Back and Forth
For reference, the party has returned Eithera to Aveyond, gotten Pirate John and Mad Marge, and is on the way to get a dragon. Also, I have Dameon trying to learn a spell from a spellbook, because even though one for him is never mentioned in the game, in Ahriman's Prophecy there is a book in the Collegium of War and Magick that says spells must be studied to be learned. So.
Yeah, I'm a nerd.
They had stopped for lunch on the beach, at Pirate John's request. Galahad said it was hot and Te'ijal said it was romantic, or amusing, she couldn't seem to decide which. Lars thought it was sandy, and Elini's hair kept getting in her mouth. Mad Marge sneered at her and told her to cut it, and Rhen told her Dameon could braid it, and swung her own braid around to show the demon summoner, which Dameon thought was very cute and also very—
There was a kind of twisting in his stomach that reminded him how frail things like this were. He had been so— happy, recently, and the last time he had been this happy—
It could all end, it could all end quickly, and he would be powerless to stop it, just like before.
He had to do something, he had to be prepared this time.
So he had excused himself, and walked farther down the desert beach to look for a quiet place to study. He'd found a cove, which shielded him from view, and he'd taken out his spellbook and sat down to try to learn the one offensive spell a Sun Priest could learn, Sun Fury.
It was an ancient spell, older, perhaps, than even Vata. He had seen his father use it only very, very rarely, when he was in danger, or when his... when his mother was in danger. And one horrible time, against his mother, on that night.
He didn't want to remember, not now. He had to concentrate if he was going to figure this spell out. He glared down at the book in his hands— it had been his father's.
Father. Mother. The words did not mean what they once did. They did not mean the same from one moment to the next. Father, someone he had loved, who had protected him, and taught him— someone who had died, who had left him when he was most in need. Mother, someone he had trusted, someone who had betrayed him carelessly—
Someone who wanted his forgiveness.
The gentle back and forth of the waves on the beach should have soothed him, but instead it flustered him, back, and forth, and back— like his thoughts, and he couldn't escape either.
He used to think his mother was evil, for what she had done, for how she had broken their family. But today, the party was going to capture a Tehyor dragon. Tehyor dragons could not abide evil. And he couldn't help thinking, as he sat alone in the sand, with the waves crashing in front of him— what if— if he could forgive his mother, if he had forgiveness anywhere in his soul, then maybe— maybe, his family could be un-broken. And maybe the emptiness in him, the lack of anything light— maybe that was the real evil. Maybe the dragon would kill him.
He was afraid to die— and back, and forth, and back, and forth—
The waves were like him. Inconstant. Unsteady. Advancing only to retreat again. Forming only to break against the beach, against sand—
He had fainted during a battle that morning. He was always fainting, he couldn't fight back when attacked, like the others could. He hated it— the cold sweat, the foggy spinning feeling in his head, the sour taste in his mouth and the knotted feeling in his gut, like he'd been punched, and most of all how helpless and pathetic and useless he was, and how vulnerable he left everyone else, and especially—
Especially, he hated how vulnerable he left Rhen, and maybe it was selfish of him, and maybe he didn't care.
That's why he had to learn Sun Fury. He couldn't leave her without shields, or healing, not anymore—
Eithera had made him realize it. Eithera was invincible, and terrifying, she could probably break him in two if she felt like it, and he had no evidence she didn't feel like it— but she had taken an immediate liking to Rhen, and before they had arrived in Aveyond she had told Dameon, in a low voice, "If I had any intention of retiring in the next century, I would make the sword swinger my successor."
And then, almost indifferently, "It is too bad she will die before then."
He'd turned to stare at her, and she'd scoffed. "Foolish child! Being the Chosen One does not give her immortality. Do you forget?"
He had not forgotten, only... he had not remembered, and—
It was not fair, that Rhen would die, after all she had done for the world, and all she still intended to do—
He could do almost nothing about it. All those useless defensive spells he had— he could protect her from injury, from nearly every kind of magical attack, from curses and poisons and broken bones— but against time, every spell he had was powerless.
Vata could protect her, if he chose to, if it were necessary to his all-important grand scheme of things. And the Oracle could protect her, if she thought it would help keep the world in balance. If, it all came down to that, to the uncompromising decision of some ancient being who had long forgotten what it was to be human— to be small, and— to be vulnerable.
The sound of the waves pulled him back to reality. Back, and forth, and back—
It was like the way Rhen's braid swayed behind her when she walked— and back, and forth. He remembered how she blushed when he talked to her— and back, and forth— and he remembered how frighteningly pale she was after a battle when she'd lost too much blood—
It always made Dameon think of his father, on that night, when he lay dying on the stone floor and there had been nothing Dameon could do, just stare and scream—
His father's life had not been important to Vata's grand scheme. It had not been necessary to the balance of Aia. His father, who had been the Druid of Light for centuries, who had protected the Oracle's precious harmony for millennia— he was left to die. Would Rhen's life be valued any higher?
He could not risk it. He had not forgotten what it was to measure life on a different scale than the unbending masters of Aia. He remembered loss. His heart still ached with it. His soul was still numb.
And the waves still advanced and retreated, they never rested, back, and forth, and back—
Ahriman could protect her. Ahriman could give her immortality, and he wouldn't have any arbitrary conditions, any unmeetable demands. He would grant her life because she was steadfast and strong, and deadly and—
She was also beautiful, in a way that had nothing to do with her smile or her long eyelashes or all her gently curling hair gathered up in a braid behind her, swaying back and forth—
And back, and forth—
She had asked him to braid her hair again that morning. He had been thinking of what Eithera had said, and of what his mother had done, and a smile had been the farthest thing from his mind. But when she gave him her brush and that familiar rosy blush spread over her face, he had smiled without thinking about it, and he forgot about all those dark things and he thought instead of lavender and of how funny it was that he unknotted her hair just to knot it up again— except more neatly, of course. She had laughed when he told her so. Her laugh was beautiful, and loud, and genuine, and if a sound could be made by a candle flickering in a far-away window when everything else was dark, that would be it.
A world without that laugh would be— empty.
He had to learn this spell. He stared down at the book. He couldn't comprehend the words, he was reading them but they were passing through him like ghosts—
And back, and forth, and back, and forth—
He read the words slowly, tested them on his tongue. They felt foreign. It was foolish, to think he could learn a spell like this. He was not powerful, like his father. He did not even know if he was good or evil.
But not learning the spell was not an option. He read it again.
Maybe all he could do would never be enough. He could not even bring his mother to justice— he didn't even always know if he wanted to, or if he should want to—
He could not undo what he had already done. He could not fix what was already broken— he was broken, and if he kept fighting the world and his mother and— himself— maybe he would only ever make it worse.
There was not enough light in Aia to combat the darkness that was inside him.
The words were still unfamiliar. How many times had he read them now? It didn't matter, he had to fight, he had to learn this spell. For Rhen.
He said the words until he remembered them. He remembered them, but he didn't feel them like he should. He put the book down and picked up his staff. He said the words again.
Nothing.
He tried to reach for some kind of offensive power inside, something like—
Anger. He was angry at his mother.
He said the words. Nothing.
He was angry at— the Oracle, for dropping the weight of the world on Rhen, for giving her nothing to help her carry it, for not even caring if she lived or died—
Nothing, nothing, nothing!
He was angry at— at— at—
Himself, for not being able to do this, for being so weak and powerless and— broken—
Something happened, something in his stomach that rose up his throat with the words— and it rebounded back against him, painfully—
He tried again. The spell backfired— again. He grunted in frustration. Why couldn't he be like Rhen, dangerous and capable and— good—
Again— it backfired. It wasn't working, he was only destroying himself—
Again—
"Dameon! What are you doing?"
He whirled around and suddenly he was facing Rhen. She was standing at the mouth of the cove, her eyes wide, her lips a quivering pink o.
"I— I— I was just trying to learn this— spell."
"What— what spell?" Her voice squeaked— he had frightened her. She was walking to him now and he took a step back.
"I— I was practicing Sun Fury. It's for— offense."
She had reached him. She put her hand on his staff and he knew she was trembling by how it shook. "Well— stop practicing. You're tired. You need— a break."
"Rhen..." he didn't know how to explain it to her, she didn't understand. He had to practice, he needed to know this spell— he didn't want to scare her. "I— I should be able to do this by now! Sun Priests have been learning this spell for— millennia."
"Please, Dameon?" She was looking up at him with her vividly violet eyes— what was beautiful about Rhen was the bottomless look of those eyes, like they could swallow up all the darkness in the world and still sparkle in the sun. Her beauty was kindness and gentleness and all those things which sounded so soft but which were so heavy to carry— which she carried anyway, because she was brave. "Let— let me take care of the offense, okay?" she continued. "I need you to defend me, and to take care of my injuries, and to— to—"
He swallowed down the anger that still shook in his chest, the rage that was mostly shame and fear, and he finished for her, "— To— braid your hair?"
She smiled softly, and then flung her arms around his neck and rested her head on his robes and held him until he forgot to be afraid.
And when they got to the dragon later that day, and it glanced sideways at him and his heart stopped, Rhen just took his hand and pulled him up to sit behind her on its back, and he clung tightly to her waist, and he still didn't know if he was good or bad—
But he could hold on to her while the world raced by beneath them, and— she would help them find the answers, whatever they were.