Chapter Two: The Harpist
The Realms of the Dead, 11 Uktar, 1369 DR
Kathryn stirred, hearing Nalia call out to her from Faerûn. Her consciousness, while not as far-reaching as that of the more powerful gods was still great enough to sense a call for aid. And as she concentrated on the call, she brought to mind what had happened on the mortal plane- for the mind of Tomas was open to her, as the only one of her faithful.
She saw the madness of the girl, placed by Cyric. But she also saw the last appreciation for the music that she had experienced. Moved, Kathryn cast herself through the cosmos, and sent out a call. That call was answered swiftly, and her appeal for entrance to the realms of the dead was granted.
Appearing in the centre of Kelemvor's stronghold, Kathryn bowed at the god with his silver mask, and clad in dark robes. He nodded his head, and murmured, "You asked to see me, Kathryn. What is it that you wish?"
The Harpist sighed, "A girl."
Kelemvor raised an eyebrow. "I know the girl of whom you speak. She lived her later life as a disciple of Cyric, spreading madness and even invoking the god at times. You know I cannot give her over to you."
Kathryn frowned. "I believe you can. Whether you will or not, is the question here, Kelemvor. She died with her madness gone, cured by the music of the harp and by my servant who carried it."
The God of the Dead said simply, "But she did not pray to you at the end, did she?"
With a frown, Kathryn asked, "What constitutes a prayer? The formulaic expression of faith is not the only thing we draw power from. We gain power from the souls of the faithful. When the child died, I felt her faith. A goddess of my limited power cannot help but notice when somebody appeals to me, even in the silence of their souls."
Kelemvor stood. "This is easily solved. If she cries out for you whilst she is on the Fugue Plain, then you may gain her loyalty. But if she cries out for Cyric or does not cry out at all, then you may not."
Kathryn laughed. "It is not as simple as that, and you know it. If it comes to a confrontation, Cyric could snap his fingers and see me dead in an instant. If I am to battle his claim over this soul, then I need support. The support that only you can give."
The God of the Dead laughed, "Believe me, Kathryn. If the soul cries for you, then rest assured that you will be able to take her. Cyric will not interfere in the ordering of my realm, and if he tries, then he will regret it."
Smiling, the new goddess bowed. "My thanks, Kelemvor. I will go to the Fugue Plain then, to claim the soul that is due to me."
And she disappeared.
* * *
On the Fugue Plain, the girl wandered, passing the Faithful who were crying out for their gods. She saw the servants of Lathander, Mystra, Cyric, Loviatar… all the gods. There was a flash of light, and a gleaming servant of Mystra appeared. With cries of joy, the Faithful of the goddess were taken from the plain.
Eloise felt different.
Gone was the madness. Instead she could see things with a clarity that surprised her. What had done this? What had driven away the madness? With the thought, the memory of her death came to her. She saw the wizard lady, and the bard with the shining sword and…
His harp.
Tears came to her eyes as she remembered the music. How she wanted to hear more of the music… but could she? After all the evils she had commited, whilst gripped by madness, could she still ask for the aid of Oghma, the God of Bards.
No, a voice whispered in her head. Not Oghma.
But who?
Not Cyric. He had not music in his realms of madness and strife. Eloise had lived a life of strife. She had no wish to live a death of it as well. Stumbling now through the press of souls, Eloise grew panicked.
What if she could call on no-one?
No. She was not Faithless. At the last, she had prayed with her soul. At the last, she had begged to hear the harp. But who did she beg? Which god would have heard her prayer?
Above her, appeared a massive figure. Cyric. The god of strife stared directly at her, and beckoned. She felt the familiar madness, but was aware that the madness was no longer within her, but outside. Not Cyric.
She would never declare her faith for Cyric.
And then beside Cyric, appeared a woman, who carried in her hands a golden harp that played such sweet music. Tears came to Eloise, as the woman beckoned. She took a step forward, and opened her mouth, but not words came out.
She did not know who this goddess was.
Oghma ruled the bards. Surely he should, by default, rule the harps? Obviously not, if what she saw was real. She heard the roar of Cyric drown out the sound of the harps easily, and saw the woman blasted aside.
"Kathryn! What right have you to take this soul?"
The woman stood, and continued to strum on her harp. "Every right, Cyric. This child died with the love of the harp in her soul, and with a prayer to the patron of the harp whispered through the cosmos. Need I remind you, Cyric, that I am the Lady of Harps? Surely you must know the place of things in the heavens, or have you been reading the Cyrinishad again, and tricked yourself. You are not the God of Harps, Cyric. Sorry to disappoint you terribly."
The God of Strife roared again, but this time the woman disappeared, reappearing beside Eloise. She whispered, with a musical, vibrant voice, "Eloise, come. You have heard my name. All you need to do is call it."
Cyric towered above them both. "Girl, you have been mine for your life! Call my name, and live with the madness you have spread forever! You know what the right thing to do is! You have no love for music! Call my name!"
Eloise wept, but Kathryn held out her hand. Harp song filled her ears, and the girl smiled suddenly, seeing with impressive clarity what she had to do. Bowing before the goddess, she cried, "Lady of Harps! Kathryn! Deliver me from exile, take me to the lulling melodies of your realm! Save me from madness that corrupts music! Delver me from strife that destroys harp song!"
And it was done.
* * *
House of Harps, 11 Uktar, 1369 DR
Eloise stood before her, clad in pale pink robes, and wearing a happy smile on her face. Kathryn gestured with one hand, and after a while, a golden harp appeared, shivering, in the air beside the girl.
"Take it, Eloise. Take it, and experience the delight of harp-song."
The girl, with quivering hands, took the harp, and slowly touched a finger to the strings. The room echoed the single note, and, as if commanded by one touch, distant, invisible harps started to play.
Eloise touched another string, and yet more harps echoed the touch. Tears came to her eyes again, and Kathryn smiled. "Eloise, is not harp song beautiful? Rejoice, first of my Faithful, for not even the power of Strife and Madness could shatter your music, the music in the depths of your soul."
A snarl filled the room. "It is a soul that should belong to me."
Wreathed in flame, Cyric appeared, his eyes glinting fiercely. A discordant note started to snap the strings of the distant harps. He grinned. Frowning, Kathryn moved both her hands through the air, touching each individual harp that played unseen. The discordant note ended, and broken strings knitted together once again.
"I bid you welcome, Cyric. Please don't break my harps. I am not as powerful as you, and it is annoyingly hard to restructure my stronghold. Thought of course, as strong as you are, I still gained the loyalty of this dear girl, who has brought such music to my ears."
Cyric glowered. "I could crush you like a worm."
Kathryn smiled sweetly, "But to do so would bring the wrath of numerous gods. You have no right to dictate which gods live or die so capriciously. I know Mystra would not appreciate your destruction of anyone who stands up to you."
The God of Strife growled in anger, "How I wish I had killed you while you still walked the Realms. I can sense you becoming a grave annoyance."
The Harpist giggled, "Oh, please. You wouldn't have been able to kill me. At the beginning, your agents were too bumbling to defeat me… remember Mulahey in the mines of Nashkel? He was laughable. And towards the end…" She peered at her fingernails. "Towards the end, even you feared to appear with your full might. So whatever you could have done, I would still stand here. How does it feel to know that you were powerless to stop me?"
Cyric took a step forward. "I am not powerless now, though. The power you gained through the Bhaalspawn taint will sustain you for only so long. Eventually, you will fade. And even more quickly will you fade if that bard and the wizard die before they can convert people to your faith… and what a faith it will be. How many people will worship a harpist?"
Kathryn stood, aware that Eloise was staring determinedly at Cyric. The goddess smiled. "All those who play the harps will eventually hear of me, and they will play for me. Their faith will grant me strength, and then we shall see how easily strife falls to the power of song."
The God of Strife remained silent then disappeared. The harp song continued.