Chapter XXV: Conversations With Dead People

"Am I the only one feeling freaked out by all of this mist?" Imoen asked, tossing her hair over her shoulder as they stepped through the spongy undergrowth of the marshes their map – in the safe and guiding hands of Jaheira, for once – told them the Temple of Bhaal they sought was located.

"It is mist, sister," Sarevok murmured from where he took up the rear of the group. "It is nothing to concern you. I would be far more worried by the intense aura of our father's power that even the gnats seem to be able to sense."

"Yep. I haven't been bitten in an age," Harrian declared with false cheer. "So let's just make the most of it, get in there, beat up whatever's in our way, and have done with it, aye?"

"You reduce everything to the physical, brother," Sarevok told him slowly, shaking his head as he lifted a plate-encased foot carefully over a fallen log Anomen had just stumbled on seconds before. "Our father's power is not of that kind any more."

"Bhaal's power is not of any kind any more. And don't call him 'our father'. If nothing else, he's not yours anymore; there's no taint within you," Harrian told him quickly.

"Perhaps. But what about the power he holds in your heads?" Sarevok asked, looking between Harrian and Imoen with the sort of expression a scholar might wear when presented with something that could produce a vague intrigue.

"That's nothing as long as we fight it," Imoen mumbled, shivering a little.

"But not all of the spawn of Bhaal fight it," Anomen pointed out quietly, joining this discussion for the first time. "And if they did, we wouldn't be here right now. Bhaal clearly does have power, because he's causing these disasters here, in Tethyr, right this very second."

"The great hound is right," Haer'Dalis said, gesturing to Sarevok. "Power is not always quite so limited to a mortal and physical shape. It might be that the power we have encountered most regularly in the past is bound to such a condition, but now we are talking of matters of Gods and immortality and vast death. Power shall run anywhere it needs to if it wishes to exercise itself."

"Like a dog. A wonderful analogy, bard," Reynald mumbled dryly.

"Is it possible for us all to stop this bickering? Ultimately, we know nothing of what will happen or what the power shall do. So perhaps it is best we focus on the task at hand," Jaheira commented, giving them all a glare.

Silence fell rapidly, even the great Sarevok not planning on risking Jaheira's wrath needlessly, and as they moved onward through the marshes, eventually a large stone building became visible through the trees ahead of them, and they reached the clearing the ramshackle old temple stood in.

"Looks cosy," Harrian murmured, raising an eyebrow as he stepped forward, noting the symbol of Bhaal above the door. "Not quite as civilised as the old temple of Bhaal by the Friendly Arm Inn, hey?" He glanced at Jaheira and Imoen.

"Nor as ironic," Imoen murmured.

"Are we really expecting anything to be found in here that –"

Anomen's hurried voice was cut off as a figure emerged from the mist in front of them, tall, cloaked, and imposing. There was a long silence during which everyone went to grab their weapons, but the figure raised a hand to them.

"Stay your weapons," it commanded in a voice that was both authoritative and yet not unkind, and the figure raised a hand to lower the hood that hid its face.

If Harrian had drawn his sword, he would have dropped it in surprise at that moment. "G-Gorion?" The name escaped his lips as a strangled whisper, and his eyes were wide as he looked at his dead foster father in amazement.

"It is I, Harrian, my old ward," Gorion declared quietly. He looked just as he had the day he died; worn grey robes fit for travelling, piercing and craggy features, silver hair and beard trimmed neatly, though clearly not fully corporeal. "Dead, yes, but one can struggle back to the land of the living if the need is great enough… for a time."

"There's something you need to tell me? What am I doing wrong?" Harrian asked in a rush, his eyes shining as he took a step forward, all strength seemingly drained from his body. "Gorion, you know I have always needed your guidance."

"Needed, yes. Followed… I thought so, for a time. But now it seems clear that my guidance was not enough," Gorion said, looking away and shaking his head. "Which is why I am here now."

"Not enough? What… father, how have I failed you?" A note of panic now crept into Harrian's voice. "I listened to all of your words, remembered every piece of advice you gave me. I have done everything I can to strive to be the best man I can on this world. It's… it's not easy, but it's…"

"You failed," Gorion declared, his voice now thunderous. Harrian stepped back. "Perhaps I am to blame, for not telling you of your heritage sooner. Perhaps it is my fault for not guiding you through these problems. But I had hoped that my words, my guidance, throughout all of your youth, would be taken more seriously!"

By now, Harrian looked very small. His arms were ramrod straight by his side, his head bowed, and his voice shook as he spoke. "I… I ask again, f-father… how have I disappointed you?"

"You have succumbed to your taint, child!" Gorion snapped. "I had thought you strong enough to resist it, but you fell, as all the weak Children have. You ignored my words, and now you cut a swathe of murder behind you everywhere that you go!"

"I have killed, yes, but I… I killed to… protect others. To prevent more deaths. Like those men yesterday; it saved the lives of many villagers. I come here to save the lives of those at Saradush," Harrian mumbled, eyes fixed on the ground before him. He looked like a cowed schoolboy.

Jaheira stepped forward, clearly shaken almost as much as Harrian, but with a shot of steel in her voice as she reached his side. She did not reach out for him, but he seemed to gain a certain amount of strength by her mere presence. "I know not why you are here, Gorion, but it does not seem to be helping," she said, her voice low and threatening.

Gorion raised his head and fixed her with a look. "Of course. I should have known you would get involved. Jaheira, it warms my heart to see that you still stand by the boy. But you, too, have failed in your task; of keeping him in control of his taint. Your feelings for him have blinded you to his true nature, and even now you forget why you were here to begin with."

"No…" Harrian looked up, his voice still small. "She's my guide as much as ever. She's my guide because you can't be."

"And yet you are destined to destroy her, and all of these others here, as you have destroyed those in the past," Gorion declared ominously.

"Harrian has destroyed none in the past, and I shall risk my own destruction if it means I shall see this through," Jaheira said with certainty.

"Truly?" Gorion raised an eyebrow, and the air beside him whirled, growing darker, until another shape came into being.

All of the colour drained from Jaheira's face. "Khalid?" Her voice held all the same horror it had back in Irenicus' dungeon, finding his mangled body on the torture rack; if possible, though, now there was a deeper pain in there.

"J-Jaheira? Is… is that you?" the red-headed half-elf asked, stepping out of the gloom to appear, fully formed, before them. Harrian dropped back, looking as if he might vomit.

"No… this cannot be…" Jaheira shook her head, forcing her gaze away.

"Why did you d-do it, my love? Why did you k-kill me? Lead me to my d-death? Why?" Khalid raised his hands pleadingly, a mixture of questioning and accusation in his voice.

"I did… not kill you…" The strength in Jaheira's voice waxed and waned, and her breathing grew heavier. "I did not lead you to your death. Following Harrian was our duty to Gorion, and you would not have evaded it any more than I would have!"

"I h-had to convince you, at f-first, to become Harrian's g-guardians. But when G-Gorion died and it was j-just us, it was y-you who took the lead in g-guiding the boy." Khalid shook his head sorrowfully, looking at the ground for a moment before he met her gaze accusingly. "I stood b-by then, but now I m-must wonder… d-did you love him even then? Is that why you were so intent on f-following him?"

"No." Jaheira's voice had regained the strength of moments before, but it was steel no longer; more wood on the verge of rotting through. "Khalid, I loved you. My heart shall always love you. But you were gone. Gone forever, and Harrian…"

"I am not even cold in the ground!" Khalid snapped, pointing at her angrily. "And you are with him." The stammer had fled from his voice. In life it had only ever done so when he had been alone with Jaheira or in the great moments of fury that hardly ever gripped the docile half-elf. "You never loved me! You were relieved when I died!"

Jaheira shrank back, her expression aghast. "Khalid… no. I loved you… please… understand that I loved you…"

"Stop this! Stop this madness!" Imoen's voice finally shot into the scene as the pink-haired mage stepped forward. "This can't be real! Gorion, you'd never say those things, and Khalid neither! Stop these tricks!"

Gorion turned to face her, his expression black. "Imoen. My last hope. How I had prayed that you would pull through. But you, too, are a disappointment."

"I can live with that," Imoen murmured, though the words were forced past her lips and she stiffened.

"You can? The world may not. You have so much within you, Imoen. So much power. So much strength. And yet you deny it; you cower from your true potential, and because you are not seizing what is in front of you, others are dying all around." Gorion shook his head. "I had thought that raising you so you were unknowing of your taint might help you. It is why I gave you to Winthrop's care. But you could end this suffering of the prophecies, Imoen, if you did not cower so from your true self."

Imoen straightened up a little, the mask of resolution fading. "My… true self?"

"You are stronger than this; stronger than any of them," Gorion declared, stepping forward urgently. "There are eight, and you are the one who…"

Gorion stopped as there was a whirling of air, and a slingshot flew through his form harmlessly. He straightened up to face Anomen, who held his sling in his hand, an expression of fury on his face, standing next to Reynald and Sarevok, both of whom looked equally resolute. Haer'Dalis lurked a short way behind.

"You think you are untouched?" Gorion asked the three of them. He glanced at Sarevok, then to Harrian. "My ward, you let my murderer walk alongside you? Have I tumbled so far in your esteem that my slayer becomes one of your vaunted companions?"

"No…" Harrian, from where he stood, watching all of the proceedings emptily, could only mumble. "He… he's useful…"

"A slave of the taint, given a second chance. I cannot blame him for what he became. He is a beast, and shall always be such. I expected more of you." Gorion turned to face Sarevok. "But a beast is the true nature of the taint my ward has fallen to."

"Conjurors' tricks do not concern me, old man. I cut you down before, and am willing to cut you down again if you do not stand aside and let us go on our way," Sarevok intoned gravely, his expression blank as he eyed Gorion.

"This charade is growing more tedious," Reynald agreed.

Gorion raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps." The air swirled around him once more, and three more figures came into being, each more different than the last.

"Anomen? My brother? Is that you?"

Anomen's expression grew stiff as he faced the shape of his sister, then turned back to Gorion. "No. Enough tricks. I shall not stand for…" His voice trailed off weakly, and all he could do was stare back at the form of Moira.

"I am here because I am murdered, Anomen. I am murdered, and justice has not been done," his sister said quietly, stepping towards him, more pleading than angry as the past ghosts had been.

"It was Father that killed you, my sister!" Anomen declared, his voice shuddering. "There is justice done! He lies in prison this very moment! He shall never be free again for your murder!"

"No, my brother. I may have been killed by another, but it is you who murdered me."

"This is a game! A trick of the mind!" Anomen howled, whirling on Gorion's shape angrily. "I shall not be toyed with any longer!"

Moira stepped towards him again. "I stayed to care for Father, as you asked me to. All those years, I laboured as you fled from him. And then the hand that killed me was his! You left me in the home of my killer!"

Anomen stared at the sky, eyes screwed shut as he took a deep, shuddering breath. "I did not fail you, sister…Moira, please, I loved you. You didn't want to leave Father! No matter how often I asked you to!"

"No. You lie, my brother. You didn't want me to leave. And now I am dead at your hands," Moira's shape whispered accusingly. Anomen did not react, and for a long time, his only movement was the whispering of his lips, running through a prayer to Helm.

The second shape moved towards Reynald slowly, in the shape of a young girl, dressed in straggly clothing. "You… sir knight? My killer? I do not even know your name… and yet, here I stand, before you."

Reynald's expression was ashen as he turned to face the girl. "Your name wasn't important at the time," he said, his voice a cold and strong as he could make it. In the circumstances, that meant that there was a clear wavering. "Though do not think that I have forgotten your face."

"No. I should hope not. I hope it taunts you every night before you go to sleep. I hope that you cannot live through your happy life any more without remembering my screams – and the screams of the hundred others in my village that you put to flame and to the sword," the girl accused, walking around him slowly.

"I have killed people. I do not deny it. But you, are not the girl I killed," Reynald told her, shifting to face her resolutely.

The girl smiled slowly. "No. But does it matter? Your sword cut through me when I pulled a knife on one of your comrades. In self-defence. He was seizing my brother for slavery, and when I threw myself at him, you cut me down with your blade."

"I do not pretend to be proud of it," Reynald mumbled, now facing straight ahead, forcing himself to avoid eye contact. "And it is something that haunts me. So your presence here merely shows this to be more of a charade." But, despite his calm words, the others could see his hands balled into fists, and the tilt of his clenched jaw that dictated just how hard it ward for him to maintain control.

The third and final shape approached Sarevok, and was a more familiar sight to Harrian, Jaheira and Imoen than either of the other two had been. "Sarevok. My lover, my lord. Sarevok…"

Sarevok straightened up, and eyed her dubiously. "Tamoko." He gave a deep nod.

"He who I loved. He who sent me to my death. I loved you, and yet your desires were for godhood, not for me. And even I could not fight off the madness, the lust for power, that gripped you," she said, resting a hand on his forearm.

Sarevok stepped away, looking shocked. "I… I did what I had to do! What was necessary to…"

"To what? Attain godhood? And you failed at that. Which is why you stand here now, normal as any other man, next to the Bhaalspawn who slew me after you sent me against him." She gestured to Harrian. "I died for you, Sarevok, because I loved you. And then you died, but now you have a second chance. I am glad, my love… but you are still bound by that which slew you before."

"I am free of the Bhaaltaint."

"But not your ambition."

Reynald stepped forward, eyeing Sarevok. "This is a trick, my friend. They are all mad illusions. I would not listen."

"The dark knight's illusion spoke truly," Tamoko whispered to Sarevok. "And you know that I do too."

"I know." Sarevok stared at the ground, then slowly drew his Warblade. "I know you speak the truth. I know what I was, what I wanted, and why I sent you to your death. I know what I am now. You are telling me nothing new." Then he struck with his sword.

Unlike the slingshot, which had merely passed through Gorion, Sarevok's blade struck true, hitting the form of Tamoko in the shoulder. She let out an inhuman scream, shifting her shape, and eventually turning into nothing more than a shadow, shifting and inhuman.

"Damn you all!" Harrian swore, galvanised into action by Sarevok's blow, and his sword was in his hand in moments, swinging it at Khalid. It hit the form of the half-elf instantly, and he, too, shifted into the monster Tamoko had. "Gorion would never say those things! He knows the struggle of this blood! And Khalid…" His voice trailed off, and he eyed the wraith that had taken his mentor's form as the rest of the party also moved into battle. "Khalid would understand."

He struck, slaying the shadow fiend, and then chaos was let loose.