Chapter 5: Father
Jaheira
Jaheira watched the rise and fall of Rana's chest from the armchair in the corner of the bedroom; her post for the last hour.
They were going on the second day since she appeared at the door, covered in ash and blood. Between the concerted efforts of herself, Anomen, and Aerie, they had stabilized her, healing the extensive injuries while silently cataloguing them, along with the bruises blossoming beneath the blood that Chauntia gently wiped away while they worked.
A broken pelvis. Shattered cheekbone. Dislocated shoulder. Two cracked ribs. A deep cut on one leg that was still pink and promised to be quite a scar. The cuts on her chest, beginning from each side of her throat, crisscrossing, and ending at the top of each breast, had healed into twin white lines.
She had been unconscious as they worked on her. And two nights later, she still had not woken.
At the start of all this, when she and Khalid had watched two bedraggled young women, barely more than children, stumble wearily into the Friendly Arm Inn, she had vowed to protect her late friend's charge. To deliver her safely from one end of this war to the other.
Not a day went by that she didn't think of how utterly she had failed Gorion.
Not only had she allowed Rana to be broken, in body and soul, but her mind was now shattered along with the rest of her. She knew the blame did not rest solely on her own shoulders, Rana was a woman grown after all, but she felt responsible for what lay on that bed. Every scar, every life taken by the smaller woman, everything she'd done, hadn't done, and had done to her, sat heavily on Jaheira's spirit.
"Anything?"
Jaheira turned her head to look at Chauntia as she entered the room, crossing it quietly to lay a hand on Rana's forehead, brushing away lank locks of hair.
"No, she sleeps still."
"Why?" The Chultan woman whispered. "You healed her, and there were no signs of poison or anything else, how is it she hasn't woken yet?"
"I suspect her coma is self-induced," the druid replied, her voice a little hoarse from misuse.
"You mean she won't wake up because she doesn't want to?"
"Valygar said that she admitted to killing that bhaalspawn woman right before she passed out. That the woman had children. And after retracing her steps, he and Sarevok discovered that her mate had come to avenge her death. I think the ghosts that Rana has been fleeing from are finally beginning to catch up to her. She ran from the guilt as long as she could, lying every step of the way, and now that it's beaten her, she can't bear to face it."
That had come out a bit harsher than she had intended, but she was still angry that Rana had deceived her, deceived them all, about killing that woman.
"But… I thought the bhaalspawn were meant to kill each other? Why would she feel guilty for doing something she's supposed to do?"
"Because murdering one of the lesser ones is unnecessary!" Jaheira snapped. "She didn't do it because she had to, she did it because she wanted to! Then lied about it!"
Chauntia gazed thoughtfully at her for a moment before looking back down at Rana, still lightly stroking her hair.
Yet another one fallen under the girl's influence. Just like Valygar. What is it going to take for them all to see that Rana isn't who she pretends to be? That she's a wolf pretending to be a fox? Underneath that small, cunning facade lies a monster capable of so much more destruction than appearances would have us believe.
"Had I been through what she's been through, I don't think I would have turned out much different. I can't blame her for what she's done. Being cursed by her father and judged for something she has little control over."
Chauntia's words felt like a slap in the face, and Jaheira's ire grew at her impertinence.
"You speak with the naivete of the young and sheltered. There is only so much leeway that can be given for the crimes she has committed. Eventually, she must be held accountable."
"By who?"
"By the gods! By the balance! She may be half-god, but that does not make her above reproach! If the Time of Troubles taught us anything, it's thatno one can escape the consequences of their actions."
The slender woman stared hard at Jaheira, clearly wanting to argue, but whatever counter she was forming in her mind was interrupted by Sarevok entering the room.
He said nothing to either of them as he approached Rana, those bird-of-prey eyes flicking across the bruises and new scars. Appraising her of new weaknesses? Or something else?
She had seen the way he looked at her, and the way that look had subtly shifted over these past few months. He hadn't hidden the rage and jealousy very well in the beginning, but now he was far more guarded, because she was certain he had far more to hide.
She would never have considered he had developed some form of attachment to Rana if she hadn't seen it for herself. Hearing him roar for a healer, Jaheira had rushed into the dining room to find Valygar sweeping the remains of dinner off the table as Sarevok laid her down upon it. His face had been stricken with concern. With fear.
Seeing Rana briefly cradled in his arms, her pale form almost white against his dark skin, had been jarring. His reaction to her hideous wounds, coupled with the amount of times he took watch over her, and stopped by to check on her as he was doing now, forced Jaheira to acknowledge the obvious.
What she didn't know was if the attraction, or whatever it was, was mutual. There had been hints, many of them, but Jaheira had ignored them simply because she never could have conceived of the notion of Rana coming to care about him. But Rana wasn't Rana anymore. The young woman who once sought her advice for obstacles both great and small was now little more than a stranger to her. The old Rana would have never gotten involved with a man like Sarevok, her own half-brother, but then, she never would have allowed his evil to return to this world, either.
Something had happened between the two bhaalspawn, she was sure of it. She still rebelled against the very thought of it, but refusing to see the truth when it was laid bare before her was too dangerous now. She was certain their trip back to the old temple of Bhaal had something to do with it, as well.
Rana's insistence that just she and Sarevok would go there alone had struck Jaheira as wrong, but at the time, she had still been reeling from the revelation of the Harper attack and what Gorion had done to their memories. The organization had been rife with in-fighting during that time, splinter cells breaking off to do what they thought was right during the Time of Troubles. She had heard that some of them had begun targeting the Bhaalspawn children, and that they had been exiled from the Harpers. Or outright hunted down and executed.
That Gorion had been a part of one of those groups was something she still struggled to believe. She didn't doubt that Rana believed it, but she wasn't entirely convinced that Gorion had actually participated in the slaughter of innocent children. After all, he was a Harper until his dying day.
A thought took root in her mind, and she stored it away to be inspected later.
For now, she watched Sarevok stare down at her charge, her eyes narrowed, trying to spot any clue as to what was going on inside his mind.
"There's been no change," Chauntia whispered to him, low enough that it was obvious she did not wish for Jaheira to hear their exchange. "Can you… can you reach her? Like you did before? When she had that nightmare?"
Reach her? What was she talking about?
Sarevok shook his head, his brow furrowing briefly as if annoyed.
"Why not?" The girl asked, easing closer to the warrior, the need for an answer to her question clear on her face.
How the girl dared get that close to him was a mystery to the druid. She seemed utterly unafraid. Surely she wasn't that stupid? To not know what he was? Even if a person didn't know of his history, the aura of malice that poured off of him should have been enough to warn them away.
"Because he's keeping me out," Sarevok eventually replied, so softly that Jaheira almost missed it.
"Who-" Jaheira spoke up, but before she could finish, she was interrupted.
"Get away from her."
Jaheira, Chauntia, and Sarevok turned to see Imoen standing in the doorway, clutching the frame in a white-knuckled grip, her gaze locked on the Deathbringer.
"You stay away from her, Sarevok," Imoen hissed vehemently, just loud enough to hear. "Ever since you crawled out of Hell everything has been going from bad to worse. You've sucked out what good was left in my sister and turned her into a monster like you. I can't force you to leave, but if you so much as touch her one more time… I'll destroy you so completely there won't be anything left of you to come back again."
"Ah, so this is the route you've chosen to take," Sarevok replied, turning to face the girl completely. "You would pretend that I am responsible for everything Rana is and is not. That it's my fault she's not what you want her to be, or what she used to be. By blaming me, you can wash your hands of your own guilt, while at the same time purge the impotent rage brought on by the fact that you haven't been able to protect her as efficiently as she has you."
"Don't try and play your mind games with me! You might have been able to twist her but I see you for what you really are. A coward. A coward who tries to manipulate power from those around you because you can't stand the fact that you're a nobody now!"
"Careful, mageling. Our sister is the only thing standing between me and the rest of you and she's presently unconscious. Don't push it."
"You don't scare me," Imoen whispered back as her hands slowly moved to spell readiness.
Jaheira rose from her seat and stepped forward just enough to get Imoen's attention, making sure not to plant herself directly in the middle, as she was not going to take a hit for Sarevok should the girl attack.
"I know you're upset, child, but this is not the time nor the place for this."
"No, it's way past the time for this, Jaheira," Imoen replied. "If you had any idea what I know about what's been going on between them, you wouldn't be trying to stop me from killing him."
"I do not doubt that at all, but a sick room is not the place you want to be hurling spells. You could hit Rana."
The brief flicker of unconcerned amusement in Imoen's eyes made Jaheira's stomach clench. She needed answers. Now.
"Jaheira, you should-"
The druid didn't let her finish, she just grabbed her by the arm and hauled her out of the room, heading for her own.
"Let me go! What are you doing?!"
"I need to speak with you. You are going to tell me what you know. What you should have told me as soon as you found out."
Slamming her bedroom door closed behind them, she pulled the girl around the face her.
"Tell me what's going on, Imoen."
"This doesn't concern you, Jaheira! I can handle it-"
"Doesn't concern me?! I have lost nearly everything trying to keep you and Rana safe. Rana has repaid that with lies, and you are about to do the same with your secrets!"
"They aren't my secrets," the girl spat.
"Rana's secrets, then. Which are likely going to get us all killed. Tell me what you know, Imoen, so I can help you."
"I don't need your help."
It was nearly the same thing Rana had said to her weeks ago. When she'd wanted to talk to her about that Protection from Evil spell and how it had affected her. She hadn't fought nearly hard enough to get through that thick head of hers, and she was not about to make that mistake a second time. Not with Imoen.
"Listen to me, Imoen," Jaheira hissed, startling the girl with her anger. "One of the many mistakes that Rana has made since this all started, and one I blame myself for letting happen, is her trying to shut everyone out from what she's going through. What the burden of the knowledge of her parentage puts on her. What it's like to live with the taint. By closing herself off, she has inevitably grown lonely. I need to know if my fears are valid. If she's done something terrible because of that loneliness."
Imoen closed her eyes and let out a shaky sigh.
"If you have to ask, then I think you already know."
"I want you to say it."
Imoen huffed out a bitter laugh.
"Fine. You wanna hear the truth? She's been sharing Sarevok's bed. I'm not sure how long, or rather, I'm not sure if this was going on before they went to that temple of Bhaal. Pretty sure it was, or at least something was."
Jaheira swallowed the bile trying to rise up in her throat.
"And that's not all of it," Imoen continued. "She worships Mask now. Not sure how long on that either, but I'm gonna hazard a guess that this started back in Amn. Let's see, what else... Oh! Because of her shared soul with Sarevok, they can speak telepathically to one another. He wants her to ascend, so he can have the favor of a goddess, and while she swears she doesn't plan going through with it, I'm not entirely convinced she won't try and oblige him. She seems to be pretty aware of his manipulations, but either doesn't care about them, or doesn't take them seriously enough."
"I should have known…" Jaheira murmured, staggering away and towards the liquor cabinet.
"Yeah, well, in your defense, it's really hard for anyone to actually imagine, let alone accept, what Rana's been doing."
Pouring herself a glass of wine, and one for Imoen as well, she collapsed into a nearby chair.
"Who else knows?"
"Haer'Dalis, because I told him, and he wasn't at all surprised or concerned, but that's not unusual. Viconia knows, too, and has been helping keep the secret. I don't know of anyone else."
"Valygar knows. He has to. As ardently as he's defended Sarevok's place in this group, and as much as he's sided with Rana in matters I did not expect him to, he has to have known."
"Do you think Keldorn knows?" Imoen asked softly, sitting on the edge of the chair across from her and taking a sip of the wine.
This was, perhaps, the greatest question of all. Does Keldorn know? If so, why hasn't he said anything? Why would he condone this?
"I don't know, but I'm going to ask him," Jaheira stated, draining her wine and rising to her feet, unable to just sit still while all of this roiled in her mind. "In the meantime, keep an eye on Sarevok, but do not approach him as you just did. Do you recall when I told you that he tried to kill me during the drow raid? He's too clever to make a mistake like that again, especially with you, and especially here in this house. But if you lose your temper and strike, it'll be all the justification he needs. Do not give him an excuse to attack you, godchild. If we're to put an end to all this, and him in particular, we need to do this at the right time, and in the right way."
"Fine, but you better plan all this out before Rana wakes up. The sooner we get rid of him, the sooner we can start trying to undo whatever it is he's done to her."
"I agree. I will go and speak with Keldorn. Watch yourself."
Jaheira left the room and strode for the front door, rapidly trying to prepare herself for her talk with the paladin. If there was anyone in this group that would know what to do, it was him. And if he'd been just as blind as she had been, she needed to convince him of how serious, and real, this all was.
Heading into town and toward the mines where Keldorn was taking watch, she steeled herself for the possibility that he had known about Rana's involvement with Sarevok. If that was the case, she would need to make him see that the Deathbringer was beyond any hope of redemption.
Unlike Imoen, however, Jaheira was beginning to think that perhaps Rana was too.
Sarevok
Hands clenched into fists as he paced restlessly inside his bedroom, Sarevok glanced once more out the window, the dying light making him squint as he searched for any sign of Chauntia and Valygar.
Seeing nothing, he snarled out a curse and only just barely refrained from hurling a piece of furniture in his mounting impatience.
For two days he had been unsuccessful in reaching Rana. Two days spent completely blocked out of her mind, not knowing if the Slayer was just about to burst forth, if she was locked inside nightmares, or only the gods knew what else. Or just one god, rather.
He was certain Cyric was behind her coma. There was no other explanation for not being able to peek inside her mind while she slept, or to feel her when he brushed his part of their soul against hers.
Each hour that ticked by with no sign of her waking made his dread deepen. Each time he woke from a brief respite and went to check on her he could almost see the weight slowly dropping from her slim frame. Her cheeks gradually becoming sunken. Her skin paling even further.
She was slipping away, minute by minute, and they were all powerless to stop it. All except one.
A flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye, from the window, had him striding to it to peer into the dusk.
Chauntia and Valygar's forms bled from one shadow to the next, making their way toward the house. With a cloaked form stumbling along behind them.
Unlocking his door, he waited impatiently for them to quietly enter the house and make their way upstairs. When he heard the sound of their footsteps, he opened the door just wide enough for them to slip through before shutting and locking it.
"Where is she?" Winski asked, lowering his hood, his eyes creased with pain and the effort not to wheeze from his hurried trip from the inn.
"In her room right down the hall. Imoen is in there right now. Jaheira left some time ago, which leaves the avariel and the other two rangers here in the house. The rest are in town."
"I'll go see if I can get Imoen to leave the room, I asked Mezoar to set dinner out, so I'll tell her I'll take over watching Rana while she goes downstairs to eat," Chauntia said, shrugging out of her cloak and straightening her braids so as not to look as if she'd just been outside.
"As soon as she leaves, I'll stand guard outside her door and stop anyone if they try to go in. Understand that time is of the essence here," Valygar warned. "This could get ugly if any of the others get suspicious. Or if they spot this guy. I hope you know what you're doing."
As do I.
"Just get me in that room with her," Winski said. "Too much time has passed already, the longer we wait, the lower the probability is that this will work."
"How long do you need?" Sarevok asked him, reaching for his sheathed sword, preparing for the possibility that he might have to incur Rana's unforgiving hatred if any of the others tried to interfere.
"I have no way of knowing just yet. Could be a few minutes. Could be hours."
"We don't have hours," Valygar growled. "Someone, likely Imoen, will want to see her by then."
"Then you need to be asking yourself whose life is more important: Rana's or theirs," Winski replied.
"I'm going now," Chauntia cut in before the ranger could answer. "Pray I can get Imoen to go away first."
The girl slipped back out of the room and Sarevok locked it behind her before leaning against the frame to listen. Valygar joined him, head cocked for the sound of Imoen going downstairs.
"Who is this guy, by the way?"
"My old mentor, previously thought to have been dead. Rana's old companions will recognize him and attack on sight."
"I figured it was something complicated like that," the ranger sighed. "For once, couldn't we do something that doesn't require secrecy? I'm gonna ask Rana for a raise after this."
"Assuming Winski is successful. Because if he's not, you'll likely never get the chance to," Sarevok murmured gravely.
Valygar met his eyes, a shared look passing between them. An acknowledgement. An understanding.
"I'll keep them out," Valygar promised quietly. "By any means necessary. You just wake her up."
Footsteps in the hall made them all tense. They waited until the sound of Imoen heading downstairs dwindled to nothing. After another minute, Valygar opened the door, went to the bannister to make sure no one was up and about, then signaled for them to move.
Pulling Winski behind him, Sarevok walked past the ranger and into Rana's room, locking the door before turning to the bed.
Laying on her side, half curled around a pillow, she looked like a porcelain doll against the red sheets of her large bed. Rook poked his head up from his spot in her hair, mewing despondently at them as they approached. Gently extracting the kitten, he handed it off to Chauntia who hovered nearby.
Winski pulled a chair right up to the side of the bed and began peeling off his gloves, revealing the blackened veins beneath his paper thin skin. Sarevok wanted to protest to him touching her, out of fear for the disease he carried, but forced himself to remain silent, trusting that the mage had been right about the curse not being contagious.
"What do you want me to do?" He asked the man.
"Stay close. And if this works, and she wakes, remember what we talked about. If Rana is ever to have even the slightest hope of living a life resembling normalcy, Bhaal must be returned. Cyric will not stop until she is dead, even if she somehow rids herself of her divinity. Remember."
"Why bring this up now? What does-"
"And be silent!" Winski snapped, closing his eyes as his fingers lightly touched Rana's forehead with one hand, and her chest with the other.
Sarevok looked down at the old man.
Emotions too complicated and varied raced through him, and he found himself seizing upon hope the hardest. Not just for Rana, but for Winski, as well.
Imoen
Stepping outside, her belly full of seared salmon and roasted potatoes, Imoen began to meander among the massive trees surrounding the Rookery. Once she found the worn, moss-covered boulder that she'd discovered some time ago, she plopped down and withdrew a pipe from her pocket. Stuffing it with fragrant herbs, and taking a glance around to make sure she was alone, she conjured up a small gout of flame to light it.
Inhaling deeply, she slumped a little and closed her eyes, savoring the momentary solitude and giddiness brought on by the mixture.
Her sweet bard had introduced this particular blend to her a couple of weeks ago, and she sought out the brief moments she could indulge a little when she began to feel overwhelmed by everything happening around her. These moments had become much more frequent since Rana had begun widening the gulf between them.
She knew she should be up there, watching over her sister, instead of Chauntia doing it, but watching her sleep, with the weight of Rana's plummet from grace bearing down on her, was stifling.
Just a few more minutes… she told herself, taking another drag on the pipe.
"Imoen?"
Jumping to her feet, the pipe dropping from her hands, Imoen spun around, arms raised, words of power ready at her lips, and searched the darkness for the feminine voice.
"Who's there? Show yourself! Don't think I won't start throwing fireballs!"
Melissan stepped out of the shadows, hands raised placatingly.
"Please, I don't want any trouble. I've been waiting till you were alone so I could speak with you."
Imoen's surprise at seeing the woman instantly turned to suspicion.
"Shouldn't it be Rana you wanna talk to? Why have you been skulking around in the shadows waiting for me?"
"Because, if the rumors are even half true, I'm afraid that approaching Ilyrana will only result in violence."
"Rumors? I think you got more to worry about than that, lady. That map you had Balthazar give us? Well it sucked. It omitted a lot of pertinent information, like the existence of this very town, for instance, and the location of Sendai. Oh! And we conveniently got followed by Balthazar's mercenaries and herded into a death trap, where Abazigal's forces then surrounded us. So, if you thought you could come here and appeal to my better grasp on sanity, and good natured charm, rather than deal with Rana's lack of the above, then whoo buddy you got another thing coming."
Melissan's lips quirked, and she made an obvious show of schooling her features. Amusement, and something deeper, shined in her cerulean eyes.
"Forgive me, child. I'm afraid I wasn't expecting you to be quite this… spunky."
"You really shoulda done your homework, then," Imoen snorted.
"Indeed. May I… sit with you out here? Or would you feel more comfortable speaking somewhere else?"
"I never said I even wanted to talk to you."
Imoen was nervous about this encounter. On the one hand, Melissan had done little to engender goodwill, and her timely appearances, coupled with her bleeding heart goal of helping the bhaalspawn, made her all kinds of suspicious. Not that Imoen didn't agree with the woman's mission, but she'd never met a person who didn't harbor at least some kinda hatred, disgust, or homicidal feelings towards bhaalspawn in general.
However, she found herself itching with curiosity. And the fact that Melissan appeared to know so little about her, made her feel as if she held most of the cards.
"That's true," Melissan conceded. "I can offer no reassurances that my purpose for being here is benign, at least none that you would find convincing just yet. I only ask that you hear me out, and you can take or leave what I have to say. You need only raise your voice and summon the wrath of your companions to bring down upon me should you feel threatened. I will not harm you, I came only to talk."
The sincerity in her voice, and the earnestness in her freckled face, eased some of the tension in Imoen's shoulders, even as she struggled to remain guarded. There was something about her that made Imoen want to trust her.
"Alright… if you try any funny business, though, I'll Maze you. And by the time you find your way back here to this plane, you won't like what's waiting for you. Understand?"
"Perfectly."
Slowly, Melissan approached the rock and gingerly sat down, smoothing her traveler's robes beneath her, and looked up at Imoen while patting the space beside her.
Looking down into the woman's upturned face, the light dusting of freckles across her snub nose and cheeks, and the long auburn hair that she absently tucked behind her ears, Imoen found herself wondering how old she was. Older than herself, certainly, there were faint lines around her eyes, something she could only notice now that they were near each other. But how much older was impossible to tell in the moonlight.
Plopping back down on the boulder, she bent down to retrieve her pipe, never taking her eyes off the other mage.
"Uh, you want some?" She asked her, offering the herbs she had just relit.
"No, thank you," Melissan smiled. "I'm afraid that particular blend would leave me snoring here on this rock. Valerian root and lavender, right? There's another fragrance that I don't quite recognize, though."
"Blue lotus," Imoen supplied.
"Ah, yes. Might I ask why you're smoking all that?"
"No, you said you came here to talk, so talk."
Besides, she's a mage just like me, she should know what each of these herbs do. Or maybe she's just trying to be polite? Or test my knowledge?
"Okay," Melissan exhaled, putting her hands on her knees, and pursing her lips. "Where to begin…"
"The beginning is usually a good place to, you know, begin."
Melissan cast her a sideways look, then huffed out a small laugh.
"I suppose you're right. Well, I'd like to start then with an apology for the map Balthazar gave to Ilyrana. When I asked him to give you all one that was up to date, I'm afraid I didn't take his paranoia seriously enough. He is, as I'm sure you'll understand, a very cautious individual."
"Cautious?" Imoen choked out, coughing as she drew her pipe away from her lips. "He's got a mercenary army camped out in his town, draining dry the locals he's supposed to be caring for! And then he sent some of said army after us and herded us into Abazigal's son's trap! Which, by the way, seems like an especially shitty thing to do for a monk, allying with a dragon like that."
"I'm afraid that's not quite accurate. Balthazar sent those mercenaries after you mostly to spy, and to take out your group if you caused any trouble in the region. I'm afraid they, too, were cut down by the mercenaries belonging to Abazigal's son, Draconis. What few survived reported back what had happened, and once I'd heard, I set out to find you."
"Okay, but that still doesn't excuse the way he's been treating his own people. Also, why would that dragon's army kill Balthazar's? Aren't they on the same side?"
Melissan blinked at her.
Yeah, betcha didn't know we already figured out that Balthazar is one of us. Kinda hard to hide an aura like that, even for a monk.
"I see you've already deduced that Balthazar is your half-brother. As well as one of the Five?"
While that second part had been suspected, it was good to have it confirmed.
"Yep," was all Imoen replied, trying to maintain the illusion that she already knew more than she was letting on, but unable to resist smirking.
"Well, he is and isn't part of the Five," Melissan sighed.
"Huh?" Now it was Imoen's turn to blink stupidly. "Whaddya mean 'is and isn't'?"
"Despite your initial impression of him, Balthazar is a good man. Before he joined the Five, he was as benevolent a ruler of Amkethran as any could be. Being a bhaalspawn, however, meant he would ultimately be forced to make some hard choices. The mercenary army at his disposal being one of them. While they may be unpalatable, they are necessary in providing a show of force, as well as protecting the town should one of his kin show up."
"Okaaaaay, but why would another bhaalspawn attack him? I would think being the member of a prestigious murder club would be enough to discourage anyone from messing with him. Unless… they're there to protect him from the rest of the Five?"
"Yes. You see, Imoen… it was I who formed the Five. And I recruited Balthazar for the very purpose of eventually destroying it."
"What?! Okay, lady, you better explain yourself real quick. The Five are after Rana, so you sicced them on her, on us, and you've been claiming to want to help the bhaalspawn. Manipulating us to kill each other isn't helping!"
"Please, let me explain. Bhaal sired scores of children, the exact number known only to him. Assuming he kept count, of course. Like most offspring, not all received the same genetic traits. While all are tainted, not all were born with the same amount of taint. Some are barely bhaalspawn at all, like yourself. Others are very much demi-gods in their own right."
"Like Rana. And Sarevok. And the Five? Okay, makes sense… but explains nothing about what you're trying to pull."
"I do not believe that those who possess so miniscule an amount of their father's tainted essence should be held accountable for that which they had no say in being born into. Those who desire only to lead out normal lives. So many have died already, I do not think they all should die, do you?"
"No, but the Prophecy-"
"Says only that 'chaos will be sown from their passing.' Nowhere does it say that every one of his mortal progeny has to die. There has been extensive studying and theorizing, but none of us know of the whole meaning behind it. Prophecies tend to be vague. I cannot sit idly by while innocent people are being persecuted for the simple fact that they, like us, did not get to choose who, or what, their father is."
"So… when you said you formed the Five and planned to destroy it in the end…"
"Illasera, Yaga-shura, Sendai, and Abazigal were all 'blessed' with considerably more power than the others. They are also irredeemably evil. By bringing them together, and telling them I plan to help them bring Bhaal back, so that they may gain his favor and become even more powerful, I was able to contain them for a time. While they sat around, mistrusting one another while gathering together their armies in preparation for Bhaal's return, I was able to get their weaker brethren out of the line of fire."
"Until you gathered hundreds of them up in Saradush to be slaughtered by Yaga-shura."
"What happened to Saradush will haunt me forever, Imoen," Melissan snapped, eyes glistening. "Understand, somewhere along the way I lost control of the Five. Their paranoia of one another, and impatience for their father's return, made them restless. I had hoped that Ilyrana, one whom I had heard great things of, could stop Yaga-shura, or at the very least bring Gromnir around to mount an offensive. I was wrong. Those bhaalspawn that I had tried to save by sending them to hide behind Saradush's walls… their blood is on my hands. I know this."
"You didn't mention Balthazar. Is he not also one of the stronger ones?" Imoen asked, changing the subject, as watching Melissan grapple with her guilt made her uncomfortable.
"He is. He has also been training as a monk of Selune his entire life. Unlike the rest of the Five, he has contained his evil, rather than revelling in it. He feels, as I do, that destroying the strongest of Bhaal's children will be enough to stop their father's return. To end this war. With far less casualties than if Bhaal returns to challenge Cyric for his throne."
"But he is one of the strongest, too. Doesn't that mean…"
"Yes," Melissan sighed, closing her eyes for a moment before continuing, her sorrow making her seem even older. "He must die, too. He knows this. He is ready to do what must be done to save this world from testing itself apart."
Imoen wrapped her arms around her stomach, feeling suddenly very small.
And very ill as her mind took the next logical step.
"And… Rana?"
Melissan turned to look fully at her, her eyes soft.
"I heard the tales of Ilyrana of Candlekeep. How she stopped a war between Amn and Baldur's Gate by killing her half-brother, the mastermind behind it. How she saved the town of Tradesmeet. And Suldanessellar. And countless people. I've also heard that the woman who performed these amazing feats is not the same as she is today. I must ask you, child, does your sister wish to bring your father back? Or does she hope to follow in her brother's footsteps and attempt to ascend instead?"
"I… I don't know anymore," Imoen whispered. "She never wanted any of this. Only to do whatever she pleased, away from gods and the games they play. But… ever since Sarevok came back…"
"It is as I feared. Imoen, you must listen to me. It is not her fault. I've watched so many others struggle with the taint. Only Balthazar has been able to keep his in check. And for one as powerful as she, it is no surprise that she can't beat it."
"She was beating it! She was doing… well, not great but certainly better than she is now! And it's all his fault! Sarevok. Something's going to be done about him, and when it is, I'm going to get her back. Help her fight this."
Melissan studied her long after her tirade faded.
"Imoen… even if you're right, even if Ilyrana can come back from all this, she still possesses a potent amount of the taint."
"So, what? She has to die? Is that what you're saying?! I should fry you for even-"
"Child, I do not expect you to choose between family and strangers. I do not ask that you choose the lives of thousands of innocents over the love you bear for your sister."
"Then what are you trying to say? You said the strongest have to die!"
"I also said that I do not think she can beat this," Melissan murmured. "Forgive me, child, but I think you will see that, as time goes on, Ilyrana cannot come back from the damage the taint has wrought in her. Even if she still clings to the desire for a normal life, and does not plan to try and take the throne for herself, there are those who will wish to use her. Many of Bhaal's followers are still loyal to him. Deathstalkers, they call themselves. If any of them get to her, and convince her that she can end this, without dying or ascending, by bringing Bhaal back… Imoen, if Bhaal returns, many of his former allies, other gods, will rally to him. It will spark yet another war, and it will make the bloodshed that this war has brought about look mild in comparison."
It felt like someone was sucking the very air out of the night around her. Imoen took a deep breath, her heart thundering, her stomach in knots, the adrenaline now pumping through her veins seemed to burn the soothing calmness of her herbs away.
"Rana would never want to bring him back," she whispered to herself, her gorge rising as she realized how unsure she sounded.
"Sweetheart… she may think she has little choice," Melissan replied, laying a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry, it was not my desire to upset you like this, but I wanted you to be prepared for what may lay ahead."
"Why? Why me?"
Melissan's hand drifted over her back, rubbing away some of the tension.
"I had thought that Ilyrana was the one to help put a stop to all this. Forgive me, I did not think about what her death would do to you… or the others that follow and care for her. My goal is to end this war as quickly as possible. To save as many lives as I can. I believe now that I was wrong. It is you, Imoen. You, who does not embrace the evil in your blood. Who, I think, wants this to end just as I do."
Imoen shrugged off the woman's hand and tightened her arms around her stomach.
"I think you should go."
Melissan stiffened beside her, but after a moment, she rose.
"Think on what I have told you. Think hard on how very different your sister is now compared to when she was in Candlekeep. Think of the innocents. I understand this is difficult. Believe me, I do understand. Take this. If you decide you want to help me, if Ilyrana does something that shows you I may be right, use its power and I will come to you. Until then… farewell, child."
Pressing a small talisman into Imoen's palm, Melissan turned and disappeared into the night.
Leaving Imoen alone with a helpless anguish that threatened to tear her apart.
Rana
There was the sound of a heavy thump, followed by Sarevok's voice, as Rana began to slowly peel her eyes open.
She felt weak, her muscles stiff, and just trying to roll onto her back from where she was laying on her side felt exhausting.
"She's awake! Oh, thank the gods!"
Chauntia. From somewhere nearby. Rana looked up at her as she struggled to sit up.
"Where…" coughing, her throat dry and her voice cracking, Rana struggled to speak. "Where am I?"
Chauntia's reply was lost as Rana noticed Sarevok kneeling beside her bed, looking down at something. Leaning over, she saw Winski asleep on the floor.
No… not asleep.
Memories of the dream, her last just before waking, assailed her. Stuck in the shadows with only Cyric's whispers. Her mother's whispers. Gorion's. Everyone she'd ever known.
Then another voice came, shouting from the darkness, loud and commanding, so that she couldn't discern who it belonged to at first, as it was so different from the last time she'd heard him. Before, it had been weak and raspy. In the dream he had sounded strong.
Winski Perorate.
"Flee, Ilyrana! Follow the voice of your father! It's the only way to escape him!"
But she hadn't been hearing her father? That is, not until Winski's voice summoned him. Booming like thunder instead a cavern, Bhaal roared his challenge. At first, she had thought he was challenging her. So she'd shrunk even further into herself, trying to escape him. Escape them both. Bhaal and Cyric.
It was only when Cyric turned his attention from her, shrieking out his answer to the challenge, did she understand. Running through the inky corridors of her mind, hands over her ears to block out the bellowings inside her head, emanating from all around her, she had no idea where she was going. She thought this would be the end. The agony of the volume of their voices would be her undoing, she was sure.
"You're almost there! Keep going!" Winski had shouted, sounding as if he'd yelled the words directly into her ear in order to be heard.
So she continued to stumble through the darkness, heading towards her father's voice, certain that, at any moment, their screaming would rip her mind, her soul, apart.
When she felt like she could go no further, the rage blossomed. Enfolding her in familiar burning fury, she collapsed, savoring the sweetness of the feeling.
It had felt like she'd been drowning Cyric's illusions. In her dreams. Like she'd truly gone mad. Lying there, lost inside her head, but no longer alone with the Dark Sun, she breathed in the feel of her father's presence.
"DO WHAT MUST BE DONE, MY DAUGHTER. BRING ME BACK. AND WE WILL END HIM."
She didn't reply. She didn't know what to say; couldn't convey in a few sentences how she felt about any of this.
"Ilyrana…"
Winski's voice again. Weaker now, it sounded like it did before, when Sarevok took her to talk to him.
"Ilyrana… tell Sarevok that I'm… proud of him."
Tell him yourself, she'd thought irritably, as she'd slowly begun to waken, the outside world drawing her attention away from the battlefield inside her mind.
"In my room… at the inn… I left books. And a letter. Bring your father back to life, Ilyrana. So that you, too, may finally live…"
Gazing down now at Winski, she realized what he had done for her. He'd given his life to distract Cyric in order for her to escape, utilizing the ties to her father to connect them, just enough, for Bhaal to lash out against the one who had killed him. It had been a feeble strike, a wasp sting if that, but Cyric had responded immediately to his predecessor's presence.
She didn't know if the strain of bridging the gap between the Abyss and her mind was what had sealed Winski's fate. Or if Cyric had struck him down.
Sarevok finally looked up at her.
"He's dead," he said, voice devoid of emotion, as if he were telling her the time.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, her throat still scratchy. "He told me… to tell you that he was proud of you."
Sarevok's face didn't change, but the hand on Winski's arm tightened visibly.
"Are you alright?" He asked her after a moment.
She wondered how many times now he'd asked her that question after something not alright had happened.
"Fine," she answered, both knowing it was a lie.
He nodded, then looked back down at his mentor.
His robes had come loose in the fall, revealing clammy gray skin and veins black as pitch. It was the same for his hands and forearms.
"Melissan cursed him," Sarevok rumbled. "He had but a few weeks left at best. I think he knew that this would kill him. And still he chose to burn himself out saving you rather than being consumed by his affliction."
She was still angry at Sarevok about before. About his wanting to bring Bhaal back so that he could have some kind of power. And she was angry that Winski had made that kind of sacrifice for her, even as she was grateful. But, in light of everything, Rana put that aside for now, and reached for him, weakly laying her hand on his arm. Without looking at her, he brushed his fingers over the top of her hand, barely enough to feel, then put his arms beneath Winski and rose, lifting the lifeless body as he went.
"I'll bury him. In the woods. Before someone comes in here and sees."
Without another word, Sarevok went to the door, and gently rapped it with his knuckles. Valygar opened it from the other side and immediately looked over at Rana, his eyes welling briefly when their gazes met. His relief at seeing her awake was palpable. He raised a hand, and she did the same, before he whispered something to Sarevok.
Rana watched him leave, with Winski's body clutched tightly in his arms.
Rook climbed into her lap as Chauntia sat down beside her. Absently stroking the kitten's gray fur, she stared blankly at the far wall, absorbed in thought.
Winski had been right. Cyric would never stop hunting her. Her and every other bhaalspawn. His place was threatened while any of them survived.
Keeping her locked inside her head, unable to call for help, he'd danced through her memories, lingering on his favorites, which happened to be Rana's most hated. He'd asked her to worship him again. Many times. And each time she declined, his hooks sank deeper, until her every previous thought and desire had been open to him.
She had been sure she was going to die like that. Wasting away in her bed, her body slowly starving to death, as her mind was picked apart like carrion.
Now, though…
Being forced to relive her guilt, her shame, her fears, her worst nightmares, as Cyric brought each one forth for commentary, had ignited something in her. Fueled by the feeling of being near her father, or his echo, or whatever that had been, and now the sacrifice Winski had made in trying to get her away from Cyric, she was ready.
Alright father, if you really think you can take him… then I'll bring you back.