Disclaimer: Still making no profit from this.
Haunted
Chapter 4
"Stop pacing, woman!" said Varric. Aveline scowled at him and continued to stomp her way across the room and back again. Every once in a while she'd try the door again but so far to no avail. It was giving Hawke a headache. Another headache.
It had taken the group about an hour of trying to escape before they'd given up and made their peace with the fact that they'd be staying in this Maker forsaken room for the foreseeable future. Magic hadn't worked, Isabela's lock picks hadn't worked and a loose bolt from Bianca hadn't worked. Brute strength hadn't worked either, much to Aveline's bewilderment and distress. Hawke had to wonder if this was the first problem the guard captain had ever failed to solve with strategic and applied use of force.
Honestly, the whole thing was becoming rather tiresome.
"How long do you think we have to wait before this damn house gets bored of us?" asked Isabela. The more time passed, the more on edge the pirate was becoming. Already she had hung one of the ever present old paintings back upon the wall and used it as target practice. She didn't need it; every one of Isabela's knives struck with deadly accuracy.
"You want to leave already?" asked Hawke. "I'm becoming quite fond of the decor. The cobwebs add a nice, homely feel to the room, don't you think? I'm thinking of adding some to the mansion."
Isabela's shoulders relaxed a fraction and she let out a slow breath. "Liar. You hate spiders."
"That doesn't mean I can't enjoy their revolting sticky, white entrails," Hawke replied. "I'm not sure Bohdan or Oranna will much care for them though..."
"Bohdan and Oranna would like anything you told them to like," Isabela pointed out. "You have the poor sods wrapped around your little finger."
Hawke inclined her head in agreement. "The worry would be Sandal using them in one of his enchantments."
"That little oddball does have a way with explosions," said Isabela. "Probably best to stick with the ingredients you know he can't blow up."
"I think Sandal's explosions make things rather exciting," said Merrill. She was sat on the couch opposite them, being the only member of the five willing to touch the filthy material. She claimed it was no dirtier than the alienage, though Hawke wasn't sure she agreed. The floor, where she and Isabela sat, was no cleaner but at least they'd been able to brush some of the dust and grime to one side.
Aveline let out an annoyed snort. "You would."
"He could probably blow a hole in this door if we asked him too," said Merrill obstinately. "Then you'd like his explosions too."
Aveline paused for a moment. "You know what, Merrill? You're right. If Sandal unexpectedly shows up here in the next ten minutes to rescue us by blowing a hole in that door, I'll start supporting his experiments." She started to pace again. "But until that time comes I'm going to keep a healthy scepticism and keep my distance. Any my eyebrows."
"That was only once and Bohdan's eyebrows grew back eventually," said Merrill. "Even bushier than they were before too."
"The priceless heirloom hanging on the wall behind him didn't grow back," said Hawke. It had been a painting of a great-great-great-great-great-great aunt of Leandra's. Or something like that anyway. Honestly Hawke hadn't been listening when her mother explained the whole family tree to her. Beyond them being some sort of cousin to the Hero of Ferelden the Amell family held very little interest for her. She was a Hawke.
"Oh please," Isabela scoffed. "That painting was dreadful. She looked like a nug that had taken too many hits to the face. Sandal did you a favour."
Hawke smirked. "That is true," she conceded. "There is quite a family resemblance between us."
"You did take a beating from the ugly stick when you were born," Isabela said sympathetically. She patted Hawke on the cheek with a cold hand.
"It's a wonder you can stand to look at me," she said.
"Luckily you have other skills I can make use of..."
Aveline groaned. "Could you two keep it in your pants until we can get out of this mess? This is bad enough without you two ripping each other's clothes off. I've seen more than enough horrors for one day."
"I wouldn't mind," said Merrill with interest.
"Nobody is forcing you to listen, prude," said Isabela, rolling her eyes and stretching her arms out behind her head.
"There's five of us rammed into a tiny, locked room. Where, exactly, do you suggest I move to avoid it?" said Aveline.
Isabela paused in thought for a moment. "You could pull the stick our your arse and join in?" she suggested.
"We'll behave," said Hawke before Aveline could respond, but only because one of the few things that could actually make this situation worse would be another instalment of the Pirate versus the Guard Captain (naming things was really not her forte; she'd have to talk to Varric about it later). Besides, there were only so many times she could listen to the word whore before even she became weary.
"You're no fun," said Isabela. Then she sighed and leant back against the wall, eyes closed. "Wake me up when we're done here or if something needs a knife to the back."
"Duly noted," said Hawke, as she unconsciously reached up to rub the back of her head.
Enough time had passed now that the ache in Hawke's head had faded to a dull throb and exhaustion was beginning to set in. In retrospect they probably should have done this during the day, or at least after an extra long nap. The soothing warmth of the fireplace and even the less than gentle thumping of Aveline's boots against the floor was beginning to lull her into a doze. At least Hawke hoped that was what it was; the alternative was that the...idol was in there with them and trying to send her back to the Fade. She'd had quite enough of that if it was all the same.
Things could be worse for her though, Hawke mused, as her eyes drifted to where Varric leaned against the wall next to the fireplace. His arms were folded tightly across his broad chest and his face seemed to have frozen into a perpetual scowl. He hadn't cracked a smile once since they'd arrived in this forsaken dump and she was finding it most disconcerting. Was it possible the idol had a stronger effect on dwarves? It certainly took a hold of Bartrand fast enough. Or perhaps the lyrium sensed the familial Tethras blood and so dug it's claws into Varric out of some kind of twisted sentimentality. She was inclined towards the latter, which brought on a host of other unsettling theories and implications.
It was irrelevant anyway, she decided. She wouldn't let Varric be manipulated by the idol in the same way his brother had. To begin with to die in the same way as Bartrand would piss Varric off to no end, ironic or otherwise. Secondly, who would talk her up in the Hanged Man after this? Tales of her exploits always sounded so much more impressive when it was Varric who told the story. Isabela told her own version of events on occasion, but more often than not those tales took a turn down a more erotic path, extolling her sexual prowess rather than her skills on the battlefield. It was flattering but not necessarily what she wanted the other patrons of the Hanged Man to be thinking about when she entered the room. At least not most of the time.
"What?"
Hawke looked up at Isabela who was staring at her through narrowed eyes. "What what?"
"You said my name," she said.
Aveline stopped pacing and Merrill straightened on the couch. The temperature in the room seemed to drop considerably.
"Uh...I'm afraid I didn't," said Hawke. She glanced around the room and the other three shook their heads. Oh wonderful.
"Not funny, Hawke," said Isabela. Her back visibly stiffened and the hand that Hawke could see slowly clenched into a fist. "I heard you say my name."
"Nobody said your name," said Aveline.
"Well then what-" Isabela stopped talking abruptly and her eyes widened. She looked at the door. "Well...shit."
"What can you hear?" asked Varric. He took a step towards them with a look of what could almost be concern if it wasn't for the brewing anger that seemed to radiate from him.
For a moment Isabela didn't answer and her gaze didn't waver from the door. Then, distinctly paler than usual, she forced herself to turn away. "Nothing," she said unconvincingly. "I can't hear anything."
"Don't lie to us, Rivaini!" said Varric. "Tell us what you hear!"
"I already told you I don't hear anything," Isabela shot back. It might have been more convincing if her foot hadn't begun to tap rapidly against the floor. Before Hawke could point it out, Isabela herself seemed to notice and was up on her feet in a flash.
"Calm down," said Aveline in a tone of voice Hawke usually only heard her use with one of her guards, "and explain to us what's happening in your head right now."
Isabela rolled her eyes. Her foot began to tap again. Hawke recognised the symptoms for what they were: an oncoming storm of panic. "I am calm, Big Girl. I'm not the one who has been pacing up and down the room all night like they're trying to wear a hole in the floor big enough to escape though."
"That's not the worst plan I've ever heard," said Merrill, interrupting the flow of the conversation for just long enough for Hawke to stand up and take her place beside the irate pirate...just in case of any unexpected violence. "Do you think that might work?"
"You're becoming hysterical," said Aveline dismissively. "Take a breath. Obviously the idol has decided it's your turn and we can only stop it if we stick together."
"I don't know if you've noticed, Aveline, but we're about as stuck-" She stopped again, head tilting to one side. "Shut up, already!"
"Isabela..." Hawke began, but the woman paid her absolutely no notice; instead marching over the door and reaching out to rattle the handle. Hawke sighed, expecting another angry session of bashing at the immovable wooden exit. Hopefully an outlet for her aggression would calm Isabela down enough that she'd tell her what exactly the idol was saying to her.
To Hawke's surprise, however, the door swung open even before Isabela's hand made contact with the handle.
The pirate barely even seemed to notice this bizarre occurrence before she stormed out the room, making a beeline towards...Hawke had no idea where she was going but she seemed to have a destination in mind if her determined gate was anything to go by.
There was a moment of awkward silence before everyone seemed to spring into action at once. Aveline's shield was up off the floor and attached to the strap on her back and Varric had crossed the room in what seemed like less than a second.
"We should go after her, shouldn't we?" said Merrill, already grabbing her staff and drawing magic in from the air around her. Then she nodded, as if to herself. "We should go after her."
Nobody noticed the golem in the corner of the room turn it's head towards the open door. Nor did they notice it's eyes light up a bloody red.
It felt like the walls were closing in on her. Trapping her within this dreadful place. No air. No light. No anything.
Isabela increased her pace, only dimly aware of Hawke somewhere behind her calling her name. No. She was done with it. She needed out and she needed out now.
Then she heard it again. The child's laugh. A giggle really, high pitched and manic and not quite human. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled and she shivered.
"Will you fucking stop that!" she said into the empty air. She huffed, becoming increasingly more angry as her breath came out in a puff of white condensation. She'd barely even noticed the temperature drop.
"Isabela..." A voice. Musical sounding almost. Definitely not Hawke's voice this time. In fact she couldn't even hear Hawke anymore. She tried to ignore it, feet pounding heavily on the ground. "Isabela. Come play with us."
And if that wasn't the creepiest damn thing she'd ever heard in her life she didn't know what was.
"Isabela?" The voice sounded sad now, if such a thing was possible. It made something clench uncomfortably in her chest, like a piece of string had been tied around her heart and someone was tugging at the other end.
"No!" she protested, still not slowing her pace. "I am not in the mood for this."
In her haste to escape she didn't notice the way the rug she was rapidly approaching wrinkled and bunched before her creating small archways in the fabric. Her foot caught on the material and though she threw a hand out to steady herself she came up empty and crashed to the floor.
Pain shot through her right elbow all the way up to her shoulder as it collided with the ground and she let out a muffled yelp of frustration. A cloud of dust rose around her and she coughed. This damn house didn't know who it was messing with.
"Naishe...why won't you come and play with us?"
Isabela's blood ran cold. No.
She hadn't heard that name in years. Hadn't even thought it. It was irrelevant. Not her anymore. A few years earlier she'd bumped into a man in Llomerryn who had known her as a young teenager. He'd made the mistake of referring to her by that name and so she'd made sure he could never utter the word again. If she had her way she'd make sure whatever thought it was a good idea to mess with her had the chance to taste the same cold steel he had.
Her breathing began to even out and she spat a mouthful of dusty saliva onto the carpet. "All right," she said, mostly to herself. "You want to play?"
Isabela pushed herself to her feet and looked around. Her eyes had adjusted to the lack of light, but she still couldn't see more than a few feet in front of her.
"Naishe..." More giggling.
She spun around, hands instinctively reaching behind her to draw her weapons. The voice had come from somewhere behind her this time. "Come on then!" she called, voice colder than the steel between her fingers. "Where are you, you little bastards!"
A light flickered just to the left of her vision. Another hallway. She must have missed it on her way past. Or it just hadn't been there before. Cold air whipped around her legs and Isabela swallowed against her dry mouth. She forced herself to move forward.
And where was Hawke? Surely she should have caught up by now. Isabela moved fast over short distances but Hawke's legs were longer. She'd feel a lot better about this if she had some backup.
Isabela readjusted her grip on her daggers. She could hear something else now. Something that wasn't just the childish laughed that seemed to pierce what was left of her very soul. It was a sort of tapping. Or no...something bigger than a tap. A rhythmic thud as though something was hitting the floor over and over again. Or maybe a wall? She paused for a moment and tilted her head towards the sound, but it's source became no clearer.
She once more began to creep forward, mentally willing herself to move. All the bravado and anger she'd felt when the ghost had began to call her name...the name her bitch of a mother had given her that was...had already started to fade leaving her feeling sickly and vulnerable. Was this had Merrill had felt when the mirror had called to her? Should she turn back and try to find the others again? Would the creature even let her? She licked her lips, not once breaking her stride despite her thoughts now turning in the opposite direction.
The floorboards beneath her feet creaked loudly even as she moved with as much stealth as she could. Even if she'd wanted to sneak up on her tormenter the house wouldn't allow it. She knew she should have stayed in the Hanged Man today. Many years of pirating and treasure hunting had taught her that the second a curse entered the equation she needed to run in the other direction. Better to be safe than sorry. Unless the booty was really worth it, in which case screw the damn curse. Today, though, she was getting absolutely nothing out of this little excursion. Hawke should have let her stay welded to her barstool.
She was so wrapped up in her own dark thoughts she didn't even notice the small movement beneath the table she was quickly closing the distance on.
She felt it when a small, bony hand shot out and wrapped it's fingers around her ankle though.
"Shit!"
Her instincts kicked in before her brain had a chance to catch up. The table was flipped to the side with an almighty crash and the person on the other end of that hand was dragged up and pressed hard against the wall with a knife to her throat. Isabela snarled and the woman quivered beneath the fierce gaze.
"You have three seconds to explain yourself before I start cutting," she said, pushing the knife just deep enough into the woman's skin to draw a bead of sticky, red blood.
The woman whimpered out a shrill cry. Her yellow eyes gleamed with tears that looked almost red in the candlelight coming from the sconce on the opposite wall. Whether that had been lit before Isabela had discovered this infiltrator she had no idea.
"Three...two..."
The woman opened her mouth, eyes darting around the corridor fearfully.
"You're not supposed to answer when they call your name," she whispered.
Isabela blinked, trying to desperately ignore the way it felt like her heart had turned into a murky block of ice trickling freezing water down into her stomach. The woman shook before her and for the first time Isabela noticed her filthy white and bottle green dress and limp greasy hair. How long had she been here?
Was she even real? Merrill's people hadn't been real.
Her head was starting to feel fuzzy again and she was sure if she listened hard enough she'd be able to hear those voices calling that name to her again. Her grip around the woman's wrist loosened and she pulled her dagger back a fraction. "Who are they?" she asked. Then she pushed the knife forward again, causing the woman to gasp. "I'll know if you're lying."
Tears ran down the woman's cheeks. "I don't know, miss! I'm trapped in 'ere same as you. You've got to get out! Before it comes back!"
"Before what comes back?"
But the woman was inconsolable now. Moisture dribbled from her nose and eyes and Isabela let her go in mild disgust. Before she could say anything else the woman took off like a bolt from Bianca down the hallway and back in the direction Isabela had come from. Assuming she hadn't imagined the whole thing the woman would probably run into Hawke at least. Maybe she could get some sense out of the wretched thing.
"Naishe..."
You're not supposed to answer when they call your name.
She walked towards the voice.
Something must have been suppressing her well honed sense of self-preservation because this already fell into the top ten dumbest things she'd ever done.
And where was everyone else right now? The house was big, but Hawke should have found her by now. The idol must have been blocking them from getting to her somehow. She rolled her eyes. If she didn't get the best sex of her life later because of this she was going to be furious.
A shadowy figure streaked across the corridor. She shrieked.
"Very funny!" she shouted into the darkness. Her voice shook and her heart pounded. Hopefully the demon lyrium couldn't tell. She was a lot less frightening to enemies when they could see her shaking in her boots. "Stop playing games and come out and face me!"
The figure ran across the hallway again and this time she managed to keep her mouth shut. It was short, like a child, bit without any of the features. A shadowy mass that hadn't quite worked out the details yet but knew the basic form to take. The hairs on her arms stood on edge as she altered her direction towards the closed door the 'child' had ran through.
If her gait slowed down the closer she got to the entrance it was nothing but a coincidence. She was just tired after her long day.
She could hear the childish giggle again. At first coming from the room she was heading towards, and then from behind her. She spun around, weapons at the ready, but there was nothing there. Nothing except a few floating vases anyway. Isabela eyed them, not allowing herself to be cowed by the same trick twice, and then turned back around. She'd just have to keep her ears open for any sudden movement. She wouldn't put it past those things to dive bomb her while her back was turned. Red lyrium didn't play fair.
"Time to play, Naishe..." The voice singsonged in her head.
She licked her lips. That's right. It was time to play.
The door got closer and she reached out, half expecting it to swing open before she'd even touched it. It didn't, so her trembling fingers wrapped around the dull, brass handle. She took a deep breath and then pushed.
A flash of bright, pink light temporarily blinded her and with one hand she shielded her eyes as she took a step into the room. Her other hand she kept firmly gripped around her knife, poised and ready and shining silver in the glow.
More giggling then. Louder this time and so close. Isabela blinked and held her breath as her vision came back into focus. When her sight returned she almost wished it hadn't.
There were two of them now. Two children sat with crossed legs formed from shadow and a void of endless darkness. Her feet were rooted to the floor and she tried to swallow but her mouth and throat were parched. Instead she was forced to watch as the two 'children' began to roll what looked like a ball of smoke between them.
The room was suddenly stiflingly hot and beads of sweat began to form of her brow, soaking into the bandana tied around her forehead. The vases that had been floating in a vortex behind her flew into the wall and smashed loudly on impact. The shadow children didn't even seem to notice. Instead, they began to sing in voices that Isabela couldn't have dreamt up in her worst nightmares. Multi-tonal; low and mechanical and yet somehow high and sickly at the same time.
"Ring a ring o' roses..."
It was a song she'd sung as a child with some of the homeless children in one of the villages she and her mother had visited. She couldn't remember which one it had been exactly, but it had been one ravaged by plague just a year earlier. A plague that had killed over half it's population and decimated the population of several other villages within striking distance.
"A pocket full of posies..."
Fuck.
She'd made a huge mistake.