Chapter 21: A light in darkness

Chapter summary: Aglaia receives new hope while Cleon fights hard to find his. Jarlaxle has a most unexpected encounter that leaves him shaken.

Disclaimer: Jarlaxle and Athrogate are the property of R.A. Salvatore and Wizards of the Coast. Forgotten Realms and Karsus the archwizard are the property of Wizards of the Coast. Fan characters belong to me. Other canon characters may appear throughout the story. Preview image is the property of iDaisan, commissioned by me a few years ago.

The failure of Aglaia's return and the noticeable absence of the drow had Cleon conclude that the girl had changed her mind. It was a shame, but it was probably for the best that she died with the rest. Not that this told him what they should do with the drow and his dwarven companion, but he put such concerns aside as he descended the climb he'd made earlier. He and his brothers hadn't achieved as many victories on the battlefield as they had with muscle only.

He noticed the mule was as eager as him to get back to camp. The sun was low on the sky now. This far south the sun didn't really set or rise, it just popped up on the sky or sunk behind the horizon without warning. Cleon didn't relish being surrounded by complete darkness on his ride back down, and it seemed his mount shared that sentiment.

Unlike his brother, Cleon held a great fear of the dark. It reminded him of things he'd rather forget. As a result he slept with the door open or with his wife snugly tucked under his arm. Her presence alone always calmed him, and she would stay with him, or light a candle for him, until he was sound asleep. That thought caused a pained twitch in his heart. How he missed her! Their children, too. She'd been thick with their third when he left on Theodosius' fanatical campaign.

Not that Cleon didn't hate mages. In that respect he was second only to his overly zealous brother. What he didn't hate were the mundanes in temples like these whose gods were dead or near so. In Cleon's mind, the real threat were those with magical talent, not the ones without. Still, he did as ordered, and Theodosius was the commander in charge.

A gust of wind struck him from behind just as he neared the army camp and sent a dreadful shiver down his spine and across his exposed arms. The mule sped up even more, if such a thing was possible at this point, and Cleon couldn't shake off the feeling of being watched. It sprung to mind eyes in the dark always watching him, watching as he fought against his constraints, watching as he broke free and murdered the necromancer who had kidnapped him, watching as he, a mere child at the time, stumbled and crawled through darkness. The memories caused him to involuntarily shudder and not even the mental image of his beautiful wife managed to calm him.

He was fortunate that a soldier was close enough to take his mule by the reins. The soldier asked for the signal and Cleon showed him his signet ring. His voice helped Cleon put his memories aside and focus on what he needed to do. This wasn't the time or place to fall apart. The mule led him towards his tent where he dismounted on trembling legs. Fortunately, after his ride up and down the mountainside on the stubborn beast, his men would most likely write it down to fatigue on his end. He managed to grumble an order to his sergeant that he was not to be disturbed and, after fumbling about in the darkness of his tent for a while, managed to light a candle that he put on his bedside table.

Getting out of the armour took longer, but the presence of the candle helped calm him enough to get it off. It fell to the ground with an unceremonious 'clang', soon followed up by his pteruges and sandals. He grabbed a clean cloth that lay near his wash basin and took to cleaning himself with trembling hands. The water on his face helped settle the starting nausea, and cleaning off the sweat, dirt and grime from the day made him feel clean. It would still be a while before he could wash his hair, but he'd deal with that in the morning. He stumbled once on his way to bed and even as he pulled the blanket over his body did the trembling start.

Cleon Karanok sang a song to himself, then, albeit softly, a tune that his wife had sung when he'd first met her. Doing so brought her before his inner eye and, combined with the light of the candle before him, he was able to still the worst of his shaking fit. His stomach rumbled with hunger, so he grabbed what stored food he still had once he was calm enough and ate what he had room for. It was a far cry from the gourmet meals that he enjoyed at home, but it was enough to fill his stomach and help him sleep. He still felt someone's eyes on him, but the sensation was more distant and had less of an impact. Whatever it was, it didn't seem interested in following him into the camp.

It was probably a demon summoned by one of those witches – either the yellow-haired one or the one whose fighting skills were better than most of his soldiers – to spy on the camp. That conclusion took root and it helped him renew his motivation for righteous murder. Whatever his brothers had to say on the issue, Cleon would be the one to kill those two witches. His fingers closed in around the small chest with the "gift" that had been meant for the drow and he tucked it safely under his bed. The witches wouldn't even know what hit them.

He fell asleep dreaming about desecrated temples to "Hekate" and witches burning alive while screaming in agony.

The cells underneath the temple left much to be desired. While they were clean due to the dutiful cleaners that had come down there on orders from Syntyche to mop up after the people she'd imprisoned once she took on the mantle of 'high priestess', they were also dark and desolate, with no hope of light beyond the torches hanging on the wall. Hekate was goddess of darkness, but even so Aglaia felt her spirit dwindle in this place.

In truth, the church of Hekate had proven just as useless to her as the one to Tchazzar. There was nothing for her to gain there, but the journey back home was too dangerous to make on her own. With the last torchbearer dead, Syntyche had forbidden anyone in the three temples from leaving, apart from personally approved clerics who went on specific tasks for her. Usually trade.

Cleon had offered her a way out, but he'd proven to be a Karanok and had betrayed her trust. His words about Felicia had struck a chord within her, for in Chessenta, cynicism and mistrust were the only tools that would help her survive. What had Felicia done for Aglaia, anyway? She'd helped the clerics and the children, but what had Aglaia got out of it? It was all done with demands for a return favour anyway, and not out of the kindness of her heart. Everything had a price. On top of that, the blasted princess had thrown her in prison. She, a mere child!

She'd spit on Felicia's grave if she lived long enough to do so.

As if on cue, a group of clerics came down, the sound of keys jingling. Had the blonde bitch decided that she needed Aglaia after all? A wicked smile curled around the girl's lips. The price would be steep, then. No way would she help anyone simply out of the 'kindness' of her heart. Such motivation was for fools only.

To her surprise, the priestesses walked right past her and started opening the cells to every door except hers. She called out to them, but they ignored her.

All the other prisoners were set free, however. Some needed more help than others to move, but with gentle coaxing and news of the removal of Syntyche and a surviving torchbearer were most of them able to find their strength to walk. In a few cases, the clerics had to bring water to the prisoners, but in the end all the cells were emptied, except Aglaia's.

"What about me?" she asked in the end.

One passing priestess stopped briefly and looked at her as if she was a silly, little creature. "What about you, traitor?"

The name hit her in the gut and her face fell, but she spoke all the same. "Aren't you going to let me out, too?"

Mocking laughter and the cleric's retreating back was her answer. Anger rushed up inside her. That was one priestess she'd be happy to throw into a cell and let starve.

Aglaia remained imprisoned, fuming with resentment and digging herself deeper into a mentally dark corner. When the sound of footsteps reached her next, she greeted the stranger with an angry growl. To her surprise, however, it was the young scout, Leonidas, who had come to speak with her. Her eyes grew wide and she quickly muttered an apology. "I thought you were Felicia."

"And that was your idea of a clever way to greet her?" he countered, blame in both his eyes and voice. "You're already neck-deep in trouble and you decided to make things worse?"

She glared. "If the only reason you're here is to shame me further, then you can leave."

"No," he replied. "I'm here to help you, but you have to face some harsh truths about yourself first."

At first she made a face, but when that resulted in a glare in return, she looked down and nodded. "Fine."

"Felicia believes you are the reincarnation of Selene," he began, earning a mocking laugh in response. "I believe this, too." Aglaia grew quiet and looked back up at him. "You have all the symptoms of Selene in you. Two spirits that have been so strongly torn apart that it appears as if they're two different people altogether. One that wants to be a part of a community, to have friends and go on adventures, and another that wants to be a queen on a throne, surrounded by a pile of bones."

There was a moment's silence as Aglaia felt the description hit her with the force of a sledgehammer. "I do want to be a part of the church, but I also want power, it's true."

"Furthermore, the karma of Selene is yours as well," Leonidas went on. "She betrayed Felicia, a fellow priestess, to a Netherese wizard, and you betrayed the church to the Karanoks."

"I didn't know he was a Karanok!" she began, but Leonidas shook his head.

"Selene didn't intend for Felicia to lose her eyes, either," he reminded her. "Your intentions mean nothing when your tactics lead you to sign up with devils. If anything, it speaks to poor judgement on your part, though you can be forgiven for it because you're so young." Then he paused. "That poor judgement led to the deaths of dozens of clerics and children, however. The karma from Selene has actually grown worse in this life."

Aglaia's shoulders slumped. "I did get Felicia to help the people in the second temple."

"And Selene got the senior torchbearers to summon the phoenix to regrow Felicia's eyes," Leonidas countered. "That still doesn't take away the damage that was done."

The girl huffed and crossed her arms in defiance. "She wasn't exactly traumatised by the situation. If anything, the tales all tell how she brushed it off with little to no ill effect."

"She's a daughter of the most powerful archwizard the world has ever seen," he reminded her. "The clerics and children of the second temple aren't so lucky. Chira was temporarily paralysed and Arjîn lost her lower legs. Not to mention they witnessed several of their fellow priestesses get killed. As for Felicia, it was still a betrayal of a fellow cleric."

Aglaia didn't argue that part. "But Selene was still killed."

"Because she refused the alternative," Leonidas supplied. Aglaia blinked, surprised. She hadn't read about this anywhere.

"What are you talking about?" she asked, confused.

"It's a bit of lore that's kept only in a few tomes here in the third temple," he began. "In the records it says that Selene's punishment was to be ten years of servitude to the church, in which time she would participate in the healing of her soul. By refusing, she made that healing more difficult for herself – for you – than it needed to be."

There was a moment's pause. "That was extremely stupid."

Leonidas nodded. "And if you continue to resist and resent Felicia, it will only get worse."

"Selene was driven by jealousy," Aglaia recounted. "Felicia represented everything she wanted, but believed she couldn't have by socially acceptable means." She leaned back and examined her own feelings on the matter. Jealousy was indeed one of the ugly emotions she felt. "I want magic, and she has it in abundance. I want the favour of Hekate, and she's a senior torchbearer." A lump formed in her throat and she found it hard to speak. "I want a place in the church where I'm respected and looked up to. I've worked so hard for it, and she just waltzes in from afar and gains it almost immediately." Her lower lip trembled and she gave up on speaking at this point. A choked sob escaped her lips, followed by a pitiful sniffle. "I don't-" she began, but her voice cracked and her eyes grew wet. Another choked sob came and tears started running down her cheeks.

"You don't want to be the traitor," Leonidas finished for her. She nodded, tears and snot running freely, and she wondered how he was able to understand her so well.

"How do you-" she managed to choke out in between hard bouts of crying.

"I was Selene's husband in my past life," he explained. There was a slight upturn of the corner of his lips at that, as if it was a joke at his own expense. "Alexis was heartbroken when he heard her announce that he was just a stepping stone, easily discarded in favour of some Netherese nobleman."

Aglaia felt a pang of sympathy for him, especially considering how helpful he was towards her. "I'm so sorry!"

He shrugged. "It wasn't your doing in this life. Alexis chose to be reborn so he could help Selene heal. That's why I'm here, and it's what ties me to you."

She broke down in a mess of tears. Her brain became a chaotic jumble of conflicting thoughts and previous resentment washed away in favour of a guilt so strong it felt as if it was being carved into her very bones. Chira's paralysis punched her in the gut, even though she had been healed. Arjîn's stumps of the legs she'd once had felt like a stab in the heart and stomach. The trauma of dead children and clerics came next, unbidden, unwelcome and with the force of an enormous wave. It rode her through another bout of uncontrollable sobs and left her trembling like a leaf and aching for forgiveness. She was so very, very sorry.

"I'm sorry," she managed to convey with a pitiful voice, great sadness following after her previous, emotional turmoil and leaving her drained. "I'm so sorry."

There was a moment's silence and then the sound of footsteps came. Those footsteps were few, however, and much closer than Leonidas' had been. Stepping up next to the boy was none other than the lady torchbearer herself. Aglaia felt at first humiliated, for she didn't want the princess to see her this way, but there was something in Felicia's bearing, a gentleness in her eyes, that gave pause to the girl's train of thought.

The blonde held neither pity nor blame in her voice when she spoke. "I believe you."

Aglaia sobbed even harder.

It would seem, despite her moral grandstanding, that Felicia was quite the clever diplomat. Jarlaxle watched as Aglaia was released from her cell and followed the princess out of the prison area, Leonidas being just one step behind her. It seemed he served as extra security as well. So perhaps Felicia didn't fully believe the girl after all? Well, neither did the drow. Anyone could turn to fake tears to move the hearts of the gullible, after all. His respect – and subsequent wariness – for the torchbearer grew.

He moved, though it was a slow process to disengage himself from the rocky wall that he'd magically merged with earlier, almost akin to walking upright while covered up to his hips with water. It was a handy enchantment to use when he wanted to spy on people or avoid a powerful enemy, but undoing it was always a tedious project, at best.

When he had finally freed himself from the wall's rocky grasp he took a moment to examine the prison. There were no more prisoners left, at least on this level, though there didn't seem to be any stairs leading further down. He also doubted that such a secluded temple needed more than one level anyway. As well-travelled as he was, he'd never heard of Hekate until he met Felicia, after all. Not to mention the princess had taken quite a bit of time to divulge her goddess' name to him and she'd stated earlier that they were an esoteric sect.

What he'd understood from some of the things that human clerics had told him – the human clerics that hadn't been afraid of him – was that many temples dotted the surface world of Toril, dedicated to gods forgotten over time. It would appear this was such a place, though Hekate hadn't died from lack of worship, or Felicia wouldn't have been able to cast her divine invocations. Unless there was some other power at work pretending to be Hekate.

"The exit is that way," said a female voice, successfully interrupting his thoughts and catching him so much by surprise that he had a wand out in his hand before he could stop himself. Before him stood a beautiful human female – by human standards, of course, but he wasn't complaining – with skin the same tone as the Chessentans, her curly hair a dark brown and her dark eyes piercing through him and making him feel bare and exposed despite all his protective enchantments. He didn't lower his wand, if anything that sensation caused him to grip it more tightly. Who was she and when had she appeared? More importantly, how had she done so without him noticing? One of the things that was so blissfully predictable about humans was how much noise they made when they moved, especially to his keen drow ears. He hadn't even sensed her presence.

She wore a long, white dress similar to the priestesses' attire, but her wrists were adorned with golden jewellery and a golden crown rested on her head. Jarlaxle momentarily put aside his paranoia to appreciate the skilled craftsmanship that had gone into it all. He noticed a golden key hung from her belt and on her feet were golden sandals. Something seemed familiar about those feet, though he couldn't remember where he'd seen them before.

"So are your fellow priestesses," he countered, wondering if she really was another priestess and if so, what she was doing down there.

A small smile graced her youthful face. Something about her gaze suggested she was far from young, however. "Dinner will be served soon, a small feast to honour the heroes who saved the children and clerics of the second temple. Aren't you hungry?"

If he didn't know better, it sounded as if this mysterious woman was trying to hide something from him. He'd fully explored what there was to the prison, however, so unless there were hidden doors or magical portals anywhere...

Realisation dawned on him and he flashed the woman his most charming smile. Well, he tried. Somehow he couldn't bring it up to par to its usual excellence and that bothered him more than a little. He did manage to lower his wand, though, and that came a lot easier to him by contrast. Peculiar. She seemed to appreciate it, though, judging from the way her smile widened.

"My natural curiosity cannot be contained," was what he intended to say, but the following words came out instead: "my natural curiosity got the better of me, My Lady." He blinked, unsure where that had come from. In addition he felt greatly puzzled by how apologetic he'd just been towards a total stranger, let alone addressed her in a way that was ordinarily reserved for noblewomen.

Her eyes sparkled with merriment, though if it was at his words or expense was impossible to say. Impossible. How was that something that could occur to him, the master manipulator of Menzoberranzan? Now that was something that should be impossible, yet here she stood and he couldn't read her at all.

"You'd best get going, then." Her words cut through his myriad of conflicting thoughts and his feet moved without him intending them to. He activated an enchantment to check if his body was magically controlled, but the dweomer informed him of the opposite. "There's lots of humans upstairs who would be happy to shower you with their gratitude." He managed to will his natural-born drow spell resistance into aiding him, but even then his feet kept moving. This wasn't a spell he was under, but that knowledge only magnified his confusion. It wasn't until he was at the base of the steps that led back up to the main area that he managed to stop his feet and turn back around. When he returned to his previous spot, however, the woman was no longer there.

Something quietly nagged at him, a realisation that he wasn't quite ready to accept. He had the option, now, to look for hidden doors and see if there was more to this place, but to his own surprise, he'd lost interest. His feet took him back to the stairs, this time on his command, but even as he left he got the distinct feeling that he would be back, and soon. The woman hadn't been hostile towards him, but her very being demanded respect in a way he'd never encountered before, not even in a matron mother. His puzzlement stayed with him during his entire walk to the dining hall and didn't leave until much later that night, when he kissed a sleeping priestess good night and sneaked off into his appointed guest chamber.