In times of change, learners inherit the Earth, while
the learned find themselves beautifully equipped to
deal with a world that no longer exists. - Eric Hoffer
CHAPTER THREE
A Meaningful Vision
Some walls were blue, others were green. Some were red like blood and others were black like the deepest voids one could imagine. Some had no color of their own at all and they stole the colors of things around them with insatiable hunger, making it seem as if they were openings, not walls. Vendice knew their tricks now and was no longer trying to pass through them. She didn't trust them like she didn't trust herself, for they were alike; none had a base of their own, and both stole from all else – a bard, a jack-of-all-trades, was in no small amount just like the color-borrowing wall. She simply remained there in the middle, determined to never come out again.
After all, the place held unspeakable beauty. It was a huge room with a bolted ceiling of glass through which one could see the azure sky and the ever-changing white clouds, and with a floor of smooth marble against which the boots gave hollow sounds. The bard was wearing a dress of the finest elvish make; silk flowed around her in folds and ribbons and formed a mix whose entanglement she could not work out with her simple eyes, for each element was lost within the next. Her arms were left bare and fair-skinned and now possessed the grace of a princess, no longer just moving, but floating as the fingers played with the multi-colored waters of the fountain; she sat on the edge of it and looked at the circlets she caused to scatter and the images they formed. And, most important of all, she had wings; big, rich, resplendent white wings with feathers softer than those of any bird known to human and elven and any other kinds alike.
And still...
The exit is over there.
The voice wouldn't let her be lost here forever, inside her own revelry in the dreamland she had weaved amidst the walls. Finally, she ruled over something, she had a place to call her own. She had turned prison into paradise, yet the pesky little resident in her head was not satisfied; it wanted out of there.
Some twenty paces away, it reminded her again. All you have to do is stand and walk to it.
"It's not an exit," murmured Vendice and the thin, pale lips barely moved to utter those words, much more content to remain smiling absently. "Just another of those walls..."
One of them is not a wall.
Vendice knew that, though it hadn't been proven. But wasn't there always a way out of anywhere, as long as the person in question was willing to try and find it? "We can go later," she said quietly, while her finger twirled a new circle through the waters, causing a rain of other ripples to flow forth from it, one by one. Their regularity and precision fascinated her.
There will not be a 'later', it warned insistently. Can't you see the waters growing?
And only then did Vendice notice that her once-white dress was soaked in color and its fabric stuck to her hips and thighs, as the fountain began to spill its waters above the edge, on the floor. They fell with a splash and began to creep along an insanely slow-moving course; when their tumult reached the walls, it began to build, and slowly its overall level grew and liquid flooded her quality shoes.
Even paradise collapses when it comes to you.
Indeed, it seemed to be that way. Nowhere was safe for her, not even Candlekeep, the dullest of places. If home wasn't safe, then where could she find the peace she needed?
It isn't peace that you need, Vendice. On contrary.
The girl stood, causing the folds of the dress that were still dry to fall into the water at her feet, while the rest continued to cling to her skin and make her moves more difficult. It all felt somewhat surreal and time itself appeared to be passing by so slowly... like an hourglass whose grains of sand have established order and are falling into the lower quadrant one by one. Everything floated around her, as if liquid had already swallowed it.
These waters will swallow you. No matter where you run, they will follow; and nothing can stop so much water.
"How... do you know all of this?" asked Vendice, but even her voice sounded like the mere reflection of the melodic qualities it possessed, a thing that was waning along with all else around it. She raised a hand and stared at it, mesmerized by its fragrance... its transparency. Existence itself was letting go of the bard, stripping her of her color to give more to the hungry waters, though they had enough already.
One chance, the voice announced. Of all, it alone had not lost a single bit of its strength. One chance to guess which of the colorless portions isn't really a wall.
There were only two left now, as the others had grown their own color; or maybe there had never been more than that. Vendice didn't remember a thing right now. It was ironic, the way life went: always two possibilities that excluded each other were the strongest and yet none could clearly and completely be dismissed. Choosing meant taking a risk; it meant inability to go back and the wonder of what would have truly happened if the other had been chosen instead of the one that actually had. But no one could bring back the past.
"But I have wings!" something in her rebelled when she spoke next. "I can fly over the walls and escape without having to choose."
It is not wings you have, but an illusion meant to trick you. There is no easy way, Vendice. Ever. You must learn responsibility.
"The waters cannot rise up into the air with me," she stubbornly continued to object.
No. But neither can you fly upwards. The only direction your wings fly in, Vendice, is down, straight into their arms. Your only destination is the Abyss if you do not learn.
The bard sighed. "Then teach me," she accepted.
Choose the one to the left.
Vendice began to walk, though her steps were clumsy and insecure and the folds of her dress floated on top of the already knee-high water, while the train had sunk already, hindering her efforts. It seemed like ages until she could wind her way to the left patch of transparent, color-stealing wall and look through it into a world with trees and grass and hills and a horizon that was far away and unreachable. All looked so peaceful beyond the edge of her little prison, so quiet and unsuspecting of the turmoil in her world. And the waters grew, and grew, and grew around her...
"No."
The bard steeled herself to speak the word clearly, to utter its every syllable with a decision that could not be moved. The only response of the voice was a snicker and then she felt it hide, slink back into the depths of her mind. But a moment of hesitation could cost her more than she would be able to imagine in this timeless, distorted space; and so she went away, to stare into the other wall, the one to the right. From its abysmal depth of swirling mists and fogs, two glowing orbs of yellow stared back at her and burned through her flesh as if their fire was material. Without feeling and thought, Vendice walked right into them, and though the water threw itself at her with furious, foam-filled waves, she was unstoppable in her decision.
The woman had already lost count of the time she had spent in vigil, by the light of a single candle to stand against the night, when the young Vendice, the ward of Gorion, finally stirred. Her silent guardian shifted in her chair and her head rose to point a pair of attentive eyes at the girl that lay on the bed. The bard had been still as a statue and silent as a grave; one had to listen very carefully to realize her heart still did pump blood through her veins and that she still breathed. Now, that she had moved, she also drew in a mouthful of air, which she let out slowly, before she groaned.
"You are safe, child," said the woman's impartial, calm voice and her strong accent left its traces as surely as a stone would leave a mark in the surface upon hitting a wall.
The prone bard's eyes came open in one sudden moment and stared at her with some odd mix – distress and relief, two contrary feelings in a constant report of shifting domination. "Who are you?" she asked in the coarse voice of one whose throat is dry and tense. And hers probably was the case.
"My name is Jaheira," answered the woman, then she began to explain, slow enough for her to understand. "Khalid and I recognized you, though you were very little when we saw you with Gorion. He wrote about you often."
"The... Friendly... Arm," Vendice mumbled at the edge of coherence. She took a break and inhaled deeply, with a hunger for air similar to one who had been drowning in the ocean and found the surface again. "You are the friends he told me to meet here."
Now, given the time to supposedly recover and come to her senses fully, the bard took a moment to examine the one she spoke to. Jaheira was a woman with slightly tanned skin and light brown hair, whose countenance was balanced and exhibited nothing special; even the dark eyes were dull, though some sort of momentarily appeased fire did burn in them. She bore small scars here and there, of recent origins; nothing that wouldn't heal in a while. Whatever feminine forms she may have possessed were clad in leather and thus made nearly indistinguishable, but Vendice's expert eye was sure the woman had them. The impression she made on the bard, in general, was of one who sought to control even the smallest of her gestures and to always maintain her calm resolve.
"I was not aware of that," replied Jaheira, cutting her off from any more scouring. "The circumstances by which you ended up in my care were coincidental."
Vendice tried not to show that the permanently even and collected tone was a bit frustrating for one such as her, whose feelings were strong and whose imagination and eccentricity went far beyond normal boundaries. "I remember I fought some ... mage ..."
Jaheira sat up and walked to the window, pulling away the thick curtain that covered it. That didn't do much good, though, because the glass was fogged with condensed water. "Your companions have said so, though you should ask them for details, not me," advised the calm woman. "Be careful if you come out of bed; we called the local cleric for your severe injury, but your head may still throb."
"Now you tell me," muttered Vendice, who had already attempted to move and was now sitting on the bed's edge, with a spinning room all around her. A spiral of pain raked its way on the inside of her head, from one temple to another and back.
Jaheira turned her head, face now endowed with a small, serious frown, but did not seem to mind the thorns in the bard's remark any more than that. "You will find us downstairs," she said rather coolly, then turned again and went out the door, causing the least possible noise.
Eventually, Vendice managed to pull herself together and recall what had happened, though she did sigh and groan in abundance. "I need to practice some dueling," she told herself when she stood and began to stretch, as much as the armor that no one had bothered to remove allowed her stiff muscles to strain and relax again. She felt filthier than ever and everything in her body ached; some parts of her, probably where there had been broken bones, still felt insecure and her walk was clumsy.
Here she was; she had reached Gorion's friends and was supposed to enlist their help in doing what exactly? She did not know where to start, who the armored figure she needed to find was and why he took any interest in her, what... right, she knew nothing at all. "Where's the voice, anyway?" she mumbled to herself, and then waited for a snide comment of sorts. But it failed to arrive.
She thought losing the little voice would be quite a relief to her; it wasn't. It only made her feel like she wasn't herself anymore. Her only answer to this dilemma for the moment was a light shrug, performed right before she exited the small chamber and walked across the large sitting room toward the stairs. She came down into a frenzy of light and voices, of people and music, of agitation and smells of all kinds. The only other tavern Vendice had ever seen, Winthrop's, was by far quieter than this one and the opulence of activity stunned her.
"Vendice!" Imoen's voice called to her from the right and the young redhead darted from her seat straight into the bard's arms, hugging her tightly.
The only reply was composed of a muffled, unintelligible sound and a weak response to the hug. When Imoen let go of her, Vendice took a few moments to catch her breath. "Let me see," she said. "You startled me, you choked me and now you expect a good word, or what?" With a chuckle, she winked and then slipped past her, toward the table where Jaheira sat with a half-elven man, the both of them ostentatiously distanced from Montaron, and Xzar.
The rogue grinned with characteristic slyness and followed in quick steps, reaching up to Vendice and rounding her arm with one of her own; all in all, they looked like two friends who had been drinking and were now acting a bit more freely. The bard assumed that the man Jaheira looked so familiar with was Khalid; he was very much alike the woman, but more the slender type, even clad in his armor plates as he currently appeared. His features were of the elegant kind of all half-elves, though unable to match those of pure-blooded elves, and he displayed the characteristic finesse in movement; though admittedly something did look out of place – the fearful way he stared at his surroundings.
The both of them stopped by the table and Imoen studied Vendice's smirk for a moment, before realizing irony or sarcasm was on its way.
"Well, well," the bard began with nonchalance. "I'm absolutely delighted to see you've all formed such bonds of friendship."
Three pairs of eyes were fixed on her at the same time, while Xzar continued to stare at the bald head of some man in his view range. Jaheira and Khalid had the countenances of mentors whose apprentice had just made a grave mistake and Vendice knew that, if she should choose to remain in their company, they would no doubt do more than stare. Maybe that was just what she needed for the time being.
Montaron broke all of them out of their little game when he slammed a piece of paper down against the table's surface. "We looted the mage that attacked ye," he said gruffly. "An' we found this."
Ignoring the new distrustful glances that Jaheira was exchanging with Khalid, Vendice brought herself down to pour onto what appeared to be a carefully scribbled note. Soon after she had begun reading, she felt part of Imoen's weight heaving down on her as the girl peered over her shoulder. They were looking at what appeared to be a bounty offer, with Vendice as the target.
"Delightful," remarked the bard in a dry voice, waiting for Imoen to get off her back.
"What is it, child?" demanded Jaheira immediately, giving her a grave stare.
"Someone's payin' good money to see Vendice dead," said Imoen while pulling away and somehow she managed to sound as if she were proud of her friend's worth, more than she was concerned for her safety.
What? Bounty? Well, that should be entertaining!
The voice was back; Vendice could hardly hide her relief behind the expression of concern she had been forced to adopt. She knew that it would probably be better if the voice went away, but she had grown up with it and change came by with difficulty when it was about things so interred into one's habit. "So the mage I stabbed – was he a bounty hunter?" she asked.
"I dunno about 'bounty hunter'," said Imoen from behind her. "But he sure wanted the money."
"It was easy enough killin' him," agreed Montaron. "An' he was broke."
"He had some spell scrolls," interjected Xzar, turning to face his friend and the two girls with an air of absorbed self-importance and a tone to match it. The next moment, he was looking away again and humming.
Meanwhile, the note had passed on to Jaheira and Khalid, who had been reading it carefully. When they were done, their eyes came back to rest on Vendice. Both of their expressions were at their gravest and the bard bit her lip in order not to chuckle. The two formed quite the pair, she had to admit; they were just like she had always imagined a pair of married parents would be.
"Child," began Jaheira firmly. "You need to take this seriously."
Then, for the first time since the bard had arrived, Khalid spoke. "It would be a p-proper service to Gorion if we t-traveled with you until you got s-settled."
A pretentious-looking half-elf babbling? That was quite enough for Vendice to forget her manners, if she had ever possessed any in the first place, and begin to laugh. She only controlled herself when it was too late for anything other than a clumsy coughing fit that cast an only too transparent veil over her true first reaction. Khalid lowered his eyes to the table in front of him, while Jaheira's own flickered and the fires Vendice had previously seen in them grew.
"If I didn't know Gorion well," the woman pressed the words forth. "You would be giving his memory a bad name to me."
"I'm talented," answered Vendice and gave a small shrug.
"It's q-quite... alright," managed a rather choked Khalid, right before flushing and probably overwhelming the impulse to hide under the table.
"No, it is not!" snapped Jaheira, as much as she could. A more proper description would be that her voice rose enough for the change to be perceptible and to subdue everyone's attention, Xzar included. "We should be discussing serious matters and instead we are all acting like children Vendice's age."
"I apologize," the bard muttered darkly. "And for the record, I'm twenty, not... sixteen or something."
She shook her head and gave a sigh, then turned her back on the table and, refusing to hear whatever heated discussion erupted behind, she scanned the room. Everywhere, humans, dwarves, gnomes and elves were enjoying their late evening – drinking, swapping rumors and singing along with the present wandering troupe in the corner were common activities. In the middle of the room, space had been made for those who wished to dance and several pairs were giving it a try; by the looks of it, none of them really knew each other, but they were having fun anyway.
Yes, the voice agreed with her thought. You should be there.
"No one wants to dance with a girl that is filthy and has a bunch of people watching over her," she grumbled in response. "Guess I'm stuck with the boring lot."
The bard whipped a turn back toward her newly assembled band and whistled; it effectively cut off anything they were quarreling about this time. "Right," she began, while her eyes darted from one to the other. "Tomorrow morning I'm leaving this place. With or without any of you."
Protests ensued, but she was deaf to all of them and simply began to walk back for the stairs. The only one that followed, after a moment of hesitation, was Imoen; she caught up with her friend and circled her arm in a clingy fashion. "Lemme show you the room I rented for us," she said.
At least the rogue was cheerful, as always. Vendice smiled to her complacently and relaxed, giving her the lead of both their steps. "Perhaps I'll manage to at least clean my hair," the bard said with a heavy sigh. "I swear, this hasn't even begun well and I'm already sick of it."
Imoen looked away and fiddled with Vendice's sleeve as they began to climb the stairs. "Yanno..." she started on a tentative tone. "I managed to pocket a few of those scrolls on my own. Mebeh we can learn a spell or two?"
"Right," snickered Vendice. "We'll make the most powerful spellcasters in the world overnight."
"I was being serious about that, Vendice," Imoen insisted. "I looked at 'em. I really think I can learn the simple spells if I try hard."
"Well..." the half-elf took the first step on the path of being persuaded. "Most bards can also pull off a spell or two... Maybe we could ask that lunatic mage we have for some help?"
Imoen snickered; somehow, Vendice knew she wouldn't like what was to follow. "Ya sure seemed to like the mage when you were acting crazy," the rogue said nodding.
The bard shrugged. "You know... I really don't remember what I did."
I do. It was fun. 'I'm sure it was,' Vendice's mental reply to the voice was full of a fondness that seemed to stun the thing and cause it to withdraw for the moment.
Imoen cleared her throat – a new change of subjects was coming. "All of the others wanna go to this... Nashkel place. They say there's trouble we might work on together in there."
"What kind of trouble?" asked an intrigued Vendice and her eyes lighted up a bit at the prospect of adventure and stories of her own to tell once it was finished.
"It's the iron trouble folks're talkin' about. I've heard 'em. Everyone's sayin' how their weapons break and are no good at all; and strange things were heard of from the Nashkel mines."
"I wouldn't know where else to go anyway," admitted the bard. "So we could just as well do that."
"We could become famous, Vendice!" breathed Imoen excitedly as she stopped in front of a door and let go of her friend.
"I wouldn't go that far," Vendice chuckled lightly and pushed the indicated door open. Of course, she wasn't going to admit that the idea exalted her the same way and that she dreamed as Imoen did. On the other hand, the way things had gone that night, they would make quite a pathetic band...
Worries can wait for now, the voice bade her to calm down. 'Yes, they can,' she agreed mentally and fell heavily onto one of the two beds in the room.
"Thought ya said you wanted to clean your hair," Imoen reminded her.
"I'm lazy," Vendice replied, stretching, then she closed her eyes and barely heard her friend's chuckle.
Indeed, she required a few moments to be herself; in fact, she needed to determine who she was, exactly. Wearing different masks and appearing strong in order to keep would-be predators away – she wasn't used to it. The game was new to her and she had need of time to adapt. She missed Gorion now that he was gone; it was strange how one never got to appreciate what they had until it wasn't there anymore. And she felt like a hunted animal, never aware of which bush someone might shoot an arrow at her from.
Why did you choose this path? asked the voice, with a slight hesitation. Why did you reject my plan, my suggestion?
It was speaking of that dream with the walls and the water; Vendice knew. 'I'm not sure,' she thought to it. 'I didn't feel like I belonged in that peaceful world you showed me through your wall.'
Ah, so that is your path, then. Strife and turmoil. You will cause much of both. ... But it is not the time to speak of this yet.
'What do you mean?'
But despite Vendice's pleas and repeated questions, the voice spoke no more that night. It left the bard to do her own thinking and yet another revelation hit her as she complied and resigned. The voice was trying to act like her mentor and it found all kinds of methods at hand. Her dream had meant something and it was her task to elucidate this mystery and reveal what exactly that meaning had been.
'In life, you learn from absolutely everything. It is your choice what you learn.' It was the set of thoughts she went to sleep with, aside from a hair that was still filthy and an unremoved chain mail.