Chapter 21: Untainted Love
She would be so glad to arrive in Val Royeaux and turn this troublesome problem over to the clerics at the Grand Cathedral.
Mother Beate stretched surreptitiously in the saddle. Of course Mother Mariette had ever so piously taken her place at the head of the well-armed column of Chantry faithful. Leaving the younger cleric to deal alternately with the mercenaries they'd hired for this journey and the problems surrounding transporting such a troublesome prisoner.
One that seemed set on converting the faithful in the delegation to her worship. Mother Beate knew in her deepest heart that the Voice of the Maker was a lie.
She had first understood the absence of the Maker when her parents had given her away as a child to the Chantry initiates. She'd felt the absence of the Maker as she wept through the beatings administered for every perceived flaw of the children. She'd known utterly of the absence of the Maker when the bright flame of hope that was Divine Justinia had been snuffed out without so much as a warning.
The young Mother grimaced. Maker take the blasphemer. "May her death be ignoble and slow in coming at the hands of the Divine Inflictors."
"What was that Revered Mother?"
She turned towards the Brother who rode next to her and smiled. "Just commenting on how glad I will be when we set camp tonight." He nodded in agreement. "Indeed Revered Mother, it has been an exceptionally long day in the saddle." She afforded herself a sigh in commiseration and a quick glance at the roughly boarded over wagon behind her.
They were nearly to Jader. Once there, perhaps she would be able to find another cleric to ride herd on the undisciplined so that she may enjoy one of the many carriages that dotted the caravan.
It couldn't be too soon for her tastes.
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"Eyes sorrow-blinded, in darkness unbroken. There 'pon the mountain, a voice answered my call. Yes, yes it did. Heart that is broken, beats still unceasing, in an ocean of sorrow does nobody drown. You have forgotten, spear-maid of…I don't have a spear though. I don't even know how to use one."
Angelica's whisper fell into silence as she flexed freezing fingers in a vain attempt to warm them.
The wagon was slowing. Was it night already? Her sigh turned into an ironic laugh. It was always night for her now. Rose scented night. She wondered if the roses were pale or withering without the sunlight. She lifted a cold hand before her unseeing eyes. Was she withering as well? It felt like it.
"Within My creation, none are alone."
Maker knew she'd had enough time to ponder her situation here in the dark. At first she'd shivered and screamed and suffered at the memories of another time she'd been bound in the dark. At least a small blessing...this extended darkness had let all those scenarios play out until they were exhausted. Until she was drained and emotionally threadbare, but the nightmares had finally lost their power over her.
Now a new nightmare as she ached for her child... children...the lost daughter and the newly found daughter. (And the Maker knew she was hers. She believed with every part of her heart that he had given Salvisa to her as a gift to calm her mourning heart.) She also found herself desperately missing the handful of children whom she had taken under her wing, unreliable though it had turned out to be. After what may have been weeks without conversation or any normal human interaction, she found she missed the friends she'd begun to make at Skyhold, Dorian, Sera and Varric.
Varric, that was a more complex missing. Why did she find his face coming to mind so often in the dark. When she'd been most despairing, it had been as if she could hear his gravelly voice. "Hey Frosty, nothing like a little vacation in Orlais to raise the 'spirits'. I hear the 'whine' is good in Val Royeaux this time of year."
Did he miss her? The conversation Maxwell had interrupted played over in her mind. The stocky man had sounded like he was...what? Offering something more than just friendship? His blanket was big enough for the both of them, he'd said. Did that mean what she thought it did?
Would she want that?
Did it even matter now that she was heading to what may well be her agonized death?
Did...what was that sound outside? She sat up, hair catching on the thorns that surrounded her, heart turning cold.
She recognized that sound.
Then another sound...the lock of the door turning over with a faint click. The door opened as she cringed back, but instead of her tormentor Giardin, a thin elven face appeared. One that had once conjured fear in her but at this moment brought only overwhelming relief.
"Zelen?"
"Shhhh, ma da'len. Did you really think the Nightingale would leave you unprotected?"
She nearly threw herself at him, hugging him tightly. "I..." Her throat closed on her words and he spared a moment to hug her back, expression perhaps a bit more tender than he'd ever shown her before. "Shhhh, it is alright. It took longer than I liked for them to leave the wagon unwatched. We must go quickly."
"What about my baby?" Angelica pulled back to look up pleading into his eyes.
His face sobered. "I will have to come back for her after I have you to a place of safety."
"NO. No, we must take her now or they will harm her in retaliation." He moved ahead of her out the door and she stopped. She would not allow it. She would not lose another child. Not one.
"Come now! They will turn their attention to you again very soon." He hissed vehemently. "NO." She hissed vehemently back. "I'm not leaving without my baby."
"Fenedhis! Dirthara-ma!" He looked in surprise at the stubborn set of her jaw and sighed. "Alright, I will take you out of here and fetch the infant while you hide. If we both die, I'm blaming you to the Creator."
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Mother Beate sank back into the brocade slung folding chair that had been placed for her comfort as those subordinate to her completed setting the night's camp. "Would you like tea, Revered Mother?" The attentive Brother who had ridden next to her had been a true boon on this journey. She'd made sure to note his name for promotion. She afforded him a smile. "Yes, thank you Brother Pierren. That would be most pleasant."
"Most pleasant indeed. Please bring two cups if you would." They both turned in deference to the aging woman that smiled gently as she usurped the Brother's now vacated seat. "Mother Mariette, what brings you to dignify this less loved corner of the procession with such august presence?" The younger cleric's voice bordered on bitterness. She was exhausted enough that she didn't care if the older cleric noted it.
"I have been thinking. We are close now to Jader and the civilization that makes the secrecy of our journey a bit more problematic." The old biddy…yes, in her head she'd said it. The old biddy wore a look of pious concern which likely meant someone was going to be killed. Not showing her thoughts on the outside, she wasn't ready to take on the older woman's authority just yet, Beate lowered her head in deference. "A concern indeed."
"Perhaps it is time to silence the false Voice before it can cause any more damage."
The younger cleric looked at the older in barely concealed surprise. "The Grand Cleric gave strict orders that the woman was to brought before her."
"And bring her we shall. But how dangerous is a Voice without a tongue?" The kindly twinkle with which Mariette delivered the statement was chilling. Beate would definitely have to learn how to do that.
And it seemed a wise move. Unable to speak her blasphemy, the woman wouldn't be able to bring the masses to rise up against them. For that matter, she would be unable to testify against the treatment she had endured, or call for help from those who may support her in the cities they would be passing through on their way to the capitol.
And of course Mariette would leave it to her to do...wrapping her own self in the mantle of plausible deniability. The great Game…but Beate was learning how to play wisely. Indeed, she wouldn't have risen so far if she hadn't. Perhaps she could turn Mariette's distance from the affair into a weapon in her own diplomatic arsenal.
"I will see that it is done tonight."
"You do great service to your order. Thank you Revered Mother." As the older woman rose to return to her own, more rarefied section of the camp Beate offered her own obeisance. Thoughts already turning to various machinations. "Revered Mother."
As she watched the straight back of her superior amble away, Beate gestured to the initiate nearest her. "Bring Brother Giardin to me immediately." A swift "Yes Revered Mother," and the girl was off to do her bidding.
As Brother Pierren approached with two cups of tea and a confused face at the absence of the other mother, she smiled. The sun had just dipped below the horizon and twilight was fading to torch lit darkness. Dark would be the best time for such things.
A scream split the peace of the night and then a flurry of activity at the edge of the camp. Beate took a sip of the fragrant beverage she now held. Dark was also the best time for bandit attacks apparently. As the mercenaries they'd hired leapt to arms, she leaned back in her chair and pondered how foolish it was of them to attack such a well armed camp.
Cries echoed from the section of camp behind her and she found her heart speed just a little as the clash of arms to either side showed a coordinated attack on all flanks.
How many bandits were there? Most didn't have a large enough fighting force to surround such a large caravan. Beate leapt to her own feet, hand reflexively reaching for a weapon that hadn't hung at her side since she'd been promoted to Revered Mother.
The peace of the camp was devolving rapidly as the unarmed screamed and fled, or huddled in frightened masses at the center as the fighting pushed inwards from the perimeter. Beate could see where Marriete stood, a calm eye in the center of the storm, surrounded by her own private guard. A guard that seemed uninterested in defending those who huddled near them, she noted with a sniff of envious disdain.
A screaming body, spurting blood from somewhere fell across her vision and her attention drew back to her own area and her first view of the attackers. She froze as all action around her fell into the slow motion of shock and horror.
Darkspawn.
Perhaps her stillness prompted them to take the resisting targets first. She was uncertain the reason, but she stood in shock, unharmed as the people around her fell to the horde, slicking the ground in pools of black and red.
She watched, frozen, as milky eyes glared at her then turned to strike down another in her stead. Silent teeth tearing out the throat of a brother. Silent hands grabbing a young sister and dragging her alive towards the edge of camp. The people screamed and roared and wept and yet the attackers were silent.
She watched, frozen, as Brother Pierren took a blow meant for her, falling at her feet with eyes that seemed a curse as they stared in emptiness at her. And Giardin, swearing in three languages fought and fought and finally died at the hands of evil as twisted as he was
She watched, frozen, as Mariette's guard fell one by one and then the cleric they protected, straight and unflinching as a twisted form cleaved her in two.
And she knew again the absence of a Maker that would turn away from even his most pious.
She was distracted in her dreamlike state, by the oddness of a strange elven man carrying a bundled (the bundled?) infant and dodging weapon blows and grabbing claws as he worked his way towards the edge of camp. Not a blow managed to connect, his lithe body evasive and wraith-like in it's movement. If she survived this, she would hire him...she thought absently.
And then the woman walked out of the darkness. The woman they'd imprisoned, the false Voice of the Maker.
She walked out of the darkness rather than run for safety. Why did she do such a thing? How did she get free of the cage they'd put her in? Questions ran through the young Mother's mind as she stood there, frozen witness to….something.
The woman walked calmly out of the darkness and to the center of camp, opening her hands as the strange elven man cursed and ran towards her.
To Beate's surprise, the darkspawn uttered sound for the first time. They howled and converged on the false Voice of the Maker. A mass of twisted, seething evil that would tear the woman apart she was sure.
The woman opened her hands and touched the first of the blood soaked horde and they froze before they could strike her. She lifted her head and smiled….
Maker she SMILED at the horrific beasts and as one body they stilled. "The Maker loves you." She spoke so that all could hear, even Beate in her shock padded cocoon. "The Maker loves you and you are his children."
And the darkspawn ran, howling into the night, striking all in their path in their desperation to escape this one small woman's presence.
Beate barely noted the beast that struck her down. As she fell, she smiled.
The Maker was not absent after all.