Chapter 140: Ray of Hope

"You don't have to be here, you know," Anomen said gently as he saw Imoen shiver slightly when they walked into the final chamber of Bodhi's crypts. The room, and all the rooms before it, were crawling with priests and paladins who were purging the place of all evil, and it seemed as if they had started with this final one. The blood and bodies were cleared, and by the entrance of one of the side rooms, a group of scholars from the Order was poring over some of the artefacts and large, hefty volumes that had been stored there.

"I know. I just… I feel I should." Imoen took a deep breath of the musty air and closed her eyes. Technically, they had no reason to be here – the Order could deal with it all quite suitably – and they were even finished in any sort of supervision of the clearing of the crypts. But they had wordlessly headed for this final chamber, though why Anomen couldn't say.

"I keep thinking that I'll feel her. At any moment," the pink-haired mage continued. "I mean… I feel like me. I feel more like me than I have in months, and that's both wonderful and terrible. But at the same time, there's this sort of darkness hanging around the edges… and I don't know if it's actually there, or if it's just me being afraid of it being there."

Anomen's eyes flitted around the room cautiously. "Then maybe this is not the best place to be, my lady," he suggested, frowning a very little. "We can get back to the estate at any time…"

She shook her head. "No. This is the perfect place to be. If I'll feel anything of… of her… I'll feel it here. A memory, a warmth, a scent, or something… there'll be something of her." She opened her eyes and looked around the room cautiously.

Anomen shifted his feet. "Anything?"

A thin smile crossed Imoen's face. "No. Nothing. Nothing out of the ordinary, anyway… this was… his workshop. Where he took mine and Harrian's souls..." She started to walk about slowly. "But it looks so different now that the only memories I have of this place are of today."

"I fear those memories are quite dark enough as it is." It was Anomen's turn to shiver. He could remember all too well what had happened in this room, today, and before. The vicious parallels. A soul had been taken from one being and given to another, and someone had died under a comrade's blade. Different, and yet… similarly painful.

Imoen glanced over at him, suddenly realising that he seemed less comfortable even than her. "Do you want to go back?" she asked at last, raising an eyebrow.

Automatically, Anomen gave an unconcerned shrug, his ego briefly refusing to let him treat the idea with anything other than disdain, however tempting it might have been. Then he paused. This was her. Imoen. He just shook his head and grimaced sheepishly. "The alternative is the estate," he said quietly. "And I am not sure I am up to facing Harrian at this moment."

Imoen nodded, looking away again quickly. "I feel sorry for Reynald, Minsc and Aerie. And I feel sorry for Harrian, of course." She sighed deeply. "I just… I can't believe she's gone. She was always… stronger than that. Stronger than any of us. Ever since the beginning, it's been…" Imoen closed her eyes again, and Anomen, even though he was a little self-conscious and painfully aware of the scholars in the corner, stepped up to grip her shoulder lightly.

"Ever since the beginning, she's been there. She made us grow up. She was like a mother, big sister, and friend all at once." It was Imoen's turn to try and shrug nonchalantly. "Well, to me, at least. To Harrian, she was more the friend; he had Khalid to play mentor. Which, considering, is just as well…" Imoen smiled a thin smile, evidently thinking the sort of thoughts which, under happier circumstances, would have caused laughter. Now they caused tears to come to her eyes, which she tried to blink away quickly and a little unsuccessfully.

"My lady…" Anomen moved around to face her, biting his lower lip as his mind raced futilely for some words of comfort.

"I don't know whether to cry my eyes out or stand up and laugh and dance. Everything's… louder, Anomen. Thoughts, emotions, sights, colours, sounds. The world seems more… real again. Like before was a dream, like I was flailing in wool before. And whilst that's wonderful, it's also terrible. I don't know if I should be celebrating Bodhi's defeat, laughing about having my soul back, or crying my eyes out over Jaheira…"

Taking a deep breath and resolving not to look at the scholars – though it didn't occur to him that they'd be more interested in their books anyway – Anomen pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her. "Very few victories are entirely happy. All have some price. But we won. You have to remember that. We won."

"I think Harrian would have preferred to lose," Imoen's voice, muffled by his chest, came back.

"No. He knows that we have to go on. It's not even about Irenicus anymore. There are greater forces at work. There's the elven city to think about now. He is a madman that must be stopped. He has brought down the darkness upon us all, and we must be the light to chase it away," Anomen said, reeling off something from the depths of his memory.

Imoen raised her head to look at him as she pulled back a little, a thin smile hovering around her lips. "You've been reading those awful books you keep in your library, haven't you," she said, cocking an eyebrow at him.

Anomen grinned slightly and very sheepishly. "I have needed to while away the long nights some how, my lady. Though I do agree – the turgid volumes all sound as if they were written by Haer'Dalis."

"Sir Anomen?"

They turned quickly to see one of the scholars, a small man with glasses and dark receding hair, grey creeping in at the temples, standing before them. He was clutching one of the books that he and his fellows had been examining intently since they'd arrived.

Anomen blinked. "Yes… Rendval. It is Rendval, isn't it?"

"Yes, Rendval. I… am sorry to interrupt," the man said quickly, opening the volume and rifling through it quickly yet delicately, "but I was wondering if this would interest you." He thrust the book into Anomen's unsuspecting hands.

The cleric stared at the pages blankly for a few seconds. "What… which bit am I supposed to find intriguing?" he asked after a few seconds.

"Ah…" Rendval moved forwards, and pointed with a worn finger at a passage on the right-hand page. "It was mentioned by Sir Eric… that one of your number was vampirised and had to be slain?"

Anomen was still staring in confusion as Imoen, peeking over his shoulder, gaped, realisation evidently setting in a lot quicker for her. "Anomen… do you know what this is?"

"No," the cleric replied obtusely and a little sulkily.

Imoen grabbed the book impatiently, her eyes flitting over the words quickly. She turned the page with the speedy yet delicate skill of one who had spend much of her youth surrounded by delicate dusty volumes, then gasped and looked at Rendval. "This isn't just a myth, right?"

The scholar shook his head. "There are records in the Order's library of a great battle against the undead some decades ago, in which they detail the mass recovery of fallen knights. It is well-documented, and no myth. But the means by which it was done has been lost… until now."

Imoen turned to Anomen, who was now starting to catch up. "You… you staked Bodhi, didn't you." Her voice shook a little as she spoke, but the urgency in her eyes pushed Anomen to overlook that. "Was there… anything left? Or did she just turn to dust?"

"None of us entered her chamber," Rendval supplies helpfully.

Anomen grimaced a little. "All faded into the wind… save her black heart."

Imoen's expression became a mixture of glee and disgust. "We kinda need that heart."

"I shall find some… container for you," Rendval muttered, moving off.

"What is this for?" Anomen demanded of Imoen.

She looked at him. "You did read that page, didn't you?"

"I am not entirely capable of reading dusty volumes with tiny writing without a pair of spectacles," Anomen confessed, and it would have come out sheepishly if he hadn't decided to counter it by straightening up haughtily.

Imoen paused. "I didn't know you needed glasses."

"Only to read," Anomen retorted. "And I doubt, my lady, that you are in the habit of observing me when reading, as I tend to do it away from distractions."

"I'm a distraction?"

"What is in the volume that has you so suddenly cheery?" he asked, sighing a long-suffering sigh.

Imoen grinned, almost hopping up and down on the spot with glee. "A solution. A cure. A means of resurrection. A way to get Jaheira back."

Anomen stared for a moment, blinking in surprise. Then he took a deep breath. "All in one?"