21.
Finally, there was nothing left. All secrets were shared, all childish mishaps, embarrassing events, and awkward encounters were laid out. Whether it was that time, Skie accidently wet the bed during a sudden thunderstorm, or Nalia tripped up over her nightie and tumbled down the stairs, or Aerie had once mixed the wrong herbs into a tincture and set her patients belching for days, or when Yulja had tumbled out of the window into the rose bush, continued to roll and splashed into the fountain in front of the great library and sprayed some visiting dignitary and the senior monk, the four of them laughed, cried, clutched their sides and winced. It was nice to know, Yulja noted, that Nalia and Skie both bit their nails up until a couple of years ago, and it wasn't just her. Aerie couldn't relate in quite the same way as the three humans, but they did share some unfortunate and awkward memories of when they first begun their voyage into womanhood. Corsets, Skie unilaterally declared, were not actually the worst, but the awful garters and itchy, thick winter stockings and heavy woollen shift were far nastier. The soft, thin wool wasn't so bad, but the gales off the sea were so cold that as a child, she was forced to endure the thicker variety. Nalia was forced to agree, but neither Aerie nor Yulja had experience with corsets, but fitting garments to their bust was a nightmare. The rueful laughter sobered, ebbing into thoughtful and companionable silence, as each reflected on their memories.
Skie's stomach gurgled, a sentiment echoed by Nalia's, and the four went to find their daily serving of broth-stew and millet pottage. That evening, they dined together, fell asleep together, and curled up side by side, and woke to a bloody dawn.
They were given the order to move north, but not all of Gromnir's personal servants, only a handful. They were to return to Trademeet, though no reason was given as to why. Their superior, reluctant to let Yulja go, complied, gruffly bidding his reliant second farewell and safe travels. For some reason, a pang of affection ran through her, and she offered him a heartfelt salute in the style of his people. Chest puffing, he strode away with as much prize as if Gromnir had named him a lord, and Yulja couldn't help but smile.
The journey north was long, arduous, but uneventful. When they reached the town, they found it deserted, and their escort of two guards exchanged glances and went on ahead. They died choking at the twang of a crossbow. Behind the four women, the gates slowly rumbled closed, and carefully stepping in front of her friends, Yulja cautiously led the way towards the town square.
Heart pounding in her chest, Yulja intrinsically understood that if whoever was behind this wanted them dead, the concealed marksmen, wherever they might be, would unleash their deadly bolts before any of them had time to find cover. Morever, her skin tingled, with what could only be the activation of some kind of ward, probably binding and extremely powerful if it were enough to cause her small hairs to stand on end.
In the centre of the square, Gavid smiled lopsidedly at them. Yulja froze, but as her eyes adjusted, as the sun was in front of her, she realised that Gavid was bound to a cross, unable to move. Hoarsely, as if he had not had so much as a sip of water for days, he rasped, "So you came. More fool you." He tried to laugh and broke into a coughing fit.
Yulja felt herself frown, then glanced around. "What's the meaning of this?" Refusing to allow herself to be intimidated, she waved behind her, and Nalia and Aerie slowly fanned out a pace, placing Skie firmly between them and behind Yulja.
"What's the meaning?" A fresh, cheery and all too familiar voice called out. "That's easy, bufflehead." With a light, altogether too melodic laugh, a pink haired streak of black dropped and nimbly landed on the far side of the square.
"Imoen?" Yulja's eyes bulged.
"Ha! You should see the look on your face. Priceless. Totally worth setting all this up. I should have had a painter capture it."
"You're alive…" Yulja whispered, then sobbed, "Imoen, thank the gods you're safe."
Dusting her shoulder off, Imoen glanced to the side, "Don't go getting all sentimental on me, Yul. 'Course I'm alive. What did you think?"
"You never wrote," Yulja heard her voice crack. "You promised… I thought…"
Biting the corner of her lip, Imoen frowned. "Hey, this isn't how you're supposed to react. I've planned this for months. Seriously, Yul, lighten up. This is supposed to be all dark and mysterious, the enigmatic reveal. Sorry I didn't write. I meant to, you know." She scrubbed her right hand through her hair, and as she stepped out of the shadows, Yulja's stare widened.
"Oh this?" Imoen waved her left… hand up by her temple. She was missing an eye, and a pallid beige horn protruded at an angle, off-centre from her forehead. The hand, a grotesque scaled claw, pulsing black, she waved. "Pretty neat, huh? Bet you can't guess what this is."
"The Claw of Kazgoroth!" Skie blurted, reaching around.
"Gold star for you." Imoen frowned. "How'd you know? Oh, I'm Imoen by the way. Yul probably hasn't mentioned me. Doesn't tend to open up about things like this. You must be Skie, I'm guessing, last of the Silvershields. Hi."
"Hullo." Skie returned, and ducked back around Yulja.
"Anyways," Imoen followed up with, "Hey, Yul. Quit staring. You're starting to make me uncomfortable." Iron rivets set into black leather clad her from neck to toe. Three earrings hung from her right lobe, and a long tattoo crept down the left side of her neck. It looked suspiciously like the claw that protruded from her vambraced arm. "I'd introduce this lot," she jerked her thumb in a vague direction, "But we've got some talkin' to get to first. Business." Ice entered her eyes as she turned to Gavid. "Hey there mister child-killer. Thought you could just get away with it, didn'tcha? Reckoned you could just suffocate those young women, so slight and dress them up in those gauzy white dresses like it was their wedding night, and choke the life from them as you violated them. But that wasn't enough, was it? You got a taste for the screams of those who were even younger. Why'd you do it? Don't answer: don't care. But guess what? Here's what it feels like. Hey, Monty!"
Yulja's eyes jerked to the rope around Gavid's throat, a rope that bit into his throat and slowly turned him purple. Aerie turned away, Skie shielded her eyes, but Nalia watched on with grim determination, the same determination that held Yulja. If what Imoen said was true, she had no pity.
"I reckon maybe… one minute for each victim? Nah, that'd take too long." Imoen rotated the claw about her head, and there was a sickening crunch as the rope cracked Gavid's neck. The heavyset man dissolved into golden dust; catching it in the wind, Imoen laughed. "Gods, I've missed you, Yul. It's really sad that it's come down to this, but you had to know I couldn't let it end any other way."
"What in the nine hells are you talking about?" Yulja snapped, feeling her teeth grit as her fists balled. How was Imoen always able to get under her skin?
"…You…" Skie stuttered, stepping back, "You're… you're one of them…"
Yulja rounded on her, confusion and hurt playing across her face.
"Gods, you're right." Nalia forced out through her clamped jaw.
"It… it does make sense," Aerie whispered, hanging her head.
"What. Are. You. Talking. About?"
"Give it up, sis," Imoen called, laughing from behind her. "Can't believe you didn't figure it out. C'mon, you must've had the dreams, felt the urge, it's in all of us. Kill, kill, kill."
"What?" Yulja jerked back around, side on to Imoen, side on to her friends. "I don't understand…"
"Your birth mother…" Skie whispered.
"See, she's smart, she gets it. You would too, if you weren't in denial."
"Come on, sis, never wondered who our father was? It's not like his name isn't all over the place nowadays."
"Will you just shut up and get to the point, Imoen." That tone actually saw Imoen take a step back, and momentary doubt flashed across her face.
"Gods, you really don't know…"
"Bhaal." Nalia interjected coldly. "She's talking about Bhaal."
"Right, of course she is. Obviously, my father is the dead god of murder. How stupid do you think I am, Nal?"
"Nal and Yul, I kinda like it. It's got a certain ring. Not the same as Yul and Im, Im and Yul."
"Will you just shut up for a minute?" Yulja snapped. "There's no way I could be. I mean, me?" She continued to address Nalia, realising that she was addressing herself.
"Oh, there it goes. Right there. Yup, you remember those kobolds, sis. Remember how you gutted them. How about the hobgoblins you speared on the road to Nashkel. It's not some great revelation. You enjoyed it. Guess what? I enjoy killing too. Not all killing, but some. It depends, I guess. But come on, it was laid out clearly in front of you. It couldn't have been any clearer. Two orphans, raised in the one place that those prophecies were talked about. That's all anyone ever talked about there. Come on, say it with me. 'But in his doom he will spawn a score of mortal progeny, chaos will be–'"
"No." Yulja silenced her, waving her hand across her chest. "I'm not a murderer. I never killed except in self defence."
"Bet you wanted to though."
She couldn't argue with that.
"Anyway, that's not really why we're here. Just wanted to make sure you knew, 'cause of, you know, what has to come next."
"What now?" Irritation flared again.
"Oh no," Skie breathed, grabbing her Yulja's arm. "Please… please, I-Imoen, you can't."
"Sorry, kiddo, kind of have to." Dramatically, Imoen swept her hair to the side and advanced a step.
"W-wait! What about Sa-Sarevok, Gromnir?" Aerie interjected.
"Did them in too. Easier than you'd think. Ole Monty up there poisoned green-butt's throne, that's Gromnir in case you weren't paying attention," Imoen relayed to Nalia, who glowered in turn. Imoen flashed her a brilliant, toothy grin. "And as for dear old Sarevok? Well, took him down too. That was a bit trickier, but his problem was he thinks too linear. 'Scue me, thought. Gotta use that past tense now." Imoen advanced another step.
"Where are…" Yulja finally questioned, her words so quiet the distant breeze seemed louder. Lifting her head, she gently disentangled Skie's arm and turned to face her childhood friend, spreading her arms at her side.
"Khalid, Jaheira? Well, Khalid's somewhere up there, I think." Imoen squinted, "And Jaheira… didn't make it. She got turned to stone and shattered shortly after we rescued Branwen. Say hullo Bran!" No answer was forthcoming, but from Khalid's direction, Yulja could make out what she thought was a regretful silhouette. "Welp, Xzar also got stoned, 'scue me, turned to stone, also by Tranzig, but we did him in good, hoo boy. Let me tell you, it took days for him to die. Gut wound, very nasty. Monty taught me that one, and I had a lot of practice. 'Course, we cut off his fingers, tongue and vocal cords, and an eye or two. I think it was both. Mon?"
What appeared to be an annoyed sword waved from the parapet. "Two. I was right. So anyways, then there was Shar-Teel. Nope, Kivan, then Shar-Teel. Kivan lost someone very dear to Tazok, he was Sarevok's half ogre lackey, and believe you me, when we finally caught up to him, we spilled his guts, literally, and made him walk across burning coals. Twas the least we could do after what he did to Kivan's wife."
Yulja had to keep from gritting her teeth. "Who are you?"
"Same old me, sis. Just without you." Imoen's eyes hardened. "You know, things might have been different if you'd come along. Every time we ran into one of these monsters, I thought to myself 'What would Yul say?' and every time, I remembered: you weren't there."
"I thought of you too, Im. Every day."
"Well, I guess we're even then." Imoen shrugged. "Well, Shar-Teel's da, she hated him by the way, worked for Sarevok, and helped take out Dukes Silvershield and that other fellow, with the wide belt."
"…Belt?" Skie ventured from behind Yulja.
"Yeah, that's it." Imoen smirked at her own joke. "Duke Belt. What a name, but hey, what can you do? And Coran, I almost forgot Coran. He's a bit forgetful these days. We found him right outside of Cloakwood on the road to the 'Gate. That's what the locals call the city, sis. He was half eaten by a wyvern, but we found a gnome who helped patch him back together. He proved quite the tour guide of the city, took us to all the lesser known haunts, if you catch my drift."
"Stop it."
"Don't go judging me, I knew you wouldn't want me selling myself, so I didn't. But we can't all be blessed with smarts like you, sis." A twinge of bitterness caught her. "Maybe I should've stayed with you, grown rich off the labour of others. Didn't work out so well for you now, did it?"
"Why'd you do it?" Yulja jerked her brow towards the horn.
"Eh, curious. Bored, maybe. Wanted to see if it was real. Take your pick."
"The real reason, Imoen."
"Fine." She shrugged, glancing away. "I had to know… really know if it was true. The dark voice inside… it wasn't enough. But blood calls out to blood, they say, and well, if I really was one of our da's spawn, well, I figured his avatar's relics'd work on me, maybe even give me an edge."
"So you cut off your own hand?" Coldness filled her every word.
"Oh, what, this?" Imoen lifted her left forearm. "Nah, that kind of happened. Sort of embarrassing, really. Don't want to talk about it. Since it's you, I'll give you a hint though. I dropped something on it. Well, see, we were… we flooded the mines in Cloakwood. Oh, you don't know about those. Did you even hear of the 'Iron Throne'? Where have you been hiding? Gods, there's just so much. Look, the key got stuck. I was thinking of you and what you might do. You wouldn't let others risk their lives, so neither did I. The beam fell down, smashed up my hand and I had to cut it off or I'd have drowned, 'kay? Dumb story, dumb Immy, should have known better. It was my own stupid fault."
"I'm sorry…"
"Oh, spare me the pity. Please, Yul. It hurt bad enough the first time. The claw was actually a boon. It lets me do all kinds of neat tricks, like this. Hey, Monty?"
This time, the resignation was audible. What appeared to be a shaft was launched from some hidden device and it sailed over Imoen's head and smashed into the gibbet, and bounced off.
"Monty, you told me you had it all set up! Oh my gods, you can cock a crossbow while running from an ogre mage in a sewer, but you can't manage simple trigonometry? Were you raised in a barn?!" Imoen hollered, then winked at Yulja. "Gets him every time," she confided, then sighed. "Well, there goes my halberd. Spiked hammer-axe on a pole."
"I know what a halberd is."
"Oh good. 'Cause, you know, there's also this." Imoen hefted a cracked and faded tome. "Yup, you guessed it. Took it right off Xzar's smashed hands. Kind of funny when you think about it. Everything else: poof, stone. But this thing? Fire won't touch it, water won't drown it, and stone won't go near it. Like its warded or something. Who'd of thunk it."
"It's getting old." Yulja grated. "Stop showing off."
"Fine." Coldly, Imoen drew the blade at her side. "I'll make it fair, for old time's sake. Pick one. Sword or spells."
"No."
"Seriously, after all this, you're refusing? We're the last two. Only one of us gets to walk away. Look, I'll make this simple. You face me, and those three go free. You don't, they don't."
"Playing the villainess doesn't suit you."
Imoen looked as if she'd been slapped, but recovered enough to snap back, "Neither does playing the sanctimonious priest."
"I don't want it."
"What?" Imoen frowned.
"The throne. I don't want it. I relinquish my claim."
"Can you… are you – I don't think that's allowed, sis."
"I don't care. I don't want Bhaal's throne. Take it, it's yours. I… abdicate."
Imoen chewed her lip thoughtfully. "Well, I guess, I mean, we are heirs of Murder, and that kind of makes sense. Don't you have to swear it or something, you know, if you're a sovereign?"
"Okay, then, on the throne of Bhaal, by the claw and horn of Kazgoroth, I, Yulja, daughter… of …Bhaal, hereby, now and forever, renounce all claim to my birthright. I reject this… contest, and I… withdraw my candidacy. As the gods are my witness, I relinquish our father's legacy to you, Imoen, daughter of Bhaal. All hail the new goddess of murder."
"Hmm, I guess that'll do." Imoen glanced around. After a few moments, she tapped her foot. "Aren't the skies supposed to darken, green lightning streak across the sky, and the earth tremble? Something? Anyone? Helloooooo. Gods, are you listening? We're not gonna fight any more."
"Um… maybe… you have to accept it?" Skie ventured.
"Oh! Right, good call." Imoen nodded, shook herself and rose up and down on the balls of her feet.
"Wait," Yulja interjected, her eyes holding Imoen's. "Im, are you sure about this? Is this what you really want?"
"Beats turning down beds, sis." She shrugged, inhaled, and shrugged again. "It's kind of gotten dull. There's so much more to see, and it's just… too small here. I kinda need to step out. So yeah, I do."
Slowly, Yulja nodded.
"Welp, here goes. I, Imoen, heh, daughter of Bhaal, claim the throne of Bhaal as my rightful and lawful inheritance. 'Cause, no one else is left, 'kay? And I'm not killing Yulja, so you gods can either accept it, or you can take a hike, because I'm taking what's mine one way or the other. The rest of them are gone. Dead, dead, dead, so that's that. Game over. I win. Got it?"
Now, the heavens did rumble, and with the gathering clouds, a being of majestic light appeared, a blue skinned solar crowned with orange fire. Flexing her resplendent white wings, she announced, "The gods have heard–"
"We already decided that," Imoen interrupted. "Look, I know I've been waiting months for this, but we're going to have to cut this short."
"Im?" Yulja stared.
"Not now, sis." Imoen glared, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "I'm still mortal, so let's hurry this up, because I suddenly really have to…"
Skie muffled a giggle.
"Shut it," Imoen shot back, then glared at the Solar. "Come on, make me a goddess already or take me to where it happens, or hold off five minutes. Just make a decision."
The Solar, less than impressed, cut short her speech and eddies of light began to swirl around her.
"Soooo, I guess this is it, huh." Imoen sighed as the wisps slowly phased around the Solar.
Yulja couldn't bring herself to speak.
"Well, I guess we're still sisters, 'cause, you know, it's not like our da's changed or anything. You always were a slowpoke. Well, I owe ya, so let me know if there's anyone you want to commit to my care, if ya catch my drift." Imoen hesitated as the light began to enshroud her. "I'm… I'm really glad. I'm sorry about all of this. I just… I couldn't otherwise."
Yulja nodded slowly, then allowed, "Still looking up at that star?"
"Always."
Then both the Solar and Imoen were gone. Six more flares followed and the walls of Trademeet were cleared.
Behind her, Skie started giggling. Yulja spun around, tears stinging the corners of her eyes. "I'm sorry," Skie muffled her mouth with her hand, "Just… the last thing… the very last thing… it's just so… so human."
Yulja found a smile spreading across her own mouth, widening and then laughter erupted. Even Nalia cracked a smile, and Aerie's lips twitched, then she too started giggling. How else could it have ended, Yulja wondered, trying to contain herself. It was just too absurd. Why hadn't she gone before? She probably had. Classic Imoen.
"So, that's my… sister, everyone." Yulja allowed finally, then reaching for her friends, drew them close. And here are my friends, she added silently.
Fin.