to sweat, and wished she could remove her outer clothes too. But of course, that wouldn't have been proper. For a brief moment, she began to envy Shayla's shorts and the light vest-top the woman wore. Then she was forced to pay attention as Shayla began to speak.

"Close your eyes, and feel yourself floating inside your body," said the elf. There was a hissing sound, and she assumed Shayla had sprinkled water on the fire. Not enough to quench it, but enough to let off steam to make all of them sweat more. Esme tried to concentrate on Shayla's words. She tried to imagine herself floating inside her body, but she didn't know how, so she simply imagined herself watching everything from above. "Your body feels weightless, as if it could float into the air." There was a sizzling sound, and the bitter-sweet stench of burning plant reached Esme's nose. "Feel yourself begin to drift away from the tent, away from your physical body, into another place. A place that is both within and without, which runs through all other places." Esme tried to concentrate on the smell of burning herbs, to discern what it was exactly being burnt, but it was too late. The elf's words seemed to pick her up and carry her away, and the last thing she saw as she was sucked into a vortex of whirling lights and darkness, was three people sat in a dark tent illuminated by the light of a small fire.

o - o - o - o - o

The familiar buildings of the temple complex surrounded her. Down the small hill stood the little houses of the priests, and behind them were the orchards, just as she remembered them. The morning air was cool, and she shivered, then looked down. She was wearing brown trousers and a green shirt, instead of her acolyte robes. That was strange... why wasn't she with the other acolytes now, saying her prayers to the morning sun? She turned and surveyed the main temple. Its tall, light stone walls and golden-domed top brought pangs of home-sickness to her stomach. Then, she saw the outline of a familiar figure open the main front door and enter the temple. Without thinking of her own safety, she ran after him.

He always remained a head of her; every time she turned a corner within the maze-like temple, he turned the next one, giving her chance only to glimpse the end of his cloak before disappearing again. Had the temple always been like this? She didn't remember so many turns, so many corridors that looked all the same. But why did she think she was remembering it wrongly? What was to remember? She'd always lived here... hadn't she?

"Eldon!" she called. "Wait for me!"

But he seemed not to hear. She had to follow him down several more corridors before he reached his destination; the large, oak doors of the main prayer hall. Why were the doors closed? They were never closed in the mornings, when the priests led the acolytes in prayer. Something wasn't right here. She hurried towards the heavy oak door and pulled it open as far as she could, which was just enough to slip inside. It closed behind her with a bang, but none of the priests seemed to notice. Nor were the acolytes present. In fact, all of the priests seemed to be here, taking up some of the chairs normally reserved for the acolytes. At the front of the room, Dawnmaster Sarris was speaking. She crept forward, listening to what he had to say.

"...searched the river the whole night," the Dawnmaster continued. This was obviously an ongoing discussion. "Apart from the blood, and an item of clothing, we found no trace of her. It's possible she tried to swim to the other shore, but miscalculated the speed of the river."

"We have to keep searching," said a familiar voice. She watched as Eldon stood. "She could be lying somewhere injured, cold and alone. We can't leave her out there." His hands clenched into fists. "We can't!" he insisted, his voice sounding strangled.

"Perhaps this is for the best," said another voice that she recognised. Sir Albur. "I don't know what made her run away, but if she did truly perish in the river, it takes the onus off us. Perhaps this is what Lathander wanted all along. He saw that we were being divided by this problem, so he took care of it for us."

"Took care of it?" said Eldon angrily. "You're talking about the death of a living, feeling person."

"I'm talking about the removal of a Bhaalspawn, and the world is a better place for it."

"We will keep searching," said Sarris. "If she died in the river, then we should at least give her body the proper burial rites. If we find her alive, we must still decide what to do with her."

"I'd like to request that Sir Albur be kept out of searching the river," said Eldon.

"As the child's carer, you have that right. For now, we'll resume searching, and reconvene on the morrow, or when we have news. Those of you not involved in the search should continue to work with the acolytes. We can't allow them to miss a third day of teaching."

As the priests all stood and began to file out of the room, Esme ducked behind a colonnade, trying to still her racing heart, sure that somebody would hear it thumping in her chest. It seemed very important that she not be discovered here, though she couldn't exactly recall why.

"Sir Albur," Eldon called as the last of the priests disappeared. "Might I speak to you for a moment?"

Esme watched, peering around the tall stone column, as Sir Albur approached Eldon, who was waiting beside another colonnade. When Albur stepped within range, Eldon lunged for him, pushing the taller man back and pinning him against the wall.

"Eldon, no!" she shouted, shocked by her father's actions. But he didn't hear her.

"You've hated her ever since she was a child, ever since we brought her back from that temple," said Eldon. His voice and his face held anger like she'd never seen before. It frightened her. He frightened her. Her father never got angry. He was always so calm and patient. "Don't think I don't know why you're doing this."

"Eldon, please, leave him," she pleaded, approaching the pair, though neither looked at her. "He's not worth it." She reached out to place a hand on her father's arm, then jumped back when her hand went through him, as if he wasn't even there. Maybe I'm the one who's not really here, she thought with a shiver. Maybe I'm a ghost. Maybe I died in that river after all.

"You can speculate about my motives all you want-" Albur sneered.

"Speculate? What's to speculate? You are a shallow, petty man. You would kill a child simply to punish me for your imagined slights."

"You speak as if your own behaviour is beyond reproach, Eldon. How long do you think it would have taken the other acolytes to start talking? How long do you think it would have taken them to start asking why one of the priests was living with a young girl."

"How long until you put that idea in their heads, you mean? That's what this is really all about, isn't it? Even if Esme wasn't Bhaalspawn, you would have found some other way, like spreading rumours, to ruin her life and my reputation, all for your petty revenge."

"I'd be careful about where you throw your accusations, because if it was ever questioned why a priest of Lathander prefers the company of little girls-"

Sir Albur never got the chance to finished his sentence. Eldon hit him square in the face, and his nose made a cracking sound, gushing blood down his orange and red robes and onto the white marble floor. Esme screamed and closed her eyes, wishing Eldon would hear her, wishing she was away from this place.

The world blurred, and she opened her eyes to find herself standing outside the temple once more, looking out over the orchard. The sun was higher, now, and the air a little warmer. She turned back to the temple, and saw someone striding towards her. It was Eldon; his face was a mask of fury, and blood was sprayed across the knuckles of his right hand which was balled into a fist. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he took deep breaths, fighting to calm himself.

"Eldon, it's me, Esmerelle," she said, standing in front of him, trying to make eye contact. But it was no use. He simply looked over her, his eyes scanning the horizon as if searching for something. When his breaths were finally slower, and he'd unclenched his hands, he set off down towards the small priest houses, and she followed him to the one that was most familiar to her. Here she had lived out her childhood. Here she had learnt about Lathander, here she had played under the caring, watchful eyes of her adoptive father. The house that had once been her whole world and seemed so big to her, now looked tiny. It wasn't all that much bigger than Aggie's cottage, really - and for a moment she was confused by her own thoughts. Who was Aggie? - with its living room, two small bedrooms and a cosy kitchen. She'd heard that the priests who lived in temples in cities had fine, sumptuous rooms to themselves, with gilded furniture and exquisite works of art. But the acolytes were supposed to understand austerity before becoming more accustomed to excess, and the priests were expected to lead by example.

Eldon entered the house and closed the door behind him, and didn't notice when she opened it again to admit herself. He truly seemed not to see or feel anything that she did. Was this her punishment for running away? Was she dead, and supposed to continue as if she was living, but having nobody able to speak to her or touch her? Tears dampened her eyes at the thought. To be able to see and hear everybody around her, and yet not have them see or hear her, or even know that she existed, was a fate worse than death.

She watched as Eldon paced the small living room, and knew how he felt. He was anxious, worried about her, angry with himself, guilty over her running away and his own loss of control. She wished desperately that she could speak to him, to tell him that none of this was his fault, that she loved him for everything he'd ever done for her. But it was useless. She could no more make him hear her than she could grow wings and fly.

She could only watch as he went into the kitchen and poured himself a large glass of wine, gulping down its contents. After a moment, he seemed to relax, and poured himself another cup before returning to the living room. There, he sank down into a chair and watched the fire that hadn't been lit since the night before she'd ran away. It was strange, but she couldn't remember dying at all. Shouldn't she be able to remember it? She must have either drowned or been bashed against the rocks of the river, so why didn't she remember any of that? She couldn't even remember how she'd gotten back here, to the temple. Had she walked? If so, why couldn't she remember the journey?

When he'd finished with his cup of wine, he returned to the kitchen and brought the bottle back with him, pouring it into his cup before drinking. He didn't like the wine. She knew, because every time he took a sip, he pulled a face and had to force himself to swallow. She sat down beside him, and put her hand on his shoulder. Or, at least, made her hand hover over his shoulder, because any time she tried to touch him, her hand simply went through him.

"Eldon, please hear me," she said. He didn't reply, but she saw unshed tears forming in his eyes. She wanted to throw her arms around him and tell him that she was okay, but she knew that it was futile. "I'm here," she whispered, wishing she had some alcohol of her own to drown her aching heart. "Please stop this. You have to stop drinking and start looking for me. If you're quick, maybe you'll find me. Maybe I'm not dead yet. Maybe I'm just dreaming you."

Even as the words left her mouth, she knew they were not true. She was dead. She was sure of it. and her punishment was to watch her father destroying himself through anger and guilt and drink. I wish I didn't have to watch this, she thought to herself, burying her face in her hands. I wish I was away from here.

The world blurred, and she pulled her hands away from her eyes to find herself standing outside the temple once more, looking out over the orchard. The sun was low over the horizon to the east... early morning, she realised. Today was another day.

"How was her deception discovered," said a familiar voice behind her. She turned and saw Eldon in discussion with another priest. They walked together quickly, hurrying from the priests' houses towards the temple, and Esme followed them, listening to their conversation.

"We wanted to know why Esmerelle ran away, so we began asking the other acolytes if they had noticed anything strange in her behaviour, in the days leading up to her disappearance. None of them had. So then we asked their whereabouts on the day she ran away, in case any of them had seen anything. A few had been close to the river. They didn't see Esmerelle at all, but one or two of them said they saw Aliya down there, acting a little suspiciously, quite unlike her usual self. When we questioned her, she admitted throwing one of Esmerelle's pack into the river and spattering blood on the rocks nearby, but she said she wouldn't explain herself to anybody but you."

"Who else knows about this?"

"Nobody, yet. We thought it best to get the whole truth from her before going to Dawnmaster Sarris."

Guilt began to wrack Esme's heart as she followed them into the temple. Aliya was getting into trouble, and it was all her fault. If only she'd told Aliya to go away on the day she'd left the temple. She should have told her friend that she wasn't feeling well, then Ali would have left her alone.

The last time she'd entered the temple she'd wanted desperately to speak to Eldon, and had been forced to chase him through a winding maze of corridors. Now, she wanted to avoid seeing Ali again for as long as possible, but this time there was only one corridor in the entire temple, and it terminated in a door to a room where Ali was sitting on a chair behind a table, being watched by two priests. Esme examined her friend; Ali's nose and cheeks were puffy and damp, and her eyes were red and watery, but she looked otherwise unharmed. Her long, blonde hair clearly hadn't been brushed that morning, though, and she wondered if they'd kept Ali up all night asking her questions, or whether they'd simply woken her before any of the other acolytes were awake.

"Ali, it's Esme, I'm here!" she said, rushing to her friend's side. But as with Eldon and the rest of the people in the temple, Ali didn't hear her, and her hand went right through the younger girl's body.

Eldon took a seat at the table opposite Ali, his face carefully blank. Esme knew that he was hiding the hope that he felt. She could see flickers of it in his eyes, but he'd told himself that she was dead, and that his death was her fault. Now, to learn that she might yet be alive... it was almost too much for him to bear.

"Tell Sir Eldon what you told Dawngreeter Lira, Aliya," said the priest who had accompanied Eldon.

"I... I put Esme's things down by the river, and spattered pig's blood on the rocks," Ali admitted hoarsely. "And I lied about seeing her down by the river. I never saw her there."

"You should know by now, child, that Lathander considers lying a sin," said Eldon, his voice firm and somewhat cold. "Why did you tell us lies when you knew how important it was that we find Esmerelle. She could be hurt, or even dead by now."

"I'm sorry," Ali said, tears pooling in her eyes again before dripping down her pink cheeks. "I know that lying is a sin, but helping a friend is something Lathander approves of," she sniffed. "Ali asked me to help her and I knew I'd get into trouble but I did it anyway!"

"But why? Either of you could have come to me if you were having problems."

"Esme said... she said her life was in danger, and that it would be better off if everybody thought she was dead."

"Even me?" Eldon asked, and Esme felt her heart breaking all over again. She hadn't wanted Eldon to think she was dead, she'd only wanted him to not follow her, to not let the others hurt her, and this had seemed the best way.

"Did Esmerelle tell you why she felt her life was in danger?" one of the other priests asked.

"No. She just said Eldon... I mean, Sir Eldon... would tell me about it if I asked."

"What do you want to do about this?" the priest asked Eldon.

"I'm going to Dawnmaster Sarris," he replied, whirling from the room with the hope now blossoming on his face. "I'm going to get my daughter back."

She ran out of the room and down the single corridor, all but tripping over herself in haste to get away from the people she cared about. She didn't want to see how much she'd hurt them. She didn't want to watch anymore. She couldn't stand to see Eldon hunting desperately for her.

"How can you let people suffer like this?" she shouted to the sky. She didn't know if Lathander was listening, but by now she didn't care. "Why are you punishing me? Can't you at least tell him how much I loved him?"

But there was no response. She sank to the ground and drew her knees up to her chin, wrapping her arms around her legs as she felt tears rolling down her cheeks. It wasn't fair. She'd never even got a chance to say goodbye. I don't belong here, she thought. I need to get away from this nightmare.

The world blurred, and she lifted her head to gaze out at the orchard below her. The day was fine and bright, the air warm, the sun almost at its zenith. She heard voices filtering up from the orchard, and saw groups of red-clad acolytes wandering amongst the trees, under the direction of priests.

"Esme, there you are," said a familiar voice behind her. She turned her head and saw Eldon walking towards her. His face was grim and pale, but his eyes were completely focused on her. He could see her! She jumped up from the ground and threw himself into his arms, clinging to him as tightly as possible, making sure she really could feel him.

"You can see me," she said.

"Don't worry," he replied, stroking her hair with one hand. "I'm afraid too, but we have to have faith in Lathander. The Morninglord will make the others see sense."

"Do you really believe that?" she asked, pulling away from him and looking up into his tired brown eyes.

"Yes. I have to. Now come on, let's go. They're waiting for us. They've made their decision." He wrapped one arm around her shoulders and led her back towards the temple.

"What's going to happen to me?" she asked.

"I'm going to take care of you. I won't let anything happen to you. I promise."

She asked no more questions as they entered the temple, and he walked beside her along familiar corridors, until at last they came to the heavy oak door of the prayer hall. Normally, in public, he treated her no differently than any other acolyte. But now he kept his arm around her as he escorted to a lone chair. She sat down in it, trying to appear calm, fighting the terror that was welling up inside her heart. Before returning to the other priests, who were filling the rows of acolyte chairs, Eldon brushed her hair from her face and kissed her forehead.

"I promise," he said firmly. It was a promise she knew she could never hold him to.

"Are all present?" asked Dawnmaster Sarris, once more at the front of the hall.

"All are present," replied another priest.

"Esmerelle, are you ready to hear our judgement?" Sarris asked her. She nodded her head, not trusting herself to speak. "Very well. It hasn't been an easy thing to consider, and we have had to take many factors into consideration; your training, Sir Eldon's raising of you, your own behaviour and nature, and the risk not only to the people living here in the temple, but to the world at large. It is our judgement that although you yourself show all the makings of a good person, unlikely to ever try to unleash the power of Bhaal once more, there are many within the realm who would not hesitate to use what you are for their own means, to further their own dark goals. Therefore, it is too dangerous for us to allow a Bhaalspawn - any Child of Bhaal - to remain within the grasp of the Light's enemies."

"So you're to punish her for the sins of others?" Eldon said angrily, standing to his feet. "She's an acolyte of Lathander, not of Ilmater. Should we also destroy our tools, simply because somebody else might pick one up and use it as a weapon against us?"

"You've had your turn to speak, Sir Eldon," said Sarris patiently. "Now is the time to listen to our judgement. If you cannot show proper restraint, you will have to be removed."

"Yes, because that's what we do with our problems, isn't it? We 'remove' them instead of working through them." Eldon sat down with a scowl on his normally pleasant face.

"As I was saying," Sarris said, turning his attention back to her. "You are simply too dangerous to be allowed to live. Therefore, you will be taken and held in one of the cells below the temple complex. We're fortunate in that we've rarely had to use them, and it saddens me that after so long standing empty, they must now be put to the use for which they were originally intended. Because of your caring, compassionate nature, we will grant you as swift and painless a death as possible. Tomorrow you will be give food containing poison which will kill you quickly but with relatively little pain."

She felt the blood drain from her face, and her vision seemed to dim around the periphery. They were going to kill her! Why, oh why hadn't she run away when she'd had the chance? Surely if she'd ran, her life would be so much better now. Surely she'd have a life, instead of a death-sentence.

"We anticipate passive resistance in the form of hunger strike," Sarris continued, "and if you wish to starve yourself to death, that is your choice. But without water, you won't last more than a few days. After that, your body will shut down, and compared to the death we offer you, it will be long and painful. Priests, take her below and see that she is locked securely, but remember; she is still one of our own, and should be treated with the same respect that you show to each other.

"No, you can't do this! You can't!" said Eldon desperately. But it was too late. The priests beside her were already dragging her away, out of sight of her father.

"Eldon, help me!" she screamed.

The world blurred, and she found herself sitting inside a small, dark cell. There was a single barred window, high above, which admitted a small amount of light. Because even down here, in the darkness, Lathander will not forsake you if you are true to him, one of the priests had told her. She didn't know how long she'd been down there, now, but the priests who sat outside herself and read from their prayerbooks had changed shifts three times. And they did treat her with the respect that had been asked for. They didn't leave her alone, call her names, scorn her or deny her water. And whenever she had to use the waste bucket in the corner of the room, they left her alone, then removed it for cleaning when she was done. She was given warm blankets to sleep on, and even a pillow. Sometimes she felt comfortable, sometimes degraded, but always alone, despite the priests who kept a vigil for her.

The wooden door to the cells opened, and two priests entered, one carrying a tray, with Eldon behind them. His face looked paler than ever, and dark rings coloured the skin beneath his eyes. He'd probably stayed up all night pleading for her life, and by the look on his face, she knew he'd failed. But she didn't blame him. She couldn't blame him for any of this. All he'd done was taken her away from a bad place and loved her.

"It is time," said the priest with the tray.

"Let me stay here alone with her," said Eldon. "Please. If she's going to die, I should be the one to stay with her. I'm her father." The priests glanced at each other, and then at the one who had been sitting with her.

"Alright," said the priest with the tray at last. He gave the tray to Eldon, and waited until his companions had left the room before closing the door behind them all. As soon as the door was closed, Eldon set the tray on the floor and rushed towards the bars, taking her hand in his.

"Esmerelle, are you okay?" he asked.

"As well as can be expected," she said, feeling tears form in her eyes. "I don't want to die, Eldon. I don't want to leave you."

"You're not going to die. I have a plan. Take this food and hide it in the corner, behind the bucket," he said, pushing her the small dish of meat and vegetables through the bars. "Just pour the food out, keep the dish. We have to make it look realistic."

"What are you going to do?" she said, standing still with the dish in her hands. "What's your plan?"

"You'll need to pretend that you've eaten the food. When some time has passed, you lie on the floor, and I'll fetch the guards. They'll open the door to take your body, and I will use that moment to disable them. Then, we'll run."

"I don't want you to hurt anybody else on my behalf. There's enough hurting in the world without more of it."

"You are my daughter, Esmerelle," he said, reaching through the bars to run a hand along her cheek, wiping some of her tears away. "I'll die before I let them kill you. What's the point in being your father if I can't keep you safe?"

"Maybe I should just eat the food," she said, looking at the meal the priests had provided. It didn't look bad... and she was definitely hungry enough to eat it.

"No!" he said in a quiet shout. "Your death will solve nothing. Please. I can't watch you die. I have to try to save you. Please, pour the food on the floor behind the bucket."

He looked so terrified that she could do nothing but obey him. Her father was never scared. He was strong, and caring, and he had always taken care of her before now. She had to trust that he knew best. She walked to the bucket and poured the food into the corner behind it.

"Good, good," he said, his dark eyes sparkling brightly in his ghost-white face. Now, lie on the floor with the dish overturned beside you. Try to look like you've slumped to the ground.

She'd never had to think about her own death throes before, and it made a chill race over her skin as she tried to lie as if she'd died naturally, and not been positioned.

"You have to be prepared to run," he continued. "Don't move until I say so. Close your eyes, and try to keep your breaths as slow and shallow as possible. We can't let them see you breathing, or they won't enter the cell.

She did as he commanded, closing her eyes, taking slow, deep breaths, feeling her heart rate slow as she lay face-down on the cold, dusty floor. To keep her mind occupied, and to keep out the growing fear, she counted inside her head. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven... Every number seemed to take an eternity to reach, and then it was over in a heartbeat. It wasn't until she reached seventy that Eldon banged on the door, and it was eighty before one of the priests slid the bolt open.

"It's done," she heard Eldon say, and for all the world she could have believed the grief in his voice. "She'd dead."

There was a shuffling sound of people moving, of feet approaching, and then the jingling of keys as they were removed from a pocket. A scraping sound as a key was placed inside the lock and turned, and then a grating sound as the rusty door to her cell was open. As the footsteps approached her, she expelled the air from her body and relaxed her muscles. She felt a hand on her shoulder rolling her over onto her back, and tried to stay as floppy as possible. She remembered one of the older acolytes telling her that dead people were floppy, at first, and then went stiff as time passed.

Then there was the sound of frantic movement, followed by cries of pain, and the sound of something metal hitting softer things. Her heart, previously so still and quiet, began pounding inside her chest as fear coursed through her body. But she didn't move or open her eyes. Eldon had told her not to.

"Esmerelle, let's go," he said at last. She opened his eyes and found him crouched beside her, helping her up. Looking around, she saw prone and bleeding bodies; it seemed he'd knocked most of them unconscious using the tray on which he'd brought her the poisoned meal. He took her hand, dragging him behind her and out into the main cells. There, he took corridors she had never seen before; cold, dark underground tunnels that led away from the central temple complex. It was so reminiscent of another flight she had taken, many years before, except this time, somebody she loved and trusted was leading her, and the people she feared were falling behind.

When at last they came to a door that led outside, Esme was forced to shield her eyes against the glaring sun. She hadn't seen full, intense sunlight in over a day, and the light which had seemed so comforting inside her cell now burnt her. Was this Lathander's way of telling her to go back? If it was, she didn't get time to dwell on it. Eldon pulled her forward, down a flight of steps, and she realised they'd exited the temple on its rarely-used south side, near the orchards. There were no acolytes there today, but Eldon's dark grey horse was tethered to a tree. He gave her a leg-up into the saddle, then pulled himself up after her, wrapping one arm around her and taking the reins in one hand. He spurred his horse into a trot, and then into a canter, and a few moments later they cleared the outskirts of the temple and were galloping down the road towards freedom.

"Where are we going to go? We have nothing!" she said, when he finally slowed his horse to a walk to let the animal breathe.

"It doesn't matter. Anywhere is better than where we were. I have some good, enough to buy us a few supplies, but we'll have to rough it for a while to escape notice."

Something zipped through the air beside them, and she felt Eldon turn in the saddle to look behind. He drew a sharp breath and kicked the horse forward again, this time into a flat out gallop.

"Just hold on," he said through clenched teeth. "I won't let them catch us."

The horse ran at speeds so fast that the woods seemed to blur around them, and she knew that it couldn't keep up this speed for long. And even if it somehow did manage to keep going, it would still tire, and all it would take was one loose stone on the smooth road for the horse to trip and kill them all. In a way, the thought of being killed by the horse whilst fleeing was far more worrying than the thought of being caught and poisoned again.

"We have to stop," she said, feeling herself wobbling in the saddle. Eldon simply tightened his grip on her and booted the horse to keep it going.

"Not yet. Once we're across the river we can cut into the woods and lose them there. Their crossbows will be less effective in the woods."

As the horse crested the rise in the road, she saw the bridge spanning the river below them, and beyond the bridge lay the Misty Forest, thick, verdant, haven.

"We're almost there!" she said, feeling hope and excitement grow. "We're going to make it!"

At that moment, something hit Eldon; his weight was thrown forward against her momentarily, then he tumbled from the saddle. The horse panicked as he fell, his long cloak twisting around the steed's legs. It stopped dead and reared before Esme could even reach, and she was thrown forward first as it came to a halt, and then backwards as it came up onto its hind legs. She lost her balance completely and fell, landing heavily shoulder-first on the dusty road.

"Eldon!" she shouted, coughing as the rising dust cloud created by the horse began to work its way into her lungs. Then, she spied him, lying in a crumpled heap on the ground. She could hear more hoofbeats growing louder as riders approached, but she ignored them, and crawled along the ground to where her father lay. Using her good, right arm, she pulled him over onto his back, then stared, shocked, at the crossbow bolt protruding from his chest. It had gone almost clean through his body, through his back and out the front. Had she not been leaning forward, over the horse's neck, she, too, would have been skewered by it.

"Eldon," she repeated, shaking his shoulder, not caring about what damage she was doing inside him. But his eyes remained still, staring upwards at the sky, and a trickle of blood left the corner of his mouth. "No!" she cried, and flung herself on top of him. He couldn't be dead! He couldn't! It wasn't supposed to be like this. He was her father, he couldn't die. All he'd wanted to do was save his daughter. This was all her fault. Her father was dead because of her. She screamed as strong hands lifted her up from his body, and driven by grief, she tried to fight. But they were too many, and they ignored her feeble punches as easily as they ignored her keening wails. Even when she was carried away, she tried to keep sight of his body, but there were too many people between them now, and they blocked out her sight of him.

Then, the world blurred one last time.

o - o - o - o - o

She awoke to find herself staring up at a thick cloth ceiling not far above her head. Where was she? Then, she panicked. She'd been buried alive! This stifling, air-less place was her coffin, buried in the ground. She sat up and began hyperventilating, and barely even noticed Shayla opening the flap of the tent to admit cool, morning air. She gulped it in gratefully, and with the realisation of where she was, the memory of what she had just witnessed came back to her.

"It's all my fault," she said, and didn't even try to stop the tears that fell from her eyes.

"It's okay," said Shayla, laying a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"No, it's not!" she said, and threw herself into the elf's embrace. All she could do was let her grief-driven sobs rack her body as Shayla stroked her hair and whispered unheard soothing words.

Eldon had died because of her. It wasn't what had happened, no, but it was what could have happened, had she stayed at the temple. But her alternative of leaving had been little better. She'd seen her father drowning himself in wine. Was that the first time he'd done it? Was it the last? Either way, she'd ruined his life, she was sure of it.

"It's my fault," she sobbed. "I destroyed his life."

"Whose life? Eldon's?" Shayla asked. Esme released her hold on the other woman and sat up to look at her suspiciously. "You called out for someone named Eldon, during your vision-quest," the elf explained. "You said 'Can't you at least tell him how much I love him?' Don't worry, nobody else heard. Lucas woke long ago and left the tent, looking for his song. I was the only one with you."

"How long was I in the vision-quest for?"

"A day, or thereabouts. Some last for an hour or two, some for many days at a time. The first one can be particularly harrowing, because it is also a test."

"A test?"

"The spirits grant visions only to the worthy. They test you using your greatest fears and your darkest secrets. Those who are not worthy of receiving visions simply never undertake the vision-quest again. Those who are worthy learn to master their fears, and they return to the vision."

"So... was what I saw real? You said that vision-quests show you the truth."

"They do. But it might not necessarily be the truth of the material world. It may be the truth of your own fears, the truth of your own heart. Sometimes they show real world events, sometimes not, but it is no less the truth."

"Eldon was the priest who raised me, after my parents died," she said, needing to get at least some of her secrets off her chest. "He was like a father to me. Leaving him was... very difficult."

"Did your grandmother never let you return to see him?"

"No. We all agreed that it was best that she raise me alone."

"I don't understand, but I can tell you're not ready to talk about this yet," Shayla said. "It is not necessary for you to talk about your vision-quest with me, but know that I'm here, if you ever do want to talk. For now, I'll go and get us some breakfast. Kiree found a stream nearby, and I think it would be good for you to wash in it. Cold, clear water can be particularly restorative after a harrowing experience such as yours."

Esme nodded, and Shayla left her alone inside the darkness of the tent. She wasn't sure if she ever wanted to do another vision-quest again, and she wondered what Duncan had seen in his, to make him so afraid to go back. Was it something worse than what she'd seen? An unfamiliar, unseen bird gave a raucous call high above the treetops, and she looked out of the open tent flap at the foreboding forest. Suddenly, the heart of the forest no longer seemed as dark and intimidating as it had been yesterday. Compared to what she'd seen within her own heart, the High Forest seemed almost pleasant, now.