Hello again!

Kyubak: all your worries answered here ;) I hope you like my resolution. Thanks for the review :)

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Epilogue

Even though Anomen regularly summoned Amousca in the following months, it seemed that no one in the community of the Disciples of Anomen could quite believe that his daughter had a mother.

Every family offered to take care of Moire. The mothers could not accept that a single man raised a child alone, much less a daughter. Anomen was touched by the repeated offers to adopt Moire; it never crossed his mind to consider the offers as a way to steal her from him. Even though he was the one to change her nappies and stay up with her throughout the night worrying when she had a fever, he did accept that his neighbour, a woman with five children of her own, acted as nurse for Moire.

Anomen took the habit of summoning Amousca once a tenday, and after a year, she started coming with their son Saraveil. All throughout Moire's childhood, the visits of her mother and brother were like her own private ball. Even though the family was not together at all times, Anomen managed to show Saraveil a few tricks when it came to fencing or fishing. Amousca and Moire similarly engaged in feminine activities excluding the men, such as reading tales, trying make-up and learning to weave Maztican patterns with the neighbours. Over the years, Moire and Saraveil had fights as all brothers and sisters, a few of them memorable. Despite the time apart, their family was more normal and sheltering than either Anomen's or Amousca's had ever been.

Besides being as normal as it could, the family did have a Maztican influence. Anomen found a few side advantages to raising a daughter in his country of adoption. Being raised as much by him and Amousca as by all the families of the community, Moire developed the shyness and obedience to her father that was more characteristic of Mazticans than of Amnians. Anomen often grinned inwardly when she came to ask his permission to go to a dance or to another party, and always grinned wider when a poor terrified young man came to ask his permission to bring his daughter to a special religious celebration or another equally innocuous activity. He never had to choose a chaperon, because there was always a girl from the neighbourhood who considered Moire half her sister and volunteered with such zeal that she made it seem as though lives depended on it. Anomen never had to check on Moire to make sure she did not sneak out of her room's window at night – Helm knew, he had run after his sister at dawn a few times himself. He never had to inquire to other parents if the new activity chosen by the youngsters was convenient or not, because there was always one who would come and make a full report to him, more complete and detailed than anything he had ever received in the Order.

His daughter grew up surrounded and raised by the people of Maztica. She learned their tongue as she was merely more than a baby playing with the neighbours. She grew up and learned to decipher their complex, subtle and shifting body language. She was permeated with the profound sense of sharing and generosity that was one of the greatest qualities of Mazticans. She was raised to consider physical work and hardships to be a part of life and never complained. She faced every adversity with the unshakable happiness and benevolent smile of all Mazticans.

Aside from what she learned of her country of adoption, she retained her father's sense of honour and duty. He also taught her to believe in her own convictions and think for herself; those were values he missed from his homeland. Moire became very aware of politics and injustice, and a fierce believer that things could be changed for the better.

Anomen was very proud of her.

As for Amousca and Saraveil, much of their lives remained hidden from Anomen, their duty not to be revealed to mortals. It did not create coldness between them; there was plenty of everyday life in the planes to tell when the weekly reunion happened.

As much as Anomen was proud of his daughter, he was proud of his son. Saraveil accepted the fate that was placed upon him calmly and confidently; he did not rebel against its sacrifices as some would have. He became very adept with the sword; at fifteen he was one of the finest blades of the planes. Although, aware of the duty Helm had in mind for him, he did not concentrate only in his fighting skills, and he was gifted in other areas of life. He learned about languages, divine magic, history of deities and planar politics the way some learn to walk. He set to learn everything that he could with determined single-mindedness.

Saraveil was not the only talented child of Amousca and Anomen. At ten, Moire demonstrated her first talents in the ways of magic and, guided by Amousca, her latent potential quickly matured into powerful sorcery. Five years later, Moire mastered the Weave enough to cast endless cantrips, a few low-level spells on her own, and she could decipher even the most complicated spell scroll.

Brother and sister were separated by their choice of career, but they shared a great physical semblance. Both looked more or less like elves, with pointed ears and finely chiselled features, although the golden hue of their skin gave their origin away. Moire's sun-kissed tan obscured partly the golden, giving only a faint glow to her skin, while Saraveil's fairer skin was more golden.

When he saw them standing together, Anomen sometimes wondered how he could be the father of two such wonderful young people.

He was often reminded that he was indeed a father, however, when Moire would come back late or give him another cause to worry.

One evening of Flamerule found him splashing through the mud as he paced restlessly in the street in front of his house. It was the night of the tenth-day, and Amousca and Saraveil would visit tonight. Anomen had expected Moire to be back at the house early in expectation, before the afternoon downpour of the middle of the raining season, but she was late now. He had been pacing worriedly for almost an hour in front of his small house, marking a path through the wet, deep, sticky mud, irritably rubbing at his grey-streaked beard, when finally she appeared at the top of the slope that marked the end of the street.

Anomen's blood ran cold when he saw her limping, and rather badly at that. He started at a walk, but within two strides he was running to her. He was by her side and had healed her before either of them had said a word.

"I told you not to go wander the streets alone, Moire!", he exclaimed once she was healed. He had changed in many ways throughout his life, but he still exclaimed in anger when he was tormented by another powerful feeling.

Moire had two people to inherit a temper from, however. She bristled at her father's unfair accusation and, now that her leg was healed, she could stand up to him and glare at him. When she looked up at him so, lifting her nose and narrowing her eyes, pushing her hair over her shoulder, she looked so much like her mother that Anomen had to make a serious effort not to melt and grin, anger and concern forgotten.

"I was not 'wandering the streets'!", she protested indignantly. "I was in Xe'kate, lending a hand to the teacher there!"

Anomen tapped his foot irritably. "Surely it is not one of the children who sliced into your thigh with a dagger!"

"No! It was one of those xa'xat." She always used the Maztican term to designate the strangers with pale skin, eyes and hair. "I told you I suspected them of being slavers! Today I surprised one with his hand in the bag, on the path from Xe'kate to here. He had surprised a girl alone at the well when she went to fetch water. There were three xa'xat, but what was I supposed to do? Run and be taken down by a flying arrow or a thrown dagger? Lay down and die? Surrender and be taken a slave also?" Her eyes were flashing angrily, and she growled, "I'm sure they would have been glad to add me to their collection of curiosities besides Aerie." She took a breath and set her shoulders. "So I pulled my scroll of Protection from normal weapons, I Stoneskinned, and I summoned spiders. I tried to hold them off and keep them fighting the spiders, but… they're not stupid, and one managed a hit on me before he was killed by the spider's poison." Anomen relaxed at hearing her tell her story. Despite the dire situation she had been in, she had not acted rashly, and had faced the situation very reasonably. She had not run in cowardice, but faced three opponents calmly and courageously.

Now that her story was told in her defence and that she felt she had proven her point that she had not been "wandering the streets", her anger faded and she started to shift from foot to foot nervously. Slowly she metamorphosed from an angry Amnian teenager to a Maztican girl casting her eyes downward timidly before her scowling father. "Are you still mad at me, Father?", she asked.

Anomen smiled and took her in his arms. "No, I am not mad at you anymore."

At his words of acceptance, she laid her head down on his shoulder and relaxed. She put her arms around his chest and hugged him, feeling his beard tickling her cheek. She started shaking then. He knew only too well that it was not only the aftermath of her injury; it was her first battle. It was the first time she had faced an enemy who had wanted to end her life.

"It's alright, Moire, you're alright…" He patted her back comfortingly. There was a long silence, again something that reminded him of her mother; Amousca often needed time to gather her thoughts to say something that hurt.

"It was horrible, Father," Moire whispered. "The spider… it bit through their legs and pierced them through the chest with its legs… There was blood all over. And the sounds when they died, the choking because of the poison…"

She began crying and he held her tightly against him.

"I'm sorry!", she sobbed. "I'm sorry I killed them, no one should die like that, in so much pain! I didn't know! I didn't mean, I didn't want that, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"

He hushed her, and she cried on his shoulder. A few curious children were watching them, squatted down in the mud, half hidden behind houses' corners, but Anomen paid them no attention.

"It's alright, Moire… You did what you had to. It's alright. You had no choice."

"But they… they're dead! I k-killed them!"

"Hush, I know. Your spider killed them… They were evil men, slavers who sold or killed many helpless children before. We should not seek to bring death, but sometimes it cannot be avoided, and it can be forgiven… Hush, Moire. I'm sure Helm has seen your regret and has forgiven you."

She cried a while longer, drawing strength from his hug and his calm assurance that her god had forgiven her, and finally she pulled back and dried her tears.

"I just hope no other slavers will come," she said tearfully. Then her face set in a determination that made her look a few years older than her fifteen, and she added fiercely, "But if any dare to come here again, I shall deal with them. No one will take children away from under my nose again. Not to end up as slaves. Everyone deserves freedom by birth."

Anomen gave a tender smile of encouragement to his headstrong, Maztican daughter. "I am so proud of you, Moire. You are so much like your mother."

She bit her lower lip, ready to start crying again. She cursed inwardly; why was it that once you started crying you couldn't stop? In a small voice, she inquired, "Is this true, Father?"

"Aye, it is true," he assured her warmly. "Why, practically the same thing happened to Amousca once, long ago… I was a young man still, barely twenty-five years-old… Your mother was quite an imprudent lady, and so we were walking the Slums of Athkatla at night – never dare to do that, Moire, or you shall answer to me – and we surprised an Amnish guard being bribed into 'forgetting' a slave's pleas for help as he tried to escape…"