Title: Second Chances [2/?]
Author: Anya al'Nighter
Email: anyasy@yahoo.com
Spoilers: None, actually.
Author's Note: I've just spent far, far too much time playing Diablo II: Lord of Destruction. So you may um, notice some familiarity with the descriptions here. Trying to wean myself out of it. Unfortunately, the other game I'm playing now is Unreal Tournament. Don't worry – hopefully that won't find its way into the story in an undiluted form.
Summary: Back to the account.
Disclaimer: FR and all that belongs to TSR, Wizards of the Coast, Salvatore… everyone except poor me.
Part 2
Naetalya
Translator's Note: The word 'love' is popularly known not to be in the dark elven language, giving rise to a range of popular speculation ranging from the profound to the trite. However, as the reader should know by now, the author did not write all of this in a consistently coherent account – some words and paragraphs were written in a multitude of different languages, including Undercommon and Duergar, giving a wider range of words available. It is unfortunate to note that some of these words did have to be censored. Ancient Duergar is regrettably rich in swear words.
Also, it has been brought to my attention (repeatedly) that the author of the story is not Zaknafein, and hence should not be referred to as Zaknafein – but for lack of any clue as to his identity (in the original, the author referred to himself by abbreviation), and for continuity, he shall be called 'Zaknafein' in the story. This is open to debate when the account has been completely translated.
The arrival of the Visitor was quite unexpected. Or rather, I had not known of it – on later reflection, I realize that Mother did seem to be restless and more short-tempered than usual the few cycles before. However, like most males would, I just attributed the mood-change to the unpredictable quality of femalehood and gave it no further thought, except a mental note to keep out of her way. Mother was still – her memory was as long as a duergar's – annoyed by the remark I had made about fighting, and her patience, already somewhat short normally, had degenerated further.
The Visitor, on first impression, seemed male. Certainly I had not seen females that were normally below a certain height, and she was – besides, her features and body were covered by a jet black hooded cloak that seemed ludicrously noticeable, especially if one stood in a crowd, but which I realized later had some arcane significance. She was sitting calmly in the living room when I saw her, coming out of my small room for a cup of water, with Mother standing somewhat deferentially to her side. Only her black-gloved hands and legs – sheathed in leather and strange metal straps with buckles of a curious, vague luminous blue, could be seen, and one was loosely crossed over the other in a distinctively male posture.
Her weapons were of a type that I'd rarely seen before – her hands were in fitting cylindrical cages of adamantite so black that the blue highlights in the dimly-lit room seemed to be malevolent mouths struggling to yawn open, each hand casually gripping a bar near the top of the cages half a finger's length away. On the top of the cages each were three long, slightly curved metal talons half an arm long, and I blinked when I realized that they were mithril, and very well made, at that. One of the claws rested on top of the other, giving the impression of a hunting cat at rest.
The hood turned towards me as I stood in the doorway, unabashedly staring. Certainly the first words the Visitor said to me were as curious as her appearance, and also gave me an indication of her true sex for the first time.
"He is," she said shortly, and then flicked her hood back with the tips of one claw, to reveal an attractive if slightly boyish face in the angle of her chin and the slightly crude shape of her eyebrows. The full lips pursed slightly, and the sharp, keen eyes were as hard as adamantite. I realized belatedly that at her right hip, attached to her loose, thick belt, were two slim scimitars in sheaths of sturdy, plain blue leather. Her leather armour was not the one in fashion with a remarkable number of females – revealing and useless – but businesslike. Here was one who knew the Dance too, and appeared to know it very well.
"So…" Mother began. The Visitor's words seemed to have made an impression – she seemed startled now, losing some of the flint-like quality to her expression, making her look more vulnerable. I felt a short burst of hostility towards the Visitor for this. Looking back, I realize today that although Mother was not the easiest of creatures to live with, I loved her, in my way. Perhaps I love too easily, but I believed – or I like to believe – that she too, loved me.
The Visitor, to my mortification, noticed the fleeting change of expression – one of her eyebrows arched up elegantly - but merely smiled. "You have done well. He will reward you."
Mother nodded quickly, and looked as though she was about to say something, but was cut off by the Visitor impatiently. "However, he needs further training if he is to be what he should be. I will take him now."
Mother looked at me helplessly, and I felt a wrenching sensation that choked up my throat. To my horror, I realized that tears threatened to mist up my eyes, and I willed them down, bit my lip to keep from sniffing like some weakling, and folded my hands. "I'm not going anywhere," I said challengingly.
Immediately Mother's expression changed to the familiar one of fury, and she took a step forward, but the Visitor held up a hand sharply. "No, leave him. One should not break such spirit, but strengthen it."
"I am not sure if His service can be well carried out by such a rebellious, stubborn child," Mother said angrily, finding refuge in one of the more elemental emotions.
"It will be," the Visitor said calmly, leaving me more confused as to whom they were referring to. "Now, child…" She got fluidly to her feet and straightened her cloak.
"I will be your teacher until there is nothing else the both of us can teach each other. It has been this way since the first of the Unseen, and it will continue – when I relinquish my role, you will take my place and eventually teach your own replacement."
"This is not the safest of places to speak of such things," Mother warned, but the Visitor shrugged.
"Her ear is not so varied as to be able to listen from all the shadows. Zaknafein – do you not want to learn the Dance?" And she drew a quick, deadly pattern in the air with her claws.
I didn't know what stunned me more – the seemingly impossible, yet natural-looking graceful rapidity to her ability, or the fact that she'd used the same word for fighting as I had. I half-expected Mother to explode at her, but she kept silent, sullenly so. Only until later did I learn from the Visitor that Mother had been one of two candidates – an extremely rare occurrence - in youth for the position of the Unseen, but was turned down for the Visitor, which would explain her intense dislike in private for terms that reminded her of the Unseen – the importance of which I will explain later.
That, however, showed me why Mother's attitude towards me was so volatile – it must have been both painful and joyful for her to have birthed the new Unseen – painful in the reminder that her current position in life was unchanging because of her failure to become the current Unseen, and joyful in the honour that will be accrued from my becoming the next one.
Then, however, I just stuttered. "W-what?"
"Go with her," Mother commanded, though her expression visibly twisted into one of bitterness. "Go."
**
"I want to go back," I insisted rather feebly for the twentieth time. "Now."
The Visitor chuckled, literally dragging me by the hand – having removed one of her claws and hung it at her hip opposite the scimitars - through some strange passage she had made somehow. It was a narrow, arched enclosed path that seemed to have been constructed of malleable, metallic black material that shifted constantly into geometric patterns. Later I was to learn that this was an ability of the Unseen – the Shadow Paths. In the Underdark, a place of almost-permanent shadows, this was a potent method of escape or deadly arrival.
"Please?" I tried, finally. My feet hurt – it seemed as though we had been walking for a while, but it was nothing compared to the unfamiliar ache in myself that constricted my throat and made my eyes sting with the onset of tears.
She stopped, and looked down. Her expression itself was alien – it was one of sympathy. "I know it is very sudden for you, but it is better this way. Would you rather that I trained you in your home? The training of an Unseen is something that the Spider Queen can pick up, and you would put your mother in danger."
"What if you pick someone else?" I demanded. "Someone better."
"There is no other better under the eye of the Mask," the Visitor said mildly.
Unwilling to ask for an explanation, and also unwilling to acquiesce, I folded my arms. "There should be."
"And you would know this because?" she gently chided.
"Because… " Running out of words, I tried another tack. "Why did you not take Mother along?"
"She would not have wanted to come," the Visitor said with a sigh. "She was my rival for candidacy of the Unseen. She does not want to know of anything Unseen now."
"Then she will hate me." This realization disturbed me more than it should have.
"Perhaps – or she will be proud of you, when you succeed," the Visitor suggested a little shrewdly. To the child I was then, this was a revelation that kept me silent for a while as she continued to lead me through the passage.
"What is the Unseen?" I asked finally.
"I will tell you after we reach sanctuary – something we will find earlier if you be quiet."
I kept a sullen silence for the rest of the journey, I recall.
**
The sanctuary she referred to was a smallish city – an outpost, actually – in which we just seemed to appear in unexpectedly when the passage ended and closed behind us.
We were in a market square four times smaller than the Bazaar, and aside from a few curious glances from the creatures – mostly dark elves, with some duergar and surprisingly enough to me, Svirfneblin and humans – we did not attract much attention. The goods sold were not as rich as some of the things I had seen in the Bazaar, or as varied, but it could not be considered frugal. All the dark elves seemed to be well off, without the pinched look of some of the lower commoners in Menzoberranzan. The conversations around us floated over my head as we passed by.
"… price of silk has increased…"
"… and S'laerin has stepped up to…"
"… dragonhide boots! The best…"
"… my pleasure to meet you…"
"… did you hear about the…"
"… play next cycle on Thesaen…"
"… duergar colony found in…"
"… birthed another child on…"
The thing that struck me most of all was that the females seemed to be on an equal footing with the males – they joked, stood together in the queues at the stall, and nodded amiably to each other as they passed. Some males even greeted the Visitor with a type of friendly familiarity absent in just about all of the female-male relationships in Menzoberranzan.
Dazed and confused, I meekly followed the Visitor into narrow streets lined with high buildings constructed with matching narrow windows – for easy defence via arrows, I realized later – and eventually to a wide ramp, the apex of which towered a body-length over the buildings. At the apex was what looked like a temple, though nothing as ornate as those of Lloth that I had seen from a distance. This one looked more utilitarian. The doors were sturdy and not wide enough for a large number of people to pass through, the windows were small and of the same shape as those on the buildings. The only rather grotesque part of the otherwise gracefully constructed, castle-like building were the walls, covered in blackened stone masks of every shape and size, the blank eyes staring watchfully over the outpost.
At the main door toward which the Visitor was dragging me towards were two male guards, both of whom straightened up when they saw us approaching, and bowed, their armour creaking. I still find it amusing whenever anything in full plate armour tries to do anything involving movement, and then, I had to struggle to keep my surly expression. Averting my gaze to the intimidating masks helped, until my mind somehow caught hold of the idea that the masks were no longer looking at the city, but at us. Me, to be precise.
Now that was a disturbing thought.
"Is he the one?" one of the guards inquired.
"Yes," the Visitor smiled. "Just in time, too. I feel the years beginning to slow me down."
"Tell that to the Queen's patrol that you took care of three days ago," the other guard said, and winked.
"No, no, they actually managed to scratch her. She must be slowing down," the first guard said facetiously. Both laughed, and the Visitor pulled a face of mock anger at them before dragging me into the building.
The interior was also built for defence. The tiles were slate, the room a large dome with walls too slippery – polished – to climb, and there was a balcony above with a solid, decorated adamantite rail sporting the occasional gap for missile weapons that was confusing to find, since it was somewhat concealed by the nature of the carvings – a mass of dragons fighting, tails and necks twisted together.
There were no carvings of spiders anywhere in the room, and I was turning to the Visitor for an explanation when a robed male emerged from one of the four doors in the room.
The male wore a light black robe over something angular and bulky – probably some sort of armour. His face was unlined, but I was struck by the impression of age. His eyes were narrow and small, like slits in his face, and his mouth was set in a thin line. His bone-white hair was neatly cut short and combed up, so no fringe curtained the high forehead. "Naetalya." He greeted the Visitor in a cordial tone of voice. "It is good that you have returned."
"How could I not?" Naetalya bowed slightly. "Yvaer, meet Zaknafein, the next Unseen. Zaknafein, this is Yvaer, High Priest of Vhaerun."
"Vhaerun!" I gasped, knowing full well what the name meant – the utterance of which could cost one one's life or worse in any Lloth-worshipping city.
"You told him nothing?" Yvaer questioned.
"Neither did his mother," Naetalya let go of my hand, and patted my head rather protectively without the least hit of being patronizing.
"I want to know what is going on," I said, not as firmly as I would have liked, though.
Yvaer displayed as much patience as Naetalya had. "You will fully understand in time… "
"I want to know now." I paused, realizing this could be considered rude, and I was in no position to fight if they turned hostile. "Please?"
Yvaer and Naetalya looked at each other, then began to chuckle.
"Learn patience." Yvaer advised me, then turned back to Naetalya. "We often forget about the impatience of youth. When will you begin his training?"
"Tomorrow," Naetalya shrugged. "Today I will give him the tour."
Annoyed at being more or less ignored, I attempted to pull my hand out of her grip, but only succeeded in pulling myself closer. "I… "
"In good time," Naetalya interrupted amiably.
"But… "
"Will it kill you not to know now, child?"
"No. And I am not a child."
"Then you will have to prove it to me," Naetalya replied, "Observe the tact that an adult can exercise."
She'd cornered me there. I nodded, furious at being outmanoeuvred.
**
The name of the outpost was an extremely commonplace word – Veldrin. Later I found that all outposts of Vhaeraun near potentially hostile cities were named Veldrin, so as to confuse the enemy, perhaps, or maybe for some strange aesthetic symmetry. This Veldrin was much like all the others – small, built for defense, and housing around five thousand dark elves, four times smaller than Menzoberranzan.
Trade existed – with the enterprising dwarves and the occasional travellers. Humans were surprisingly evident in number – followers of Vhaerun believed all non-elves inferior, but were more practical than followers of Lloth. Careful treatment of 'Outsiders', as they called them, resulted in a rich trade for a relatively small settlement, the trade being the lifeblood of this place. Not to mention that the number of friends made ensured that there were some escape routes in case of emergency.
There were religious reasons for making contacts with surfacers, of course – since Vhaerun's ultimate aim was to reinstate the dark elves as a power on the Surface world over their elven brethren. In practical terms, this meant the dark elves had to be familiar with the Surface world and all its workings – so contact with surfacers familiarized them with the Surface way of thought as well as its geography, politics, society and so on.
Personally, I still feel – even after having seen the Surface, that returning to the surface is now all but impossible, no matter how we want to or how beautiful it is. The Underdark is our true home. We have adapted to it – gotten used to the constant temperature, the humming magical ambience, the comforting stone that surrounded us and defined the world. Our eyes have changed, our way of thought has changed, and we would be at a distinct disadvantage if we ever needed to return.
It so happened, however, that Naetalya ended the relatively short tour of the small, well-planned city with a Shadow Path trip to the surface. I only learned of this when I asked her where we were going when already walking in the Path. Not surprisingly, I stopped dead, or attempted to. The Unseen was extremely strong for her appearance.
"But the Sun!" I tried to protest.
"It will be Night when we arrive," Naetalya said calmly. "You have to see Vhaerun's Promise."
"If we get attacked by the surface elves… "
"Mmm. And what have you heard of them?"
I told her. Street exaggeration and legends must have been more ludicrous than I'd thought, because she laughed. "You believe so? Zaknafein… your first lesson: never accept anything until you have seen it for yourself."
"Then what are they like?"
"Less frightening than your stories make them out to be, but still dangerous. Not as dangerous as the dark elves, or as cunning and intelligent, but enough to kill if one is not careful. Do not make that face – I have made Surface trips very often. I know how to be careful. It is a beautiful place."
"The Underdark is beautiful too,"
"So it is, but the Surface is something different altogether."
This was an understatement.
**
We emerged into air that was immediately different from the warm heaviness of the Underdark. This air was crisp and cold, and seemed lighter, moving constantly and gently pushing my fringe upwards – it smelled of something earthy and alive – it sang as it moved, a sweet whisper of sound that melded in to the other constant sounds in the Surface – the rustle of leaves, the distant call of an owl, crickets, frogs, cicadas, the high pitched shrieks of a bat, and the sounds of movement in the bushes and behind the trees that my hearing could pick up. We were in a large meadow – to use the basic references I know for surface features that I later had to memorize - grass silvery with dew was dotted with white flowers painted a soft blue-grey in the moonlight. Trees, silent, waiting giants that rose up from the meadow at uneven intervals, spread out their many arms protectively. The moon herself was far overhead in a fat semicircle, hung impossibly in the clear ink-black sky, so vast and endless that when I looked up I felt as though I was falling, falling upwards into eternity.