Chapter 51: Kessler
darat = Vhen'atishan monk
shan = Vhen'atishan nun
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For the past hour, Kess had been watching Nuraya sleep. At first, it was a ploy to encourage himself to return into the dark abyss, but that fleeting time which would allow him passage back had long drifted by. He was now wide awake and bored. Instead of letting the swirling ghosts of his past, or the uncertainty of his future, drive his thoughts to the edge of madness, he just watched her. Nuraya didn't seem to mind. Moonlight streamed past a fluttering gauze curtain, bathing her in ethereal light. There wasn't much to see anymore—she had rolled onto her side some time ago and was now facing the opposite wall, curled up on an elven cot. A bare shoulder poked out from under a rough spun blanket, her delicate contours catching the silver light. The thought struck him that his current preoccupation could be construed as odd—or worse—creepy, but he found the view rather enticing, as he imagined tracing a finger down the curve of her neck, unbraiding her thick rope of hair and combing his fingers through her chestnut tresses. Just as his imagination has started to lead him astray, he caught himself, pulled his hands through his hair and scratched his chin through his bristly stubble. He wasn't going to go there. Not even tonight.
His knees and back were aching from contorting himself in a bed that would comfortably fit a man half his height. He stretched as best he could without throwing himself on the floor. As his bones creaked, a gong rang in the distance—signalling what, Kess could not say. He knew nothing of the Vhen'atishan and their nightly rituals. But whatever it was, happened at regular intervals throughout the night. He had counted at least four before that.
Insomnia wasn't new to Kessler. He had gotten his days and nights mixed up before and expected that in the morning his head would feel like it was stuffed with cotton, to be followed by another night of similar frustration. It would be even better if by some stroke of genius, there was a pub located somewhere on the outskirts of the temple. Highly unlikely, but it was worth wishing for nonetheless. Perhaps the monks brewed mead like the Fereldan chantry brothers.
An embroidered silk curtain fluttered in the doorway. Quietly, he sat up, his joints cracking in revolt, and stepped over the sleeping dog onto the dirt floor. He stood slightly hunched, the low ceilings preventing him from standing up straight. He pushed aside the fabric in the doorway and leaned against the door jamb, studying one of the many temple courtyards. The heavy night air was filled with the scent of night blooming flowers and the caw of a lone bird high in the canopy above. Torches burned along the walkways. And aside from the poor sot assigned to gong duty, everybody but himself had fallen asleep.
Nuraya stirred, muttering under her breath. A dream. He looked over his shoulder to see that her movements had become increasingly agitated—she writhed and turned until she bolted upright, a startled sigh escaping her next breath, her eyes wide and wild.
"Hey, it's just a dream," he said in hushed tones.
She rubbed both eyes with the tips of her fingers and scanned the hut where she had slept, comprehension sinking in.
"That was the strangest dream." Her voice was still gravelly with sleep. She cleared her throat, and with more certainty said, "And I know strange dreams." She sat cross-legged on the cot, her hair mussed and the strap of her undershirt falling off her shoulder. "Bran…" she muttered.
At first, Kess thought that she had been dreaming of Seneschal Bran, still working with whatever puppet Viscount the Chantry had installed in Kirkwall. But that would have been ridiculous. Then, clarity struck. "Bran, as in the Prince? The kid the Order kidnapped?"
She pulled a hand through her scalp as she processed the dream. Her braid had unwoven and spilled over her bare shoulder.
"So strange. He was so happy to see me. But there was no sound when he spoke… it was as if he were behind glass. I kept pounding the surface. Then he just disappeared."
Kess wasn't sure what he should say. "There are still hours before dawn. Go back to sleep."
She curled up again on the cot and spoke through a yawn. "So much to do tomorrow…"
And she was right. Just around the corner, there were dozens of elves clinging to life, suffering from an illness no one understood. And amidst his fatigue and exhaustion, he'd get his first lessons in healing. He could hardly wait.
~0oOo0~
"Here." Nuraya handed Kessler a pack of gauze that looked as if it had been soaked in a bog. He wasn't aware that his reaction was so visceral until she set a fist on her hip and said, "It's just a healing poultice. It won't bite."
How exactly did I get roped into this task?
He took the gauze between two fingers, trying to avoid as much contact with it as possible. "And what am I supposed to do with this?"
Nuraya had already turned to attend to a sick elf in her makeshift triage. Those she deemed most critical, were placed around the central fire, where she had set a large cauldron of water to boil. Those less afflicted, or in the earliest stages of the illness—sometimes it was too difficult to tell—were placed furthest on the outer edges of the circle.
Nuraya ran things with military-like precision, which came as no surprise to Kess. She did, after all, serve as Commander of the Grey for a time. He could finally appreciate what she had learned from the Wardens—not that he had ever doubted it, but at times, it was easy to overlook, as she seemed so intent on forgetting that part of her past. He noticed that her martial edge was tempered with the gentleness of a doting parent—her voice remained soft, yet confident and there was always a tender touch, a squeeze of the hand or shoulder to try and beget hope for anyone she was treating.
They didn't work alone either. Kessler thought that the constant coming and going of elves was due in part to curiosity of the newly arrived foreigners and concern for those that suffered. The darats and shans who had managed to avoid the mysterious infection immediately set to work and puttered around the site with precision and efficiency, without the need to utter a word. It was a shame really. Ever since Alagan, the temple Elder had bestowed Kessler with the gift of Dalish speech, he was eager to try it on any willing ear. He wondered if jokes would translate, or subtleties like sarcasm—his favorite flavour of speech—would make any sense if uttered in a foreign language. But all his invitations to converse were met with a downward cast, or a nod with a serene expression.
Earlier that morning, Kess and Tassilo carried four elves on stretchers to a garden just on the other side of a courtyard. They were nearest death, their breathing laboured, their skin thin as paper and ravaged with a fine network of blackened veins. All Kess could think of was Wesley, Aveline's templar husband who had fallen to Blight sickness before they had a chance to escape Ferelden. He did not stick around to see what would become of them. He already had a pretty good idea. An elven darat kept vigil, chanting in monotone syllables to Falon'Din, his even, steady voice echoing off the stone.
All morning, despite that visceral reminder of the Fifth Blight, Nuraya's focus had remained steadfast and unwavering. Her current task of removing a blood-soaked bandage from an elven woman's leg, was done with the same amount of attention and care as she had offered the previous ten elves. She looked up and pointed to a man lying in the cot in front of Kessler.
"Change and clean his wound. I don't know what's causing these open sores, but we can prevent, or at least slow any infection."
Kess had run out of odd jobs and chores and his medical training was now unavoidable. "Why don't you just use your glowy hands?"
She continued tending to her patient, checking under the bandage and poking at the open wound with a studious expression. "You need to become more familiar with wounds and recognize when magic is needed and when a simple poultice will suffice. It's all a matter of balance. You don't want to drain all of your energy. You of all people should know that anything can lurk in the shadows."
Kess got onto his knees, shaking his head in apprehension. He pulled up the edge of the bandage on the elf's leg. The wound had festered, as if it had been left to rot in a sewer for several weeks. Kess looked only long enough to register an impression—the leg was swollen and puffy like fully risen dough and weeping with pus. Parts of the wound had darkened to black. And then he caught a whiff of it. The smell of decay infiltrated his senses, his stomach retched slightly. Without thinking, he groaned with disgust and quickly covered the wound with the dirty bandage.
"You may want to stop with the noises… tends to scare the patients. Why don't you describe to me what you just saw?"
He looked up at the elf, who was either asleep or unconscious. He had not yet been given a lesson on how to tell the difference.
"Whatever I saw looked disgusting."
She passed a shan a wooden bowl full of herbs and water, instructing her to continue cleaning the woman's wound and then wove her way past the cots over to Kessler, pulling up her dirty apron to wipe her hands.
"You're not going to make this easy on me, are you?"
Kess blinked, giving her the most innocent look he could muster. "You were warned, but I did agree. I can't help my first impression." He leaned in closer and whispered so no one else could hear. "It's pretty fucking disgusting. All yucky and gooey… skin has blackened. I think we've progressed well beyond a simple infection here. Smells that way too. That's my diagnosis."
Her brow creased with concern when she lifted and bandage. "Oh dear. Gangrene." She shook her head in disbelief and studied it to such an extent that Kessler turned away, revulsion churning in his empty stomach. "I just treated him last night and the wound was nothing more than a scrape… a simple abrasion. Wounds never necrotize that quickly… even with those patients with Blight sickness. Those symptoms include…" she took a breath to list them off, but he wasn't interested in hearing the many ways the human body might putrefy with disease. He held up a halting hand.
"I've seen Blight sickness. I know what it looks like."
"I'll need my instruments to deal with this. Didn't think I'd need them quite so soon. They're in my backpack—under the cot where I slept last night."
"I'll get them."
It was the break that Kessler was hoping for, though the word 'instruments' seemed to prick the hairs on the back of his neck. Without another word, he ran across the courtyard to the row of apartments where he had tossed and turned the night before. And because Nuraya had dragged him out to the infirmary before the sun had even had a chance to rise, he had no idea what had become of the rest of the party. Each of the three dwellings looked identical—a stone façade, a thatched roof, a door on the left and a single window on the right, each with a silky green curtain floating in the doorway. He hesitated for a moment, unsure which one was his, guessing it was the one in the middle.
He threw aside the curtain and was taken aback to find Saunière sitting on the floor with his papers strewn out in front of him. The old professor's eyes glanced upward at the disturbance. When Kess's presence registered, he held up a finger, to indicate that Kessler should wait for a moment longer.
"I'm in a bit of a rush…" Kessler started backing out the door, afraid at what elaborate detail of Andrastian theology he might have to endure. To reinforce his argument, he added, "Nuraya needs her instruments… some sort of… elven medical emergency." His voice trailed off upon realizing that Saunière's attention had focused again on a document in his lap.
"I've arranged a scouting party to leave tomorrow morning. I expect you to meet us at the courtyard at dawn."
"A scouting party? A strange time to go hunting wouldn't you say?"
Saunière shook his head in disbelief, his eyes still cast on the parchment. "Not a hunting party… we're going to the Vhenadahl. Nuraya will be healing until she is blue in the face unless we learn what has happened to the Vhenadahl."
"If it's that important, why didn't you go this morning?"
The professor finally set the document on top of a stack of others and stood, his knees cracking in the process. He shuffled to the bed and sat, gripping the small of his back. "Ah yes. How quickly I forget how little you know of the Vhen'atishan."
"And my ignorance is somehow supposed to answer my own question?"
"Today is their weekly sacred day. A day of quiet contemplation. Everyone at the temple has taken a vow of silence that lasts from dawn until dusk. It would have made further research all that more frustrating."
"Ah. Too bad that Orlais did not adopt a similar custom."
Saunière rolled his eyes upon realizing that he had walked into that insult, and before he could retort, Kess pulled the curtain back. "I'll see you tomorrow …"
He peeked inside the room to the right of Saunière's, hoping he was not just about to interrupt a private moment between his brother and Tassilo. It was not the signs that pointed to their newly formed attachment that gave him pause, but tensions that still brewed just below the surface with his brother. Instead, he saw his own mussed bed and mage's staff leaning against the wall. He reached under Nuraya's cot and grabbed the straps of her backpack, pulled open the drawstring and dumped the contents onto the bed. As her personal effects bounced on top of the cot, he hoped he had not exposed anything too personal. He recalled snooping through her belongings while he stayed at her clinic in Dungarven. It was easier then, as he didn't know her. She was nothing more than idea, a collection of stories. But now...
Quickly, he scanned the contents and scooped up the loose items of clothing, even before he could rightly identify them and shoved them back in the bag. What was left was a miscellany of pouches and brown paper envelopes. She was not as sentimental as he thought her to be, as most of her personal effects were nothing more than a collection of herbs, bandages and lyrium. A flash of silver caught his eyes. It was a chain with a pendant that contained a drop of dark liquid. He seen something similar at her clinic and concluded that she owned two similar pieces. Before he could wonder too deeply about the significance of the jewelry, he grabbed a roll of leather and unwrapped the contents to reveal what he had expected—an array of fine steel utensils, which were as sharp as an assassin's blade, coupled with the precision and delicacy of a tailor's toolkit. He rolled them back up with a slight shudder, placed the roll under his arm and repacked her backpack, before reluctantly returning to the infirmary.
"Ah… took you long enough." She extricated her tools and immediately dumped them into the boiling water.
She returned to the stricken elf and held her hands over the wound. They glowed a diffuse blue, and some of the swelling immediately went down. She stopped almost as soon as she had gotten started, leaving the wound ugly and gaping.
"Why?" Kess asked.
She looked up at him. "The body shouldn't forget how to heal itself. I discovered this quite by accident, after I had started my practice. For the first few months, I used only healing magic and found that folk tended to get sick more often and if that wasn't bad enough, their symptoms tended to be more severe. It didn't take too long before I'd collapse in a pile of exhaustion at the end of every day.
"Burn out was an inevitability—which scared me. If I couldn't heal, surely Ser Ruskin would report this back to the Grand Cleric in Denerim and she'd send me back to the Weisshaupt. There was no one to learn from and no one to help me out—it wasn't like there were a hearty supply of mages to train. I had to figure out how to run a clinic all on my own. Eventually, I started reading about healing herbs and other remedies so I started introducing them and before long, I only used magic when someone was in danger of dying, or if I was truly stumped at the nature of their illness."
"You didn't learn to heal at the Circle?"
Nuraya stood up, unwrapped a length of gauze and lined a flat wooden tray with it, then handed it to Kess. He followed her to the cauldron of bubbling water and watched her fish out each instrument with a pair of tongs and dropped it onto the tray. Afterwards, she dipped in a ladle and filled a glass flask with boiling water.
"A little. All mages learn the basics, but we have to be selected to learn anything more advanced. Basic healing will fix a bruise, a simple wound. But anything internal—broken bones, torn muscle, perforated organs requires advanced study. We're tested when we arrive, long before we take our Harrowing. I favored the Primal School. The thought of healing bored me to tears."
Kess continued to follow her, balancing the tray and its contents. "So how did you learn?"
With a chuckle, she smeared the wound with an ointment that stained the surrounding skin yellow. "During the Blight, I returned to the Circle as a Warden to request that they help Connor. I had an old friend of mine teach me—in secret."
He quirked a smile. "Oh, you rogue healer you."
Her response came as a slight shrug, with an accompanying twinkle in her eyes.
With her tools, she pinched the infected skin and started slicing off the blackened flesh. Kess watched in horror, his lip curling up in disgust. He was too stubborn to look away, too proud to be called out on his squeamishness again. She worked quickly, demanding various instruments as she worked, calling them by their formal names and a brief description so Kess would grab the right one. Sometimes, they played a quick game of hot and cold, where he would hover over the tool he thought she needed, until she directed his hand to the correct one. From time to time, she'd clean the wound with water, then poke, prod, and slice until she threw everything back on the tray with a clatter. She pulled a threaded a needle she had kept tucked on her sleeve and started stitching the elf's wound's closed.
"So the Blight was your ticket out of the Circle, was it not?" Kess had not heard her tale, and hoped she'd keep going. He watched for her reaction. Her hands were small, but far from delicate. They were nimble and swift, and she worked with an almost automatic precision. He guessed that at this stage of the procedure, her mind could safely wander elsewhere. When she was finished, she dabbed the wounded elf's forehead like a mother tending her child.
Her shoulders fell when it became apparent that the question he had asked had finally registered.
"Yes. The Blight. My freedom came at a very great price."
"The archdemon is dead… and you're retired, right?"
"One never leaves the Wardens." Her brow furrowed. "Did Anders ever tell you about the order?"
"Only that you made him drink some foul beverage before he was officially a Warden." He expected a laugh, but she looked up at him darkly with her wide, brown eyes that seemed to bore directly into his spirit. He wasn't sure he should press her for more information on that.
She stood, balancing the tray against her hip. Then, unexpectedly, her expression brightened. "Ah, I see we have company." She strode toward the bubbling cauldron and tossed in her steel instruments. "Morning Carver. Would you and Kess move that elf away from the fire?"
Kess looked over his shoulder to see his brother, looking down at his feet with his arms crossed over his chest. They did as she asked, Carver taking the front of the stretcher, Kess taking the back. The elf weighed no more than a child.
Nuraya followed "I'm going to find myself a spot of breakfast. Kess, can you stay and keep an eye on everyone? I think some of the elves we just treated could use a drink of water." Before Kess could answer, she darted across the courtyard, her pace brisk and determined.
Trying to ignore his brother, Kess found a pitcher of water and a ladle near the rest of the supplies that Nuraya had left. He scooped the drowsy elf into a sitting position and tried to administer the water. It wasn't as easy as he imagined. As he tried to balance the limp elf in one arm, and the ladle in the other, all he managed to accomplish was soaking the front of the elf's shirt.
"I think Tassilo and Nuraya have been scheming." Carver stood over Kessler and looked down at him.
"Oh, she's quite succeeded by showing me every disgusting pustule and abscess… I'm not entirely sure why she decided to punish this poor elf with my inferior bedside manners."
Carver held out a hand. "Convincing you to heal is one thing, but tasking you with something that requires teamwork is quite another."
Once Kess handed over the ladle, he was better able to support the patient. Together, they managed to dribble a few sips of water into the patient. Kess wiped his chin and gently lay him back on the cot. Afterwards, the patient seemed to perk up, or perhaps it was Kess being overly optimistic.
"She tells me that she's going to teach you healing this evening. She asked me to attend."
Kess's eyes widened. "Tonight? You?"
Carver's jaw tensed. "Bride of the Maker…I thought she had already spoken to you, I mean you've been out here all bloody morning."
Kess stood and pulled up his sleeves. "She must have forgotten to tell me that detail." Even though he knew the answer, he asked anyway. "Why'd she ask you?"
"Templars always attend the teaching rites. I think she just wants to make sure that—"
Kess's mind exploded with fury and a thousand thoughts, cursing his condition as a mage and his brother's audacity to join the templar order. "What… so I won't make a deal with a demon? What is everyone so afraid of? That I'll suddenly run off and become a rogue blood mage?" His lack of sleep had finally caught up with him. He was glad that no one else was there to witness his tantrum and for once let his guard down.
"Just calm down a moment…" Carver shushed. His directive, together with the condescending delivery sounded just like a seasoned templar that pushed Kess even deeper into his rage.
"Don't tell me to calm down!" Kess snapped.
Carver gave an exasperated sigh, his voice wavering with self-control. "She was worried about herself. The veil is thin here. I'm doing this as a favor to her… not you. Although there would be no one else to save your sorry ass if worse came to worse."
Adrenaline surged inside him and his heart pounded inside his chest. He felt a twinge of humiliation as well, but did his best to push that aside. If there was something that he hated more than being condescended to, it was feeling like an idiot—especially in front of Carver. He wanted to have the last word, but did not dare utter the thoughts that surfaced. Even now, he knew he'd regret saying them later. He opted for silence and craved for that awkward avoidance again. But despite his own restraint, Carver threw his arms up in the air and spun around.
"I'll see you tonight." Carver replied, frustration clear in his tone as he marched out of the courtyard.
Kess grumbled to himself and proceeded to collect the dirty gauze that had collected on the ground and throw them in the fire. As soon as Nuraya had returned, he pulled on a blank expression and excused himself.
~0oOo0~
A four-hour nap gave Kessler the perspective he needed. The fight with his brother was the first thought to irritate him and circled his mind like a restless gnat even before he was fully awake. He did his best to avoid everyone once he was able to shake his grogginess—even Shasta seemed to sense that he needed his space.
There was no way that he was going to hide out in the room they had been given. Regardless of their hosts' generosity, it was one step away from a prison cell in its stark simplicity. Were it not for the curtained window and door, he might not be able to sleep there at all. Even Uncle Gamlens's hovel had more space than this. Just as the walls had started to close in on him, he ducked outside and decided to explore the temple grounds to clear his head and mentally prepare for the teaching rite that evening.
The dark stone buildings stood in stark contrast to the lush green foliage that invaded every crack and cranny. Cobbled pathways lined with ferns and lanterns wended here and there, leading through courtyards, statuary gardens, and large pagodas surrounded by ponds with dark glassy surfaces. There were no lack of elves going about their daily business, their heads hidden in deep hoods, hands tucked inside their sleeves that draped in front of their robes. They nodded with serene smiles as they passed the stranger in their midst. But despite their apparent industriousness, it was eerily quiet. The vow of silence had descended on the temple like a fog—it was thick and almost tangible. Birds squawked overhead, but otherwise there wasn't a whisper to be heard.
Kess's stomach growled so loud that he swore that it echoed off the stone and wondered if speaking to one of the elves would be an act of sacrilege that would get him promptly escorted to the borders of the Arlathan. He gave a quick wave to a darat walking toward him.
"I do not wish to offend you, but can I ask you a question?
The darat's eyes seemed to twinkle inside his hood. He nodded.
"Where might I find myself a meal?"
The elf cocked his head in an invitation to follow, and led Kess to a large building that descended a few steps underground. Inside were rows of low tables where the Vhen'atishan ate in meditative silence. The darat nodded and gestured with long, boney fingers toward a tiny wooden stool at the end of a banquet table. Kessler folded himself into place and accepted a bowl of herbed stew. From the way everyone shifted in their seats, he could tell that his presence was as subtle as a lightning bug in a dark room. Alagan, who had a place at the front of the room, seemed unsurprised by his arrival and continued to eat in silence.
Kess eagerly sipped a spoon of the hearty stew, mindful in his attempts to mimic the same quiet reverence as the rest of the room. He didn't need to look up to sense that the rest of the diners were stealing glances and studying the oddball Shem that had joined them. He kept his head down and crouched even lower, trying to deflect the attention. When he finished eating, he looked around to see every eye cast at him. Where was Tassilo or the professor when he needed them? What could he have possibly done to insult them now? He looked around sheepishly with a smile, feeling heat flush over his cheeks and waited for them to make the next move. He set down his bowl and nervously wiped his hands on his breeches, half expecting a collection of disapproving scowls. Instead, the Vhen'atishan, raised their bowls in unison, gave a thanks to Sylaise for her bounty and generosity and set them back down on the table with an echoing clack. The room erupted in a flurry of chatter and laughter. Large pitchers were passed and tumblers were filled.
Kess was too stunned to move until a neighbouring shan elbowed him and spoke. "Sylaise's bounty and blessings to you." She passed him a filled tumbler of mead, which he accepted with a reverent bow to his head.
"And also to you. I thought speaking was forbidden?"
"At dusk, once the last bite has been taken, we give our respects to the Goddess and reclaim our voices."
Kess nodded and took a drink, relaxing amongst the chatter, listening to the elves offer updates on their day.
The darat who had guided him to the dining hall was sitting across the table and leaned toward him. "Have you made any progress with this strange illness that infects us?"
Kess didn't want to be negative. "Some," he said with an optimistic nod, "We're going to journey to the Heart Tree tomorrow, to better understand the connection."
"A shadow has descended upon it."
He didn't like the sound of that. "A shadow? Do you know anything more about it?"
The Shan beside him broke into the conversation. "Only that it has claimed two of our Somniari in the past month."
"Claimed? How so?"
"They still sleep at the foot of the tree. Elder Alagan says this is not Uthenera… that some unseen force has trapped them in the Fade, perhaps never to return. What do you propose to do?"
"That is something for my companions to solve. I will be there to lend my assistance." He finished his mead and leaned down to be at eye level with the elven diners. "Would it be considered rude to take my leave? I have other commitments this evening."
The darkness that had invaded the conversation lightened up as quickly as it had descended.
"Mythal guide your steps, brother." The darat raised his drink. "It has been our honour to break bread with you on this sacred of days. May the wind be at your back and the fire in your hearth burn merrily."
That must have been a Vhen'atishan farewell. Kess rose, noting he had drawn the room's attention again and bowed, backing out of the dining hall, trying not to look like he was in a hurry.
When he arrived back at the courtyard in front of the sleeping quarters, he was fully out of breath. The sheer maze like quality of the temple grounds had gotten him lost, and he had broken into a full out run by the time Shasta had found him and led him to the familiar garden. The courtyard was empty save a long figure in the middle. Nuraya was on her knees, a small vial of lyrium at her side. The spell that he had given her in Antiva was open on her lap.
"My apologies… I was … eating… the dining hall…" He huffed.
She looked up at him, her brown eyes catching flecks of torchlight. "I didn't think you were coming." She paused as if carefully choosing her words.
"Carver told you. I figured as much. A thin veil puts me on edge too." That was a lie, but it sounded good. "He here?"
She nodded. "He and Tassilo are over there. I didn't want to distract you." She flicked her braid over her shoulder and pointed to a shady corner, where Kess could make out the silhouette of his brother and the Orlesian.
Kess sat down in front of her, "He won't. Unless… you know…"
"Possession rarely happens… but it's always a possibility."
"So says the Chantry."
She rolled her eyes but refused to respond directly to that retort. "I'll learn this one … to show you how it's done." She pointed to the leather spell book on her lap. Kess nodded, glad to have bypassed the subjects of his brother and the chantry.
"There are two ways to learn Circle Magic. You can study a rune and imprint the shape in your mind. You don't necessarily need lyrium for that, but it can speed up the process. That's the easy way. It's why the Circle is so possessive of its libraries. Studying rune magic is a solitary practice, but it can be more dangerous…"
"Dangerous? That's the last thing I'd think if I saw a bookish mage hiding in a library."
"Studying alone can encourage a certain amount of egocentricity. If it's not kept in check it can lead to conceit and that makes one vulnerable to possession. In some ways, being in the Circle keeps everyone in check. That's why most Circle rune spells are written with some form of protective rune. It helps remind us that when we're learning a spell, we are most vulnerable, our minds are most pliable when exposed to the Fade. The spell you bought me is missing that part. It must be old—perhaps it predates the Circle. Or, an apostate wrote it. I'll have to conjure a protective spell at the end." She shifted and settled in on her spot. "How have you been learning magic? Can't you read runes?"
Kess felt a little on the defensive, but shook it off, hoping it was part of the residue from his fight with Carver that afternoon. "I don't think about magic… I just do it. When I learn something new, I'm usually in the heat of the moment and it just happens." Kess never had to explain himself before. "You know, it's like learning how to swim. You don't read up on how to do an underwater backflip. But one day, you're in the water, you try it out and it happens. And then you try it again and you get better. " He wanted to deflect attention from himself again. "You mentioned there are two ways to learn magic. What's the second?"
She quirked a smile so mischievous that he was intrigued. What had the Circle been teaching the mages?
She cleared her throat, "through a direct transmission. I connect to your mind, through the Fade… and imprint the spell directly into your consciousness. It's impossible to do without lyrium."
"Wait. You're going to… enter my mind… and control my thoughts," he looked around the courtyard, certain that he heard his brother snicker.
"Only if you consent. Once our minds are connected, we can protect each other in the event a demon decides to crash the party. But, I've never heard of a possession happening with this method. It's perfectly safe." She crossed her arms over her chest and cocked her head to the side thoughtfully. "This method, while easier, takes courage… and trust. Do you trust me Kessler Hawke?"
The directness of her question felt like a punch in the face. Either answer held uncomfortable implications. If he said no, then he'd look like the pig-headed stubborn jerk that she had met on the road to Castle Sutherland. If he said yes, then what would she see? Better yet, who would she see?
"What kind of a question is that? You've already talked me into this."
She pursed her lips together in what seemed like a great effort to prevent a wide grin from breaking across her face. Without another word, she took a sip of the lyrium and focused on the spell spread over her lap. Kess watched her eyes dart across its surface, until eventually they fluttered closed. Her head lolled—she seemed to go boneless. For a split second, Kess thought that she might have passed out. He supposed anything was possible. Moments later, she lifted her head and her eyes fluttered open, her eyes vacant and dead. After an extended moment, when Kessler thought that things had gone horribly wrong, her eyes blinked slowly and her body lurched, as if she had just popped back into her body.
He wanted to reach out, to take her by the shoulder and ensure that she was alright, but before he could, she shook her head, then rubbed both eyes with the heel of her palms.
Her arm slipped onto the grass and she leaned, staring blankly while processing her thoughts. "I'm not sure what I've just learned." She pursed her lips, rubbing them together, which Kessler found to be completely distracting. "I'll have to try it out. It's strange. Nothing like I've ever come across before. It's from the Spirit School… that much I know. Maybe some form of Death Magic?"
Kess chuckled. "How cheery. Perhaps save your test until we aren't in the business of trying to heal people from some strange disease?"
She shook her head. "Enough of that. I can figure it out later. But odd, having the feeling that you know how to do something… without really knowing precisely what it is…"
"You've just described my entire childhood."
He heard a throat clear in the distance. Carver was still there. Nuraya leaned in closer to Kess and winked. "Learning an unknown spell would make any templar a bit uneasy." She shrugged. "Let's hope that I don't turn into a giant spider and scare the pants off him."
"I'd love to see that."
"I'm sure you would!" She placed both hands, cool and small on his forearms. "Are you ready?"
In reality, he'd never be ready. He hated having heart-to-hearts and preferred keeping whatever was inside his head tucked safely in there. Not having control of his faculties, even for a few moments, ranked somewhere between having wood slivers shoved under his nails and listening to Anders and Fenris argue over the merits of magic. Nuraya squirmed closer to him, until their knees were touching. She poured the rest of the vial of lyrium into a scallop shell.
"So. This is how it works. I'll put some lyrium here." She lightly touched his forehead, just a little above the space between his eyebrows. With his eyes, he followed her movements. Her cool fingers sent a slight shiver down his spine. Was he losing his nerve, or was it something else?
"We'll both take a mouthful of lyrium—it doesn't take much—just enough to fuel the fire, so to speak. Then, I'll place my forehead on yours… connect my blob of lyrium with yours…"
Kess squirmed uncomfortably. "Then you'll control my mind?"
"Part of the rite will involve you letting me in."
He crossed his arms over his chest. "My mind is a solitary place."
She rolled her eyes. "All I am going to do is introduce the healing rune, plant it directly in your mind. It's not like I can wander around and peruse your deepest, darkest thoughts. It's either this, or you will need to learn the old fashioned way, which will require hours of study… and practice."
"Studying is not one of my better honed skills."
"So, it's settled then. Are you ready? We haven't got all night."
He took a deep breath and gave a reluctant shrug. That was all the answer she needed. She dipped a finger in the lyrium and painted it on his forehead. Not only did it feel cool and wet, but it also felt ridiculous. With some effort, he stared ahead, hoping his brother wasn't doubled over in a fit of laughter. After, she offered the shell to Kess, so he could make a similar mark on her.
"Now drink half," she whispered.
When he was done, he handed her the remainder, which she downed in a single mouthful. Immediately afterward, she set the shell to her side and leaned forward. As the lyrium started to hum in his blood, he thought for a split second that she was leaning in to kiss him. It nearly took him off guard and to his own astonishment, he would have welcomed it. But instead, she placed her forehead against his.
After that, everything seemed to happen all at once.
Bioware owns all! Thanks to DoorbellSpider and Kira Tamarion for their continued work and effort. Their contributions are valued and so deeply appreciated. And thanks to ALL OF YOU AWESOME READERS. Your continued support is my lyrium.
