For Wooden Swords

Jayda was floating in darkness, naked and alone. She had no recollection of how she got there, what she had done, or how long she had been that way; such thoughts did not even come to mind. She simply was in the darkness and the darkness was in her. There was nothing to see but her sight did not feel hindered. It was much like being in a room painted black—a room without walls, a ceiling, or floor—instead of standing in the absence of light. She still felt hollow and cold, but there was an internal tug that woke her to strange feelings—the feeling that she was incomplete and that the rest of her was somewhere nearby. But where in the darkness it was she did not know.

A figured moved in the black. She could see the movement but not the face or even the body—just a silhouette of a person. She wondered what else was hidden in the shadows of this magical darkness. The figure lurked like a great cat and she caught glimpses of the legs or torso moving, glimpses like that of a distant lighthouse in a thick fog.

"Who are you?" she asked, her voice echoing in the endless space. "Where am I?"

The figure did not answer, only disappeared into the black. She could feel the presence slowly circling her, staring at her, waiting. At first, it drifted in and out, and sometimes she thought she was alone. After awhile, it became ever-present until she felt as though she would never be alone again. That was the moment when all of her memories returned to her awareness. She saw in flashes columns of black and dead-green energy rising out of the ground, saw her friends screaming in the rush of power, saw Irenicus—his terrified and shocked eyes staring at her just before he, too, was consumed.

Then she knew what she had done. She knew what had happened to her. She knew who was with her now.

"Bhaal," she whispered.

"Jayda." It was a whisper so quiet that it could have been an echoed scrape and not a word at all, but it sent shivers up her spine, shivers that turned into agonizing pain when it reached the brand between her shoulder blades.

"Bhaal?" There was no answer. She twisted in the darkness but the figure was always beyond her sight. "Bhaal!"

"I told you." The voice caressed her in the darkness. "You could not run forever. And now you have come to me."

"Am I dead?"

"Not yet." There was a long pause. "Far from it."

She was almost afraid to ask her next question, but it slipped out anyway. "And the others?"

The drawn-out silence was almost unbearable. She writhed internally, afraid to hear the answer, afraid the silence meant what she feared.

"They are beyond you now," was his reply. She was flooded with momentary relief.

"Why are you here? Aren't you dead?"

The voice in the darkness chuckled. "Not yet," he said again. "I live on in pieces… in pieces of all my children." He was suddenly behind her, pressed up against her back. She could even feel his breath on her neck and shoulder. "There was no way you could run from me, Jayda. I have always been with you." Somehow, she knew that what he said was true. She closed her eyes. "Spare the wizard, denounce my throne. Kill him and embrace it," the voice hissed. "You brought yourself here. You have come to me at last. My heir."

A hole opened up in front of her, far away in the darkness, and a bright light shone through. It was getting brighter, coming towards her. With Bhaal at her back, his fingers curled possessively around her shoulders, his head next to hers, she couldn't escape. She felt the brand on her back burning so fiercely, she began to scream. The skull became bone and rose out of her skin, eyes glowing brightly. Claws burst out of her flesh to clutch the skull as the light rushed up to meet her.

"It is time for your trials," Bhaal whispered.

"I will fail," she muttered, voice raspy and jaw clenched from the pain. "I am not your heir. I won't be another tool for your slaughter."

"You know nothing of who I am or what I want, daughter."

And then she was falling into the light.

/

Jayda opened her eyes and was staring at a dark red sky. Had it all been a dream, one horrible dream? Irenicus, her losing control, Bhaal in the darkness, and this place with that horrible bloody sky—had she dreamed it all? She could smell something burning, could smell the smoke and the sulfur. She pushed herself up and looked around.

The ground was dark brown and fractured into a honeycomb pattern like a dried up, desert riverbed, and yet it was hard as stone, and rough like it, too. She looked beyond her platform and saw swirls of clouds caught in harsh winds whipping about, but they blew beyond the platform where she stood, as though she were trapped in an invisible bubble. The air around her was calm without even the hint of a breeze. A large statue of a goat-like figure loomed over her and beyond it was a bridge so thin that she would have to put one foot directly in front of it to cross. It spammed across a chasm of bottomless darkness.

She wore her Shadow Armor. On her sides were the silver sword and Fire Tooth. She reached up and ran her fingers over the hilt of her sword and felt the solidity of it. She drew the weapon. Of all the things in the world, she knew the weight of her weapons and the feel of them in her hands. Wherever she was, it was real.

Jayda inched across the bridge. Waves of vertigo assaulted even her dexterous senses and it seemed a lifetime before she reached the other side. A round building made of the same brown, fractured stone rose before her. It was so wide that it touched the edge of the platform and was impossible to go around. At the top of the structure, menacing gargoyles clawed over the edge, all staring at her in frozen anger. She reached out and touched the giant black door, old and worn and made of wood. It was chipped and nicked, and the iron hinges and knockers looked weathered. When she reached out and grabbed one of the circle handles, it flaked. She pulled as hard as she could and the door groaned as it slowly opened, long and low and deep.

She inched inside and the door slammed shut. The area she had entered looked to be an arena of sorts, littered with bones on the gentle undulating plain of combat. Black spots sprinkled the earth and strange plant-life struggled to grow in scattered patches, brown and withered and sharp-looking.

"So we meet again," a familiar voice said, bringing her attention to the center of the arena. "How fitting that our reunion should be in this place of retribution."

"Sarevok…" she whispered, shocked. "This is an illusion…"

"It is not," he assured her with his deep voice. "My essence joined that of our dead father after you murdered me… but, in the end, all the Children of Bhaal end up here. You have finally joined us, sister," he spat in disgust, "to claim your heritage as I had attempted." He began to pace in front of her. Donned in his spiky armor with his sword unsheathed and held at his side, he looked as though he were a gladiator waiting for her to attack. "A pity that you arrive in pieces, weak and pathetic."

"Where are we? Where is this?"

He snorted. "You do not know? This is Bhaal's realm," he waved his sword, "and since your essence has not joined with our dead Father, that means you are still partly alive… But why?" He frowned and tilted his head back, inhaled deeply. "Yes, I can feel your loss. I sense your soul close by but it is not within you. You have come to reclaim what you have lost. But even so, your blood holds sway here."

"How is this possible?" she whispered, inching toward him. "I watched you die—I killed you."

"Have you heard nothing?" he barked. "You have power here, though it is undeserved. Rule of this realm was rightfully mine, and had I spitted you on my blade as easily as that pathetic wizard, Gorion, our positions would be reversed now!" Sarevok bellowed, stomping toward her, and Jayda's fingers curled into fists at the mention of her foster father. His olive skin and dark eyes had lost their luster in death but he was the very man she remembered fighting in Baldur's Gate. "Is that what you expect me to say?" he asked, temper suddenly quelled. She frowned, suddenly caught off-guard and confused. "If only it were true, but in death much is understood that once was veiled…"

"What are you saying?" she whispered.

"The path to our legacy was paved in blood, that is what Alaundo seemed to say… but the path to our father's 'love' was not what we thought... what any of us thought."

"We?"

"The other Bhaalspawn. Murder, ruin, death, genocide—these were the sacrifices made in our father's name! To earn our place on his throne. I knew who I was and I came into my identity as I believed he would require. But it was not so. All of my efforts were merely to test you. It seems that fool Gorion's sheltering of you actually molded you into the perfect heir."

"No, that's not possible. Gorion saved me! Without his protection, I would've become you. I would've become a murderer, a warmonger! I would've embraced my heritage!"

"You became exactly what Bhaal was looking for," Sarevok assured her. "You fought against your nature, denied it, and refused to embrace it. And yet this made you stronger on your own, without the power. And every life you took was that much sweeter. You did not want to kill, you tried to live your life well, but the taint could not be ignored… and so hundreds of people died at your blade. Fathers, brothers, sisters, sons, and daughters… You killed them trying to free yourself, killed them with your idealistic sense of justice, but they were murdered all the same."

"No—"

"You said it yourself, sweet sister, that the why never matters, only the outcome! And here is the outcome: thousands of souls for our father's glory! And now you have earned his 'love' and you do not even want it." Sarevok stared at her and his face was impossible to read. "If only I had been sheltered as you were… I might've had a chance to earn our father's approval… or perhaps to have been free of it entirely."

Jayda's foot slipped forward as she leaned toward him. "Sarevok?" she rasped, wondering what the sadness in his voice meant. She still wasn't entirely sure if she was dreaming, if he was an illusion, or if this was all somehow real. Regardless, this was not how she imagined the reunion with her brother might go.

"How could it be you—someone so undeserving?" He glared at her. "And yet he chose you. But you could never wield this power. You are too weak to do all that is necessary, to take for yourself what is yours by birthright! You would squander it running, denying all that you are. You could not even hold on to your soul! You are empty and dying!"

"What right have you to judge me, Sarevok?" she spat, anger flaring. "I may be dying, but you are dead and I killed you!"

"Ahhh, yes…" he hissed, smiling. "Stoke that infernal wrath of yours. I can feel the anger within you—I can feel the rage boiling inside you, boiling in your heart! The taint that surrounds your soul like a serpent, squeezing, spreading its venom—that taint, that wrath that exists in all the Children of Bhaal! I can feel all of that in you as it once consumed me! I can feel the Slayer in you, the avatar of our dead father, the blackest expression of murder. I see it behind your eyes." Sarevok suddenly took his great sword in both hands and bore it in front of him. "Summon your wrath for me… if you can."

"Never," she whispered.

"You deny you've become the Slayer?" He laughed at her. "Your flesh reeks of its taint!"

"Not now. Not for you, not for this..."

Jayda remembered crying over his corpse, remembered the life leaving his eyes. She remembered feeling a bond of kinship with him only after he lay lifeless at her feet. As she looked at him now, she could not bring herself to hate him—not anymore. It was as though she had been given another chance, a chance to speak with Sarevok as her brother and to tell him… to tell him what? He had killed Gorion! He had tried to kill her! He had sliced her open and left her for dead then skewered her foster father like a pig! He had destroyed her world and thrown her into the turmoil of the truth of her heritage. But he had never really had a chance, had he? He had taken Gorion from her… but his parentage had taken everything from him. He was her brother. He was flesh and blood. Once, long ago, might he have embraced her as a sister? Once… was there ever a chance he would have smiled at her, put his arm around her, called her 'sister' without venom dripping from his words?

"If you are to reclaim all that you are, you must pass our father's trials," he growled.

"I won't become the Slayer to do it!"

Sarevok glared at her, enraged. "You are the one who brought me here! Your power over this place has summoned forth my essence once again," he barked. "And why do you think you have done that?"

"Because I need you to forgive me, brother…" she whispered. The words just popped out before she even realized it. Sarevok's eyes widened in shock, sword slowly lowering, and he stared at her for a long time before his brows knit together in a frown and he shook his head.

"It is too late for such things… for me and for you." He lifted his weapon again. "Let us end this in the only way we know how. Let us give our father one last show to be proud of."

"No, I don't want to—"

But Sarevok did not give her a choice. He charged her, screaming, and swung hard. She barely got her sword up in time to block. Her feet shuffled in the dirt, kicking up dust and crushing pebbles beneath her boots. His swings bat her blade from side to side effortlessly and she barely managed to bring the silver sword back up again each time to divert another blow. How did he get so strong? Or had she just gotten weaker with the loss of her soul and the endless combat she found herself in? He had always been a fierce warrior, but her dexterous build had allowed her to find his openings and exploit them. Now, she saw nothing.

Perhaps, it was because she did not want to fight him this time?

In the year since she had first been cut open by Sarevok and witnessed Gorion's death at his hand, she had stewed on her hatred of him. It had kept her focused through all hardships, all surprises, all sorrows. Even when she had discovered she was a Bhaalspawn, she had managed to push through her shock by reminding herself over and over again that the only task that mattered—the only truth that mattered was that Sarevok deserved to die. And she would kill him for what he did, for what he was doing, for what he would one day do.

Then she discovered that the man she sought to destroy was her brother, and something small inside of her changed. Now, here she was fighting him once again, but she couldn't muster enough hatred in her heart to destroy him.

"Stop fighting me!" she cried, but he only came at her harder. "I don't want to do this!"

"Your past is full of things you did not want to do, and so is your future!" He bore down on her harder and she was forced to attack him or be cut down. "And yet you did them!"

"I had to!" she shouted, slipping under his arms and jabbing at an opening in his side. "I had no choice!"

"Yes!" he agreed. "If you do not like it, kill me! Become stronger and take the power owed to you! Become a god and be the one to make the choices! Or…" he glared at her as he charged her, "die now and be free of the responsibility!"

Jayda screamed, momentarily lost in her frustration. Could those really be her only choices? Die or become everything she hated? She heard someone yelling "no" over and over again, saw the flash of metal striking metal, and then the blur of blood and spikes. She stopped herself moments before landing the killing blow, and stared down at Sarevok on the ground. Her weapons clattered by her feet and then she knelt at his side.

"Sarevok!" she gasped, looking for his injuries, looking for a way to help him. "I didn't want this… I didn't mean to…"

"You leave yourself open?" he spat, blood on his lips. She frowned at him, wondering why he was still in the battle in spite of losing his weapons. Suddenly he flew up at her, face inches from hers, and Fire Tooth was had found an opening in her armor and was pressing against her back. "I could kill you easily."

"Then do it," she mumbled. "This is where I belong, isn't it? I don't belong up there with the living, with the innocent. I belong here with you… with father. If anyone is going to kill me, it should be you, brother. For revenge. For the games we children should have played when we were young, with wooden swords and driftwood shields on the banks of a river outside of town, for the games we were forced to play as adults, fatal and unforgiving..."

She stared hard at him, tried to find a feature like her own. But there was nothing, no resemblance at all. And she was glad for it. Had there been one, it would have been a feature given to them by Bhaal, and she couldn't stand the thought of looking like him. She had always imagined Bhaal looked something like Sarevok, but she shared no characteristics with her brother.

"It is too late for things like that," he whispered. "For me… and for you."

"Only if we believe it."

Her gaze drifted down from his eyes to his lips, at the blood smeared on them, and could feel the draw in that blood, could feel the familiarity. That was how she knew beyond a shadow of doubt that he was her brother. His blood was the same as hers. There was no mistaking it.

"You're giving up so easily?" he asked her.

"I'll never give up," she replied quietly.

All of a sudden, Fire Tooth's point was no longer pressed against her skin. Sarevok remained close and, for the first time since their fateful meeting, she did not see anger or hatred in his face.

"You knew I wouldn't do it?"

"I hoped," she told him. "But I don't solely gamble when I know I can win. I had to trust in you, even if I was wrong in the end."

Sarevok stared at her for an endless passing of time, or so it felt with him so close. They had never been this close before. It was familiar, intimate, vulnerable—all of the things she had never imagined experiencing in his presence.

"I saw you once," he said, "when you were just a little girl. I was still a young man when I visited Candlekeep to read for myself Alaundo's words. I spent many months in your libraries, dressed as nothing more than a nameless monk, a stranger in robes. One day, I saw you walking the narrow wall. Your balance was perfect for someone so small. Imoen trailed behind you, clumsy and slow. She tripped and fell, and you immediately dove to catch her. Your shirt fell over your head and I could see your skinny body, your ribs through your skin, the tiny muscles in your arms straining to hold her weight. But it was the look on your face that assured me you would pull her up or fall with her."

"I remember…" she mumbled in awe. He really had been there, just feet away from her and she never knew, never even suspected.

"I knew who you were. I knew you were my little sister. For a split second, I longed to jump up on the wall with you. Instead, I left so that I could come back and kill you…"

Sarevok reached out and flattened his palm on her cheek. She felt something hard between their skin… and then she was in agony, screaming as he held her tightly to him. He pulled her closer into a hug, his cheek against her temple, his hand still holding that object to her face. It was sinking into her flesh, being absorbed, and her back was on fire. The stone forced its way out of her body again, to fill in one of the tears that surrounded the brand of Bhaal's skull on her back. The pain ebbed and she slumped in her brother's arms, gasping.

"A tear fell for every murdered soul, every torment paid by our father, and he kept each one," Sarevok whispered to her. He held her out to look at her once more, and the color was draining out of his face as the blood leaked into a pool around them. He touched her cheeks again, smeared red on them, and then she helped lower him back to the ground. "I would have traded this steel sword for a wooden one… sister."

Jayda shook with her sobs, hiccupping and coughing as the tears poured out of her. How many times was she destined to cry over this man's corpse? How many times was she destined to kill him? She had had enough of both. She laid her head on his chest, arms thrown across him protectively, and wailed. Sarevok managed to gently lay his hand on her back before he died a second time.

/

Sarevok's body was cold and so was she by the time she peeled herself off of him. Jayda gently touched his closed eyes, his cheek rough with stubble, his tattooed forehead. She told him to rest peacefully and to look forward to the day she would join him.

"The day will come soon," she promised. "I am not long behind you…"

She unbuckled his gauntlets and fit them over her leather bracers. The top descended over her knuckles and spikes protruded along the sides, making her forearms look large and heavy, but the metal was surprisingly light. She gathered her weapons and forced herself to stand. Her legs felt wobbly and she was tired, drained of not only her energy and strength but of her emotions and willpower. Still, she found herself moving forward to the gate at the far end, and somehow she managed to not look back.

When she opened the door, a twisting path between two mountains stretched before her. The sky was a darker shade of crimson and lightning streaked angrily overhead in long and bright flashes, dividing the sky. She took one step and then another until she was walking down an endless road. Sometimes, she had to proceed shoulder first to slip between the narrow path where the mountains angled out too far. Other times, she had to duck and even crawl, and twice she had to climb over a chunk of rock that had overtaken the passage. As she progressed, strange lumps had grown out of the stone—yellowed domes she could only assume were some kind of plant. Many of them were split in the center, revealing a burgundy disk. Jayda thought they looked like a diseased version of the center of a sunflower, like eyes in the mountain watching her as she walked.

It seemed to her that she walked on for days, but the sky never changed and the atmosphere never grew hotter or colder. She found herself sweaty and thirsty, but the rest of the world remained dry and quiet. She began to wonder if this was real after all or if she was trapped in some terrible vision or nightmare? She had once dreamt of the night she killed Sarevok. Perhaps she was only dreaming again, unconscious after releasing so much power to stop Irenicus. Maybe she was wandering the border between life and death, stuck in an endless loop of torment for her sins.

No matter how she tried to explain it, she could not shake the feeling that this was all real. Bhaal had come to her, spoken to her, and she knew better than to believe it had been false. Then there was her reunion with Sarevok. In all of her wild fantasies, his forgiveness was never something she had dreamed of wanting or of asking for. But he had called her sister, called her sister without sarcasm or hatred or disgust in his voice. She could never have made that up, never would have imagined something so impossible.

Where was she? Sarevok had told her. This is Bhaal's realm… And Bhaal, he had told her what to expect, hadn't he? It is time for your trials. She was not dreaming. Jayda suddenly stopped and stripped her chest piece off, reached back to feel beneath her shirt. There on her back, between her shoulder blades, a hard stone had surfaced on her skin and filled one of the tear shapes surrounding the gnarled brand of Bhaal's symbol. A Tear of Bhaal.

"I must face the trials," the whispered to herself, looking back the way she'd come. "Sarevok was my first trial. I passed."

But had she passed? Why? How? By killing him? Was that the answer? But she hadn't wanted to, had stopped herself before she could land the killing blow. Even though he was there to goad her into turning into the Slayer and killing him, she had refused. They had even… shared a moment of kindness.

Jayda strapped her armor back on and began sprinting down the passageway. She didn't know the rules of this game or the outcome, but she knew she had to play. And suddenly, as if having a direction had changed this realm, the path ended. It opened up to a small dead end. Two black cave mouths were set into the far wall, side by side. She frowned at them, wondering what kind of trick this would be.

"You finally arrived, Child of Bhaal," a hoarse voice said from behind her. She whirled around to see an old hermit dressed in the colors of the granite and mud walls hobbling up behind her, blending in with the background. His hood was pulled low to cover his face, knobby and spotted and wrinkled hands clutching his walking stick tightly as he struggled to take each step. "Come for the Tear, have you? Yes, of course you have."

"Come to get through this nightmare," she corrected him. The hermit lifted his bony index finger into the air and nodded.

"Yes, yes. Two goals, two paths, same journey, same end. To survive or to excel, sometimes they are true in the reverse. But no matter, always are there two. Two to represent the many. There are hundreds of paths, thousands of possibilities, but it started with a decision… one decision stemmed from two possibilities. And you have made many, many choices on the journey that was your life, on the journey that brought you here, to a new journey, to a new decision."

"What is your point, Hermit?" she asked, anxious to proceed.

"Many paths have you taken, and now you must take a new one. The tunnels!" He motioned to them and Jayda looked at the two ominous black mouths in the mountainside again. "On the left, the tunnel has a bridge, but that bridge is out. If you cross, you will fall to your doom. The other tunnel has a path across… but it is a most deadly venture."

Jayda turned to face the opening, wetting her lips as she pondered the situation. What kind of test was this? Was it a trick? Both paths seemed perilous; one she was doomed for immediate failure and the other would likely kill her before she reached the end. Was it a measure of faith or belief?

"However… there is one who might walk this path for you," the hermit said, causing her to turn back to face him. The pirate lord Desharik was standing at his side and Jayda flinched, hardened herself, prepared for a fight as she rolled over her shock at seeing him there.

"What's going on?" the pirate exclaimed, looking about startled. He shuffled to and fro like a frightened animal. "What happened to me? Where am I?"

"You are in the Nine Hells, pirate, at the whim of the daughter of Bhaal," the hermit explained, amusement in his tone.

"The hell I am!" he barked.

"What's he doing here?" she snapped while Desharik barked and growled and demanded answers. None were given, and she was unable to take her eyes off of him. He stared cruelly at her, afraid but angry.

"He is here to serve you."

"The hell I am!" Desharik exclaimed again, pointing at her. "You! Witch! You brought me here? I'll kill you like I should have done!" When he tried to charge her, the hermit side-swiped him with his walking stick, knocking him to the ground with a magical smack.

"Why?" Jayda asked the hermit. "Why him?"

"Because he was chosen. Child of Bhaal, your choices have always had an effect on the world and the people in it, on the people around you, whether they are involved with you or not. Such is the fate of those born with destiny." The hermit angled his face up just enough that she could faintly see his wrinkled mouth and the rotten teeth between his lips. "Send the pirate to the other side. Allow him to lower the bridge for you."

Jayda shuffled from one foot to the other, trying to focus on the hermit but unable to draw her gaze from Desharik, wary of him. He looked just as he did the last time they met—fuming and bruised and strong. He narrowed his gaze on her, silently taking in the situation.

"You said the path was deadly," she said.

"Quite excruciating, I am told," the hermit replied, "but you are the one who must go on… not him, not this pirate. This is your destiny. Allow him to help you achieve it." He smiled at her when she did nothing but stare. "You hesitate? He is nothing. He is a vile man who kills on a whim, who tortures and torments those who slight him. He tried to rape you. To kill you. He deserves nothing less than pain."

"No," Desharik said, pushing himself out of the dirt and getting onto his knees. "You're going to kill me? I did nothing to this bitch! Look at her—she's alive!"

"You will do as the Child of Bhaal commands," the hermit told him.

Jayda looked at the black mouth of the tunnel and then back at Desharik, watching as the color drained from his face. She hated him. He had made her feel vulnerable and weak, reminded her of how mortal she was. He had so easily overpowered her and she had never managed to have her proper revenge. But that had been a lifetime ago. She had been through so much since. The Slayer would have ripped him to pieces with ease, could still do it. You let him go, she reminded herself. You could have killed him and you didn't. She could have her revenge now, but did it matter anymore? She had been through too much to care about him.

"I don't want his help," she snapped.

"Then do not pretend it is such," the hermit said without skipping a beat. "Let him be your sacrifice."

"I don't want his sacrifice!" She was more determined now. For a moment, she had wavered, thought of putting him through the fire, but in spite of how much she hated him, how horrible a creature he was, he had nothing to do with this. And now, he had nothing to do with her. Nor she with him. "I don't want his blood on my hands—not his, he isn't worth it! This is my problem. I go." Jayda started to walk toward the cave mouth but the hermit's words stopped her.

"You cannot do it all on your own," he said and she stopped dead in her tracks. The hermit thrust his staff out and took a magical hold on Desharik's neck, lifting him to his feet and herding him toward the cave mouth. "Are you so proud you would not accept aid from those you hate when it's needed? Or do you think that you can do anything and everything all on your own strength?"

Of course not. She had done nothing on her own strength. Every step of the way, her friends and companions had been there with her—if not in body then in spirit. Their strength had gotten her through every time. Just the thought of them now renewed her. But was this about pride? Was this about refusing his help because of what he'd done to her? She frowned at Desharik, at his scowl, and listened to his cursing and raving.

"I don't think that," she replied and headed for the tunnel again. "But he does not go willingly. If he did, I might accept his help. But I will not force him. That is not who I am. He is who he is, as vile and worthless as that is, and I will not make him suffer in my place. I won't have his blood on my hands."

As the hermit protested and Desharik screamed behind her, Jayda charged into the blackness and was immediately hit with a force that brought her to her knees. She cried out and it was all she could do to push herself back up. Gravity had turned on her and she thought she would never be able to pick herself up off the floor. Eventually, she got to her knees then back to her feet and began sliding forward. There was something electric in the air, popping and crackling. At first, she felt nothing but sharp shocks and pricks, and then her whole body began to sizzle with electric currents. She shook, teeth chattering, as every step became harder and harder. She pushed on in the darkness, wondering how far it was to the other side.

Jayda screamed, vision blurring as she was brought back to her knees, and then to her hands, and soon she was crawling. Spittle dribbled from her lips as she strained, reaching out in slow motion with trembling limbs and clawing at the shallow grooves in the ground. Groaning, she pulled herself forward. Her body twitched, causing her to lose her hold more than once, as she was zapped over and over again with the stray electricity.

"Help…" she gasped, "me… please…"

But there was no one to help her. She couldn't ask her father or brother. One was the reason she was there suffering and the other she had killed. Her friends were dead, too, and gone. They wouldn't have come to this place, to this hell. She was alone.

Jayda felt the tears being pulled out of her like her saliva, and she tried to sniffle them back but it was hard just to take a breath. Just when she thought her bones would snap and muscles give up, she reached out one more time and pulled.

The weight was lifted and suddenly she could breathe again, rolling off of the stone path and down a few steps onto a cold floor. She coughed and gasped, lying still. Her body ached, her skin felt raw, and she couldn't find the energy to lift her head. After many cold, quiet moments passed, she finally found her strength to stand.

The hermit shuffled out of the darkness to meet her as she slowly limped toward the only exit—another cave mouth that led deeper into the mountain.

"A selfless act," he rasped, "from one who willingly shoulders the burden of destiny and its effect upon others… is most unbecoming. Self-sacrifice, Child of Bhaal, will kill you one day… but today, it has made you stronger. The tear is yours."

He extended his wrinkly hand and in his palm was a stone tear. Jayda clenched her jaw, afraid of what would happen when she grasped it. Just as it had with Sarevok, pain rippled through her as the rock was absorbed into her skin. This time, she felt clearly as it forced its way through the flesh on her back and became another stone tear around the branded skull. When it was over, Jayda managed a jerky nod to the hermit and shuffled past him into more darkness and to another trial.