XXV
Calpernia is forced to deal with the consequences of her actions.
A/N: Pulvis et umbra sumus –We are but dust and shadow.
Tap.
Her eyes eventually find their focus, and through the haze of fatigue Calpernia can see she's laying on the cold floor.
Tap. Another sound echoing between the walls and in her mind as well, something hitting the stone floor.
She looks up, trying to determine where she is. The place is dark, there's a stone altar and a large monument of a dragon behind it. It all looks crude and old, created ages ago when people didn't know about the Maker and Andraste. Slight tingling in her fingertips tells her the chamber is sealed with magic that preserves the old temple from ruin.
There are candles arranged around the altar; and flowers, bracelets, trinkets and rings, and everything else one could give as payment for their prayers. Among all these things there are also worn out leather collars and metal chains, creating an intricate mosaic of things people bring here as an offering for the Old God. People in Tevinter still remember about their dragon gods, leaving them gifts when the Maker is deaf to their prayers.
There are words carved on the altar, and Calpernia squints trying to read them.
PULVIS ET UMBRA SUMUS
She lifts up her head to get a better look at the stone dragon, its open maw and outstretched wings looming ominously above the altar.
Andoral. Dragon of Slaves.
Tap.
Startled by the sound, Calpernia turns to see there's a man standing behind her.
He taps the end of his staff on the stone floor. Tap tap tap. He's wearing a white robe with long sleeves, a wide leather belt, and a pair of golden gloves that glisten in the candlelight as if they were made of metal. There's a brooch pinned to his chest, the Archon's sigil, a symbol of power. As the Archon's agent this man is essentially invulnerable for he represents the most important person in the Imperium.
There's something familiar in him, especially in his cold eyes gazing at her full of unforgiving hate. He smiles, amused by her confusion, and finally she remembers.
Magister Anodatus, once a frequent guest in her master's estate. The man who attacked her when she walked the streets of Minrathous as a free woman for the first time.
She remembers the smell of burning flesh when her spells hit him, how he wailed in pain, raising up charred remains of his hands.
"Calpernia."
Hearing his voice again speaking to her with so much revulsion sends shivers down his spine, making her ashamed of her own name.
He changed significantly since she last saw him, defeated and broken, curled on the ground in front of the statue of the Ferryman. It seems like it happened ages ago, in another life, perhaps. The man's face got thinner, his hair is cut short, but he now grows a pointy beard, dyed black to hide his age.
There are wrinkles around his narrow eyes. His pale skin looks frail like an old parchment. The way he glares at her, however, tells her there's strength in him fuelled by hate.
"You have no idea how happy I am to see you again."
He raises up his hand and balls it into fist, and Calpernia gazes at it in shock realising he's not wearing gloves. His hands are gone, replaced by a pair of artificial limbs, so masterfully crafted one could think he painted his real hands with gold.
After she burned his hands off the damage was too great, but Anodatus is a man of wealth and influence, even more now than before, so he could afford replacements. Artificial limbs are nothing new but his hands look more like a work of art, and they surely must have cost a fortune.
Calpernia closes her eyes for a second, fighting with the overwhelming feeling of numbness. She calls out for her magic again, but nothing happens leaving her in a state of despair.
Then Anodatus is by her side. With a small gesture of his hand some invisible force pulls her up as if she were a mere puppet in his hands. She hovers in the air, her feet millimetres above the ground. Blind fear grips her heart, she tries to break free yet the spell is too powerful.
"I must say I observed your pitiful attempts with amusement," he says watching her struggles with complete disinterest. "It was clever of this Corypheus to keep your existence a secret. Too bad all his plans failed when the Inquisition finally killed him. That took them long enough..." he lets out a sigh. "Southerners always take so long to do the easiest tasks."
He walks to the altar, picks up a golden ring and inspects it before putting it back. He seems rather bored. While Calpernia gasps for air struggling against the spell he glances at other things people left for the Old God. Her vision goes hazy, everything is blurred, the magister looks like he has a golden halo around him.
"But enough is enough. You and your little group have become troublesome lately. Trying to contact the Lucerni? The letter you wrote to Maevaris Tiliani was laughably amusing. Do you really think she'd care about your little revolution?"
He reaches to his pocket and shows her a crumbled piece of parchment. The letter she wrote, the one she asked Lucius and Berard to deliver to Quarinus.
A gasp escapes from her lips when the letter catches in flames that appear out of nowhere in Anodatus' golden hand. Seconds later the paper is reduced to ashes.
If he got the letter, then what happened to the men who carried it..?
As if reading her thoughts, the magister continues. "Tevinter law is very clear what to do with slaves who dare to raise a hand on their master. Slaves who allow others to hurt their master are equally guilty."
You're lying, she wants to shout in his face but something makes it hard for her to speak.
"I was told they didn't want to admit they're working for you even after some, well, persuasion. You trained them well, I must admit. They were loyal till the end."
Calpernia swallows a cry, feeling guilt so strong tears gather in her eyes. Her lips tremble so she bites her lower lip hard enough to feel blood on her tongue.
"You make friends everywhere you go! Imagine my surprise when I learned you and the magekiller hired to kill you used to serve good old Erasthenes. The world is a small place sometimes, don't you think, girl? What did you offer him to spare you, I wonder? There's nothing admirable about you."
Standing this close, Calpernia sees every wrinkle on his face. The smell of perfume and fresh robes can't quite mask the scent of sweat and something else, strong magic perhaps, that reminds her of iron and blood.
"I can hardly understand what Corypheus saw in you..." he holds her chin up, ignoring her strained groans of pain. His golden hands are cold. "Well, you have some power in you…"
His eyes regard her for a longer moment. His lips twist with disgust. "Yes, there is magic in you. Like a pearl in a pile of shit."
He takes a step back as the very thought of touching her again disgusted him. He ostentatiously wipes his hand on his robe.
"But you don't have your magic now, do you? How does it feel, I wonder? Care to enlighten me?"
He moves his eyes to look at her, awaiting her answer. Calpernia responds with a glare, refusing to say a word.
"Speak!"
The end of his staff hits her in the stomach. She would bend in half in pain if it wasn't for the spell holding her in place. Calpernia grits her teeth. When she looks at the man, her whole body is shaking.
"I should have killed you that day!" she spits in his face, her voice echoing in the temple. "I should have burned you, watch your pitiful form turn to ashes! But I let you live so you could remember that you were defeated by a mere slave– "
She stops suddenly and gasps for air when something starts squeezing her throat. Unable to breath, she nearly passes out. Anodatus glares at her, his golden hand raised and trembling ever so slightly as he concentrates on the spell.
Then the force holding her prisoner is gone, and Calpernia lands on the floor gasping for air.
"We all made mistakes," Anodatus says. He makes his voice sound disinterested, yet she may hear hints of anger in his tone. "Erasthenes should have sold you, so at least your blood could be of some use. That old fool thought an incaensor would make a good apprentice."
Calpernia massages her throat. It was foolish to lash out like that. Her anger changes to guilt and remorse, even though she refuses to believe that what he said is true.
But it's no lie, how else could he find her here. She thought she could move freely, refusing to see that no matter what she does, there's still a collar and a leash on her neck. She remembers blood dripping from Ontario's lifeless body, someone pulling Servis away before knocking her down, and all her will to speak disappears.
"Alas, I'm here to give you a warning." The magister's lips curl into a hideous smile. "Corypheus is dead, the Venatori are no more. If you continue your foolish quest, you will die. Go back to hunting slavers in Orlais, if you wish."
I know, his eyes tell her. I know about everything.
Calpernia's lip trembles but she refuses to cry. The magister gives her one more look full of contempt, his golden hands glistening in the candlelight. A spell hits her, making Calpernia surrender completely.
"You will remember it is I who offers mercy," she hears him say before the spell puts her to sleep.
When she opens her eyes the magister is already gone, the temple empty and cold. Calpernia sits up, letting out a groan of pain.
Her magic is quiet and distant, her whole body shaking. She slowly gets up, her legs refusing to cooperate. Her head spins as she takes a step, and nearly falls on the ground. All this physical pain is nothing compared to the overwhelming guilt.
She fights but loses and she falls to her knees, a sob escaping from her lips. Tears streaming down her face, she weeps silently just like that small slave girl she used to be once, forced to sleep in the stables because other servants hated her, and the world didn't care. She hasn't changed much, and the thought makes her punch the ground with fists, lips opening to scream, then sob, then moan in pain as her exhausted body begs her for rest.
She stands up, her robes torn, hands bruised. It takes a while for her breath to calm down. Calpernia hastily wipes her eyes, smearing blood and dirt on her face. She shivers as the last spark of her will disappears, and she sobs uncontrollably, the ache in her chest so strong that she's afraid all hope is gone forever.
Behind her candles burn on the stone altar, the monument of the Dragon God observing her struggles, silent to her prayers.
A/N2: The line "there is magic in you. Like a pearl in a pile of shit" is a paraphrase of what Auberon says to Ciri in The Lady of the Lake. I read The Witcher novels ages ago, but for some reason Ciri's time as the elven "bride" is what I remember vividly. Maybe because it was just so creepy.
This story will be on hiatus because I need to think some things through. I hope it won't take long to post the next chapter, I don't want to keep anyone waiting. If someone is waiting for an update, that is.
Feedback is, as always, very much appreciated.