Disclaimer: I own nothing.
A/N It's been a while… But I guess I have an inner need to write the last part. So, while expecting no one at all – there you go. New chapter every Monday.
Part III: "The Godchild"
The Meddler, the Lost Soul and the Patient Man
Every night – a dream. Every day – a struggle.
She watched her bleeding and she watched her suffering. Very rarely, she saw her laughing. And yet in those dreams, she slept under a starry sky, explored dungeons and used magic however she wished. She had so much freedom. Ciriane always thought those things would bring much happiness, the thrill she longed for in peaceful Evereska. And yet she was not surprised, that the woman she dreamed about, wasn't happy. Though the history recorded, that the daughter of Bhaal, Gorion's Ward, would not die then, her pain and uncertainty were real. What future generations took for granted, for her was a desperate uncertainty of tomorrow.
The morning was dark and misty, when Ciriane woke from another empty dream. To dream of someone sleeping – that was all she was doing for the past months and yet she couldn't stop, repeating the spell every evening. She didn't want to lose the sight of this face, lost in an endless slumber. Melancholy was the only thing she drew from those dreams and that didn't go well with usually spirited young elf.
The girl stretched on her bed, getting out from the cocoon she created over the night, from her cape in the color of autumn leaves. Grey was the only color she could expect on evereskan sky this time of the year, but it was still early in the morning. Because of exceptionally gloomy weather, she could have stayed in bed for at least an hour more and still make it to the temple unseen, but sleep didn't feel all that compelling recently. Cydr was probably waiting for her and she didn't want him to catch a cold, standing too long in the mist, looking out for her.
He had a most unreasonable crush on her. That was obvious to her from the first lovey-dovey glance she caught. Somehow it was always easy for her to notice such things. She wasn't interested and thus ignored him completely, but after her first nightly escapade to the temple to 'borrow' one of the relics suddenly his one redeeming feature make him look a lot better in her eyes.
Cydr was an acolyte – a priest in learning, in the very same temple that stored the extinguished Moonblade that was once wielded be the very same hero of the Greycloaks she was spying on. And it just so happened, that he held a key to the temple's backdoor along with any other she needed to get in and out unnoticed. Because of that she agreed to the next invitation for a walk in the palace gardens, nearly giving the boy a heart attack, and kept agreeing to most of the little dates he kept arranging fervently. After a week, the keys were as good as hers and to make things easier, he kept escorting her, making sure none of the priest notices her. Since then, every evening she was taking a walk to borrow the blade and in the morning the same path – to return it.
After a while, a month or two, she learned how to perform the divination without the use of the sword. It was bound to happen – she herself became linked to the ones she was dreaming about, creating an emotional bond, as the books would call it. Cydr became useless and she decided to ignore him from then on. Only she couldn't. Every night she saw how much such an attitude could hurt one that fell in love. In the end she settled for a compromise. She grew to tolerate the boy and he was the only person that knew what she was doing – though she lied, that it was for the sake of practice, to improve her notes in Academy. An experiment, she got way too involved in and couldn't stop until she saw it through. She didn't share his feelings – that happens. But she wasn't going to treat him like a discarded tool. Hopefully no one would find out about her weak spot and try to convince her she was 'growing up'.
That was why every morning and every evening, she was still visiting the temple. In the evening to touch the binding item – this was an excuse. In the morning to tell him all about she saw that night, because sometimes it was more than one person could hold inside. No excuses.
The clouds were moist, cold, unpleasant. Disappointing, really. It dove back to the ground, to find some warmer feelings. Along came the rain, as cold as a sky. The moment before the clouds weren't clouds anymore, a beautiful uncertainty, almost shimmered above. It touched the ground the same moment first drops did.
Diamonds of rain hitting the ground, playing on the grass blades were ecstatic. It sped it up and slowed it down to Its whims, creating merry melodies for no one in particular. It saw an ant drowning in a puddle, the little creature carried with the elements more powerful than any bug could ever imagine. It mourned the unstoppable death of an ant.
But the water was still flowing, even when the rain stopped. Drops creating little streams, those merging into bigger ones, those finally falling into a river nearby. A fish sprung from the water surface, scales shining brilliantly in the full glory of the Sun, the Sun of the clear blue sky, all the clouds gone…
The fish dove underwater and It went along, underneath the surface to a place darker, greener, more mysterious. Many more fish and other creatures didn't pay any attention to It, hurrying on their fishy tasks. It didn't know where were they going, but tried chasing them all.
It resurfaced, rising from the clear stream, just to see skin whitening, skin of a man in traveling attire, dusted boots and a most ridiculous hat, standing by a cart pulled by a bored donkey. Before the traveler's face, very close a blade stood, with another man attached to it. No, not a blade, a wand – pure white piece of metal with its tip ending in a spiral. And the man, the bandit wasn't attached to it, he was holding it threateningly in front of his would-be victim. It laughed, came closer to both men. The pale one didn't want to give all his belongings to the other one and thus a word fell from the bandit's mouth. As the wand began to glow, It noticed something amazing over the traveler's head. A beautiful specter – a visage of a woman dressed in gold, turned her gaze on the terrified man and smiled. How wonderful this smile was!
A shock from the wand killed the man instantly – but the man holding the misbehaving magical item. The traveling merchant didn't stop to ponder, how the bandit managed to kill himself with his own weapon, he quickly calmed the donkey, scared by the sudden burst of electricity, and hurried to get away.
"Lady Luck is on my side today" It heard him mutter. The Lady was looking at It now – something unusual, not even ants could see It, but not a shadow of a smile cross her gorgeous face. She pursed her lips.
It didn't care. Even the Gods couldn't touch it. It saw a cloud, for what It thought was the first time and now wondered if they were as creamy and soft as they looked. It wasn't tied to the ground, it wasn't tied to anything, so it could simply go and check.
The call was there again… It could hear a call sometimes, but could never tell where was it coming from. But It would find it later, decided to pursue a distraction instead, like all times before. For now It wanted to taste the clouds.
The Sun didn't return yet from its nightly visit behind the horizon, when he shook off his empty reverie. With practiced and mindless moves, he put on his robes, his amulets, his weapon, all the symbols naming him an elf, a mage, a Wielder. The corridors of Suldanessellar palace lead him straight where he wanted to go, he knew his way so well already he could walk with his eyes closed. The door made no noise when he opened it, nor when it closed. He sat down on a single chair by the side of her bed. As always.
And then something inside him finally broke.
A quiet cry was the only thing that disturbed the serene silence of the temple room, as his fingers clenched on the white sheets. There wasn't much more he could free from his stiff throat. It felt as if decay settled in his body, not only his spirit, after that much time.
Hours composed into days, days into weeks, weeks into months. He sat by her side, telling himself, that it was what he promised, that this time it would be different. That when she'd wake up he would be there to say that he didn't doubt her even for a second. He even prepared an entire speech, confessing to his every vain little thought, every sin. By now he repeated it in his mind so many times he knew it as well as any of his spells. And he waited patiently in the same spot, hour after hour, day after day, month after month.
Anomen left the palace as the first, soon after the defeat of Irenicus, meaning to report to his Order and haven't returned since. Jaheira promised to send him a message the moment Daria woke up. He may still be waiting for this message, but it was unlikely. Human memory could be surprisingly short. Imoen was coming and going, spending some time by her sister's bed and then hurrying on another of those heists of hers, alone or with Jaheira, sometimes even taking Gooseberry, who spent most time napping on his mistress' covers. Once Valygar returned to Athkatla, having finally fully recovered from his injuries, the pinkhead spent more time in his house in dock's district, than anywhere else. After months her visits in the city of elves became rarer and rarer, even more so once Minsc decided it was time for him and Boo to see Rashemen once more. Jaheira had her hands full trying to appeal to the Harpers one more time, to clear the mess left by Galvarey. That all meant their group was gone.
Because it's centerpiece disappeared.
Now, after two years in which he came to know her and let her know him, after three months of waiting for her to wake up, he finally reached the moment when he couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't watch her sleeping, couldn't stand not being able to hold her hand, to hear her voice. At last he was ready to give all of himself to her without hesitation and he couldn't.
Maybe it was precisely why it was impossible that he feel this way… He wondered often. Yes, it could be that impossibility of her recovery was the only reason he allowed himself to be bound to her. Because it was safe now. Staying by her side meant no more life threatening dangers or moral dilemmas. Or maybe deep inside he really did delude himself that love could heal…? Pitiable. Or perhaps he just didn't have the courage to go outside, to face the world so terribly empty without her.
The world where no one would laugh like she did, making his heart hurt and filling it with joy at the same time.
The world with no eyes of such violet depth and even deeper tenderness in them.
The world where he would never touch skin like hers, hold a hand like hers.
And now all he had to do was to stop his tears before the months turn into years. Nothing happened as he cried by her bed, nothing was supposed to happen, nothing was all what he was expecting. He took a moment to compose himself, straighten his robes. He would keep waiting. A day, a week, a month, a decade from now. Staying here with her… Falling asleep by her side to never wake up… It couldn't be any worse than living in an empty world.
"No way, I'm not going to let you do this!" Cydr was turning beet-red, but then again it didn't take much for him to go red. Blame that pale face of his. And a life in the temple.
"I'm sorry, I gave you an impression that I care about your opinion, didn't I?" Ciriane replied, standing up to the red-headed and currently red-faced acolyte. "Damn my carelessness!"
"No, you don't get to dismiss me this time! And I mean it!" Cydr often meant it and yet Ciriane somehow always won their rare arguments. "What your planning is blasphemous, not to mention dangerous! You are stepping into Gods' territory, Ciriane!"
"For good reason!" Now she too raised her voice. "Seldarine can't act on this matter and someone has too!"
"But why you?" the acolyte asked with a pained moan. There was no telling 'no' to this girl! Somehow, she got him to steal keys from the temple that raised him since he could walk, close his eyes as she did as she pleased with a sacred relic of the People and now she wanted to change the fate of the entire Toril on a whim, and needed him to tell her why it was wrong! And all he could do was stop himself for thinking how cute she looked so flustered… No, it was important!
"Because no one else can!" Hands closed in fists, gentle flush of anger on her face and tightly closed lips, Ciriane was watching him with fire in her eyes. Definitely cute. By Seldarine, he needed to compose himself enough not to say anything stupid. Ciriane couldn't find out he thought about her this way! He wasn't mentally prepared yet. She turned around to walk away.
"Of course, many people can! Listen to me!" he grabbed her shoulders when she tried to leave. "This is not a school project your teacher can correct if you make mistakes! History follows a set path. If you interfere into this destiny there's no saying what will happen to you! The effects could be disastrous to the entire world! History itself can change! We may never be born! If you wake her up…"
"But she did wake up! I know it and you do to! It's in the history books you love so much!" Ciriane no longer held back. This was going to be loud argument in the peaceful temple gardens.
"Is it written that you were the one that woke her?"
"No, but…!" He didn't let her finish.
"Then don't do it! It will happen eventually!" Was it so hard for her to understand that this story happened long time ago? There was nothing they should be able to do to change it!
"What am I supposed to do then, oh great scholar?" Ciriane tamed her anger and crossed her arms waiting for an answer. It was very simple for him, but he doubted she'd understand.
"Pray" he gave her the answer.
"Pray?" she tried to enclose all her disbelief in this simple word.
"Hmph" Ciriane pouted and Cydr suddenly realized that he was still holding her shoulders. He let go at once. "Alright" the elf mage said at last. "I'll give it a try. But it'd better work."
This time it took her less than a week to prepare a new ritual. The library held no more secrets before her and her Illusion's and Divining teachers were so amazed by her sudden growth in both ability and attention that they granted her access to higher level components storage the second she asked. With last details Cydr came to help. He knew her better, than to think for a second, that she'd listen to him.
Ciriane eyed the rune circle she painted on the floor of her room critically. Messy, but necessary. Fortunately she had all the estate for herself tonight. Mother was feeling sick again and father took her to the healing waters in Myr Neadifel. And since there was no one to stop them, the twins were hunting day and night on the hills. As for herself… Cydr took her hand and helped her step inside the circle painted with chicken blood, careful not to smear anything important. Yes, she had other hobbies. In hindsight, her parents would probably prefer her to hunt.
"I take this last chance to try to stop you. Please, don't do it." Cydr didn't let go of her hand.
"What, that's it? No 'you'll destroy the world'? No 'you'll just end up like her'?" the girl teased mercilessly.
"No. No more arguing. I'm just asking. Please." He gazed at her with large brown puppy eyes.
"That makes it easier." Puppy eyes didn't make her hitch. "I'm doing it. Step aside."
He did as he was told and to give him some credit, she did feel slightly guilty this time. Not nearly enough to stop her, but still.
What was she trying to accomplish wasn't any sort of impossible time travel. But if one person could see into the past and another into the future, then theoretically the two could communicate. Theoretically because no one ever succeeded in doing so. The main problem was that the two diviners needed to find each other in the vast ocean of time and space, while one of them was just a probability from the other's perspective. And that was the purpose of the ritual utilizing the bond of emotion she has forged. It would serve as a giant beacon, a torch with size of a mountain, in her target's favorite colors for good measure. If it worked she would get a glimpse of where the mind of a sleeping demigoddess roamed and wrap a piece of her time around Ciriane, should the other diviner care to glimpse into the pretty colors. A spark of curiosity was all she needed to wake the sleeping elf up.
There was also the possibility of changing the past or the future, considering the perspective. But truth to be told these hypothetical problems were never really her thing.
The call… Again It stopped its wanderings, halting It in the middle of a rainbow stretched across sky over Dalelands. Someone was calling It. It heard the call before, though It knew that was impossible, because it never cared to remember anything, so logically there could be no 'before'. It was changing when the call was sounding. It had no shape and yet It began to resemble… she began to resemble…
"You need to go." It startled hearing someone behind It, someone speaking to it. No one spoke to It, even the gods knew better!
In a kaleidoscope of sparkling glass and pure color, drawing it, magnetizing it so delightfully, it saw a woman, fighting the curiosity of the call's nature long enough to turn around. She had straight blonde hair and robes of a mage covering her. Her eyes were shining line two Suns, treads of magic making her see as well as be seen. It felt disappointed, expecting silver in her eyes, not really knowing why.
"He is calling you, you need to go" the woman's voice was urging her to do something, impatient. She didn't understand. Where was she supposed to go? Who was calling her? No! It! It wanted to stay! All It wanted were the clouds, the sky, the Sun. It needed no sound, no curious calling…
"Listen to his…" suddenly a spasm of pain crossed the woman's face and she disappeared as suddenly and completely as she appeared.
"His?" she… It… she didn't understand. She heard the call before, but couldn't follow, she couldn't find where it was coming from, couldn't focus long enough. She tried again, gathering all her concentration into locating the place, where the call was originating, fighting the need to ignore everything completely and throw itself back into Its world. Nothing… The call had no echo and felt as if it was coming from all around her and nowhere at all at the same time, just too quiet. The call, the sound…
Sound? To just listen to it… how did it sound again? Always there, but too quiet to tell what it was…
Something… two things, one after the other, she realized focusing all her attention on hearing the call, rather than finding it. Familiar… Warm…
One, two. One, two. One, two. She knew what she was listening to. Daria recognized the call.
A heart beating rhythmically, with melancholy and yearning in every beat, calling for her to come back. The sound was more familiar than her own heart.
She opened her eyes. This time properly.
Another empty day, after another empty night. Yesterday he could swear, he couldn't take this anymore, but waking up today the first path he took lead him straight to her room. He would go to her side. Wait until he heard that nothing changed. Then again the next day, next week. Next month, it didn't matter. That was the only way for him. All else – the report of success of his mission he just gave to the first elf going in the direction of Evereska, the simple words 'Coven of vampires has been destroyed' – all he managed to write or accomplish…
The bed was empty.
Xan's eyes widened in shock and the hopelessness suddenly stopped to apply. He ran inside the room, looking around in shock.
"Xan." His gaze immediately went to the source of the voice, an elven diviner standing in the entrance to the balcony – awake. Her figure dressed in white temple robes was circled by a morning light, giving her a likeness to a divine being, rather than a mortal woman. This must have been a dream. He must have finally gone mad.
"Good morning." Her eyes turned gentler. On legs that felt stiff and useless as dry twigs he walked up to her. No, this was impossible, futile, doomed. Yesterday must have been worse than he thought, because if this was a hallucination, some twisted way his mind was trying to escape the punishment he so fully deserved… His hands reached out to touch her, just to make sure she was real, but stopped, unable to do it, painful inches away. Daria gently took his numb palms into hers. He felt her warm skin. He closed his eyes trying to hold back his trembling. In vain.
"Daria…!" he choked when the shock hit him, the realization that he was able to talk to her once more. His lips moved, but he could find no more voice, not a word of all he wanted to tell her.
"I feel like I slept for a long time…" Daria lowered her eyes to the ground trying to place this feeling inside her. The last thing she remembered clearly was a bright angel at the gates of hell…
He wanted to hold her and if it was a dream – never wake up, but his rebellious body stood still despite his orders. But it was Daria – the same that knew him through and through. Before he knew it she already held him close, letting him cry silently into her hair. No dream could ever be this cruel. He hoped.
"I didn't doubt for even a second that you would wake up…" he lied into her locks, not even trying to get a hold of himself.
The door opened behind his back. He felt the arms around him loosening, the woman holding him stepping away. In the entrance he saw the priestess that was taking care of Daria for the last month.
Daria smiled at the woman standing in the doorway with an expression of utter shock on her face. A woman she saw before, but never met. No one could hear a heart breaking behind that smile.