Chapter 10: A Headstone, An Idea, and the Kingdom Cries
" – She was loved by all, respected by all, and known by all. Veralidaine Sarrasri has done Tortall many great deeds and she will not be easily forgotten. Generations from now will hear great tales and songs of the infamous Wildmage. Never will we forget what she has done for us. May the Black God guide her passing." Jonathan ended his speech followed by 'so mote it be's. It was Sunday, three days after her 'departure'. Numair and many others were incapable of any speech as they wept.
Numair stood at her grave long after everyone else had left. Alanna and the others had tried to get him to leave and eat something, but he just stood there, staring at her epitaph. It read:
Veralidaine Sarrasri, Wildmage of Tortall: Beloved friend, companion, and lover. 442 H.E. – 460 H.E.
Suddenly he collapsed onto the fresh soil over her casket. There he sobbed uncontrollably, body shuddering with the force of it.
"Why, Daine? Why did you do this to me? I should have never let you go; I'm so sorry! Then you would be alive right now and I would be telling you of the extent of my love. We'd be planning a wedding. Why did you leave me?" These last words emerged as a whisper.
"Numair? Numair, you should come inside now. It's dark." It was Alanna. Numair didn't move or make any sign of noticing her there, so she just stood. Without warning fresh tears made tracks down her still splotchy cheeks.
After a while, George joined them. With one understanding look at Alanna, he started to grasp one of Numair's arms. Alanna helped by grasping his other arm and pulling the mage to his feet. Slowly, awkwardly, they made it back to the palace.
Numair lay in bed, awake, that night. He couldn't sleep for reasons unknown. His heart ached, his body protested this neglect of care, and he felt oddly cold. It was late summer and blazing hot outside, but he felt cold. He loved Daine; he needed her; if only she would stop hiding and come to him, and then maybe his bed wouldn't be so cold anymore. Why was she hiding from him like this? They were meant to be together. Numair resolved to ask his friends in the morning where his love had gone. He was getting tired of this hiding game.
Mind-readers would label his thoughts as insane; Daine wasn't alive and she wasn't hiding anywhere in the mortal realms. But since no one read Numair's thoughts, he was left to battle with his own half-crazy mind.
The next morning Numair didn't bother to shave his overnight scruff – he needed to talk to Alanna and the others. He couldn't possibly find Daine on his own, unless… he had found her once before himself. He had a focus, somewhere; he looked around the room: no focus. What had happened to all the pictures that had hung on his walls before? He had to ask about that, too. He rubbed the back of his neck absentmindedly and felt a chain. What was that?
Numair opened the locket that hung around his neck. Inside was a miniature portrait, a slip of paper said, of Veralidaine Sarrasri. Who could it be? And why did he have her in a locket? Whoever she was, she was pretty. This woman even looked a bit like Daine. Wait; what did Daine look like? He needed Alanna. She could help this madness that was conquering his body.
"Numiar – what's wrong? You look like you've run a way's." He laid his hands on his old friend's shoulders.
"Alanna – you have to help me! I can't remember things, my body feels weird, and someone's been moving my pictures off my walls! I have this person in a locket, but I've got not clue as to who she is! Please, say you'll help me! And where's – where's…" the name got stuck in his throat for yet another unknown reason. He finally managed to choke something out. "Where is she? I've been looking all over for her, and I feel like something terrible has happened. I can't find her, Alanna. Help me." Tears sprang to Alanna's eyes. She supported her friend down the hall to the infirmary, for she knew what had happened.
"Yes, he is suffering from post-traumatic shock. He'll need a few days' rest, but then his memory should return to normal." Duke Baird led Numair to a ward. Putting the mage to sleep, he came back to Alanna. "Are you doing alright? I know her – ah – passing hit hard." Alanna just nodded and left.
Four days later, Numair sat at the head table with the king, queen, etc. dressed in black. He had regained knowledge of Daine's death. No one spoke, laughed, or made any other un-straight face while they ate, so only the sound of tinkling silverware filled the mess hall.
"Numair, why don't you go lie down? You need some sleep." Sleep. Getting up and excusing himself, he didn't have any intention of going to his chambers, but instead made his way to the library.
Sleep. The word echoed through his mind. He vaguely knew that Duke Roger, the king's late uncle, had done something once. He needed to copy that and get Daine. A raging fire broke out inside of him. Whatever it took, he was going to have her back.