Chapter 27 – Letting Go
Q'ian Zang sits serenely on the cliff edge overlooking the High Forest, legs crossed, eyes closed, hands clasped together and resting in his lap. Breathing deeply, his snow-white brow relaxed, he is in a profound state of meditation. The uninitiated could well be forgiven for mistaking him for a dawdling old man, one who has fallen asleep sitting up, completely off-guard and vulnerable.
But that is not the case.
He hears soft, muffled footfalls coming up the mountain pass, and a barely perceptible chafing of cloth against leather. Whoever is approaching is skilled at moving stealthily, quietly, and although the person is not trying to hide his, or her, arrival, habit still dictates that he or she walks silently, until the person is just behind the ancient hermit.
"Ah, you have come," Q'ian Zang greets his visitor, as he slowly opens his eyes. "How very nice to see you again."
The guest, a ranger judging by his dress and gear, unslings his bow and pulls back his cape, revealing long, silky hair, pointed ears, and a face that could be deemed handsome, if only he smiled more.
"Master Q'ian Zang," Daeghun bows slightly. "It is good to see you too."
The old man rises with the help of his twisted cane, and the two friends embrace warmly. "Come," he urges. "Sit down. Would you like some tea?"
The ranger politely declines. "I'm afraid I'm not staying long," he apologises. "I have a shipment of furs I need to get to Secomber by nightfall."
Q'ian Zang nods, as he motions for the other man to sit on a fallen log. "I understand you have business to attend to." Snapping his long robes aside, he joins the elf on the felled tree, groaning softly when his arthritic knees creak and pop as they bend. Once comfortably seated, he chides gently, "You do not drop by enough. Have you forgotten this lonely old man?"
Daeghun smirks at the Kara-Turian, but his dour expression returns almost immediately.
"Actually…" he begins, producing the folded up parchment he received not too long ago. It was sent by Alya during her incognito visit to the Keep, but with all his time spent roaming the wilderness, and searching the remains of the Shadow King's lair for any sign of his missing foster daughter, it had taken the letter a while to finally reach him.
"I was hoping to see Alya."
The old man feigns a look of hurt.
"Ha!?" he exclaims, pretending to sound offended. "You come not to see me, but Alya? After not visiting for so long, you finally come, but not to see me?"
"That's not what I meant," Daeghun quickly corrects himself. "Of course I'm here to see you. It's just that…"
His voice trails off.
It's just that I've been worried sick ever since she went missing. When I heard the sound of that fortress coming down, it felt like my whole world was collapsing in on me – again. I couldn't lose her like I lost Shayla. You don't know how long I've been sifting through the ruins, looking for her, even after everyone else had lost hope, even after Bevil had given up trying. You don't know how many sleepless nights I've had, how often the constant nightmares wake me when I do nod off from pure exhaustion…
Keeping all that to himself, Daeghun merely states stoically:
"I wanted to make sure she's all right."
The old man is eyeing him knowingly. "Of course she's all right," he says. "Why shouldn't she be?"
"T-then…where is she?" He berates himself for sounding a little too overeager.
"Ah," Q'ian Zang says again. "I am afraid you just missed her." He spreads his hands, palms up, in a helpless gesture, before adding cheekily, "You'll just have to content yourself with the company of an elderly man."
Daeghun sighs, disappointed. "I got this from her." He unfolds the letter in his hands and shows it to the sage. For the past few days, he had been reading and rereading it so often, he can now remember all the words – written in Alya's familiar, flowing script – by heart:
Dearest Father,
I am sorry it has taken me so long, but I am writing now to let you know that I am okay. I am very sorry if I have caused you worry. However, please understand that I am unable to see you at the moment.
Bishop is very sick. I know he betrayed us during the siege, and I know you never approved of him as a travelling companion, but believe it or not, he was the one responsible for getting me back safely. It is also because he was trying to protect me that he got hurt. Like it or not, he saved my life, and more than once at that, so after all he did, I thought it only right that I try to repay the debt incurred.
Please tell no one of this letter. I do not need the entire Crossroads Keep on my back. Better for them to think that I have fallen, as I do not need the responsibility of running the place right now. Besides, Kana would probably do a much better job.
If you ever need to find me, I may be with Sifu Q'ian Zang in his refuge on the Star Mount.
Your Loving Daughter,
Alya
"Is she still trying to save this Bishop?" he asks, after giving the old man a minute to peruse the letter, but the elderly Kara-Turian hushes him with one gnarled finger. Squinting, he holds the paper at arm's length, as he takes a longer time to read and comprehend what is to him an unfamiliar language. Fighting to contain his impatience, Daeghun sits silently, arms crossed, fingers drumming anxiously on his biceps.
"Ah," Q'ian Zang says finally. "Yes, she is. She fights to reclaim his soul from Hades."
"Reclaim his…?" The trapper cannot believe his ears. "You mean he's dead? He's not just sick?" He is nearly spluttering with disbelief. She would do all that for a traitor? One who nearly got her and everyone else at the Keep killed?
"B-but bringing someone back from the dead is impossible! What in Faerun could possess the silly child to go on such a fool's quest?"
"Not a fool's quest," the old man corrects him. "Dangerous, yes. Difficult, also yes. But impossible? No."
"It's just…" Daeghun recalls the younger ranger's perpetual scowl, his surly attitude towards everyone around him, including Alya. Why would the girl put herself through so much trouble for a lowlife like him?
"It's just that, I can't imagine why she'd want to do all that for that…that man." He emphasises the last word with disdain, as if he is using the term sparingly in Bishop's case.
"Why not?" the old man queries. "It is what she wants." He raises a white eyebrow quizzically.
"Do you question her intentions?"
"No," the elven ranger replies. "I question her decisions. Silly girl." He speaks as if Alya is right there, as if he is scolding her in person.
"I should've gotten here sooner. Perhaps then I could have talked her out of it this wild goose chase."
"Why do you want to 'talk her out of' this 'goose chase'?" Q'ian Zang questions again, quoting the other man, no doubt unacquainted with some of the Common expressions used.
"Because she shouldn't waste her time on someone like him," Daeghun asserts. "He is untrustworthy."
Now both his ashy eyebrows shoot up.
"Why do you find him untrustworthy?" the sage asks again. "Is it because you cannot trust yourself?"
The ranger frowns, confused. "What do you mean by that?"
Q'ian Zang smiles kindly. "Is it because he reminds you too much of yourself?"
"What are you talking about?" Daeghun appears offended by the comparison. "I am in no way like him!"
"True, of course," the old man assents, "just as every leaf bears a different pattern, no two men are completely alike. But, two leaves can fall from the same tree."
The ranger does not like where the conversation is heading. It has been so long since he was on the receiving end of a lecture, he is starting to feel distinctly uncomfortable about the prospect.
Narrowing his eyes, he asks warily, "And what tree is that?"
"Now, I am no expert in trees, and I base my observations only on Alya's description of Bishop's character," the hermit admits humbly, before venturing, "But perhaps, a tree that builds thick walls of bark, to hide its soft inner core?" He fixes Daeghun with a gaze so intense and penetrating, the ranger squirms in his seat despite himself.
"Both of you seem to hide true feelings behind stony faces, and show affection by acting cruel."
Daeghun remains still as a statue, struggling to maintain an air of impassivity, hells-bent on acting as if the sage's words had not struck a deep chord.
"But the man has already died," he argues, his tone petulant even to his own cuspate ears. He knows he is fighting a losing battle. "It is…unnatural…to bring back the dead. She should put all this behind her and move on."
Q'ian Zang's gaze softens slightly at the ranger's apparent discomfort. He places a wrinkly hand on the younger man's shoulder.
"Are not all men made by nature?" the old man poses. "If so, then should all our actions not all stem from nature? If resurrection is possible, then who is to say it is unnatural, if man were able to achieve it?"
The withered hand squeezes the ranger's arm lightly.
"If you could, would you not have considered it?"
Daeghun is silent, as he stares at a particular patch of gravel at his feet. In his mind's eye, he sees an image of Shayla, with her corn silk hair and sapphire eyes. Dear, sweet Shayla, who loved Alya as if she were her own daughter.
The gods know he would have done anything to get her back.
"You still hang on to the past, yet you expect her to move on?"
The ancient sage's tone is tender, but his words are profound. The elf continues scrutinising the earth, counting the number of pebbles in view, anything to avoid the wise old man's searching gaze, but his tally is interrupted when his vision blurs, as his eyes begin to mist over.
"I just…" He pauses to steady his faltering voice, before starting over. "She is my daughter. I made a promise to protect her. I have failed before, and I have never forgiven myself. If Bishop betrays her again…"
He leaves the sentence hanging.
"I just don't want anything to happen to her."
"Now why would you want to do that?" Q'ian Zang seems genuinely shocked by the notion. "If you never let anything happen to her, then nothing will ever happen to her. And she would never have become the strong woman that she is."
Daeghun considers the old man's words. It seems to make sense.
I hate it when that happens.
Blinking back his tears, the ranger relents, defeated.
"So you think I should let her go?" He tilts his head heavenwards, making a show of admiring the noonday sky, all the while hoping that gravity would drag his tears back into their ducts.
"You will never know how magnificent the flight of an eagle can be until you set it free."
"I sincerely hope you're right," the trapper sighs, feeling he has had more than enough of ambiguous proverbs to last an elven lifetime.
He stands, brushing off his trews. "I must make a move." The two men embrace again. "And, Master Q'ian Zang? Thank you."
The hermit shrugs modestly, patting the ranger's back. "I have done nothing."
"You have done more than you realise. Alya is fortunate to have you as a teacher."
The elf turns, flips his hood back on, and makes to descend the ridge, but he stops suddenly.
"Master?"
"Yes, Daeghun?"
"You haven't…told her…you know, have you?" He eyes the white-haired sage meaningfully.
"About her true parents? No, no," Q'ian Zang shakes his head, his flowing beard swishing from side to side. "Fry too many fish at once, and they all end up spoiled. Let her concentrate on one thing at a time," he advises.
Daeghun nods in agreement. With one final nod, he slips down the mountain pass, a ghost vanishing soundlessly from view. Behind him, he hears the elderly sage's parting call:
"Do not be a stranger! Come back again soon!"
