"So, stranger," Safiya had begun the conversation as the three of them slipped into the corner of a dock inn, quaintly named, 'The Sloop.' Gann had visited it briefly before... relocating and had lead the girls with a premise of, 'watered-down ale and something just above prison staples,' assuming – correctly – that they'd pay for him. The warrior girl, who's name he had learned was 'Cal,' had carelessly placed her blade atop the table among their dishes and was staring at her reflection. As if suddenly his presence had lost all of its charm with its novelty. "Do you have a name?"
"I have several, though they all vary by purpose," Gann answered, looking away from Cal. He was disappointed by her unabashed lack of interest, though he knew that, in due time, he would reclaim it. Safiya merely rose an eyebrow at him, waiting for an explanation. "My collar seems to change at every whim of those who meet me. To some, I am Gannayev-Of-Dreams – others, Gannayev. Or simply, Gann."
"Gann is... suiting, I think," Safiya replied delicately. "What is it that you do, exactly?"
"'Do?' My, what a terribly ambiguous question. You'll find that I 'do,' a great many things – and quite well, might I add."
Safiya didn't look impressed. Cal didn't even look up.
"If you're asking for some sort of profession, I doubt you will be familiar with my... 'trade.' I am a spirit shaman," Gann said, beginning to doubt his earlier judgment in joining the party. The girls had not been too impressive in his cell, but they had also been more interesting than fixing the runes on the walls – and listening to the braying legion of spirits. They had added a certain charm that Gann should have known to be entirely superficial and circumstantial. Finally, he noticed that Cal had pried her attention away from her reflection long enough to stare at him. "If questions you have, then answers I shall provide."
"Tell us a little about yourself," she said and went right back to staring at herself. This girl was the seminal example of a narcissist!
"A little?" Gann parroted, mock injury in his tone. "There is so muchto tell – and to think you'd only want the smallest part. I am insulted."
"Then tell us a lot," Cal replied flatly, finally returning her sword to its holster. Gann couldn't understand why she had been so concerned in the first place; it wasn't as though she was much to look at. Tattered hair, a pale complexion and a weak constitution – the only thing Gann found to be of even slight interest about her appearance were her strange, and slightly unsettling, eyes. But so long as they weren't trained on him, it made little difference.
"What, do you think I am some long-winded braggart? My, your charm spells seem to be failing one by one," Gann sighed and noted Safiya rolling her eyes. Cal's stare darkened.
"If you're looking for magical prowess to loosen your tongue, I may have a suitable remedy," Safiya said, flexing her long, delicate fingers. She and Cal shared a decidedly wicked little look and Gann frowned. Was this woman admitting to being a sorceress of some kind? And threateninghim in the process?
"If what's currently loosening your tongue is the ale, we'll stop throwing our coin at you," Cal said, reaching for the mug he had been drinking from. Gann moved it out of her grasp and swiftly downed the rest of it in one sitting.
"You'll find that there isn't a quantity of potion large enough – nor potent enough – to loosen my tongue in such a careless manner," Gann smirked as Cal and Safiya exchanged dubious glances. "And it certainly wouldn't be found under this establishment. You needn't buy my history, however – if you are that fascinated by me, I would never selfishly horde such an exhilarating tale. I am he who walks in the dreams of the people of Rashemen, especially in the passionate dreams of farmers' daughters. I make deals with spirits, speak with the mountains and forests and tell tales of old that bubble up from the brooks and streams of this land."
"Uh... huh," Cal said, blinking at him.
"I see you are speechless – rather, I terribly hope that I have rendered such a reaction. For if that is the extent of your vernacular, I am afraid I may have to take my leave and return to conversing with the prison walls." He was determined to get a reaction out of her.
"I'm trying to understand how someone can swallow such shit," she returned, surprising him – not only with her tactless cursing, but by the heartless sentiment as well. "Let alone expect anyone else to."
Gann was scandalized. He had not lied, at least not in any outstanding or blatant manner. "Ah, I see the length of your imagination matches your eloquence and wit. Whether you believe me or not, you have asked what a spirit shaman does, and I have supplied you with an answer. But it is a pointless matter; you shall see for yourself in the upcoming battle."
"Hopefully," she said. Gann was unsure of what to do or say; he had never encountered someone so outright disinterested in him before. The fact that she had bartered and bantered and begged her way into buying his blade – and possibly his life – and then abandoning even a feigned interested had floored him. Gann was not one to react to 'feelings,' or worry about offense – but this girl... he grasped for an apt descriptor of the passion she invoked in him.
"Well then, my markedly supercilious 'ally...' Perhaps you will condescend long enough to trade me an equal portion of an introduction," Gann said, still trying to pinpoint the exact location of the bruise. The girl slowly rose an eyebrow as he spoke, but Safiya spoke first.
"Our names are all you might get from us at present time, Gann. You may begin to ask to be paid upfront for your efforts," she smiled. "What I can tell you is that it really is no concern of yours, nor Rashemen's. If you must know, the two of us are indeed foreigners. As foreigners, Rashemi customs do not exactly agree with us."
"Ah, well, if it were not obvious, I myself am neither bound by law nor custom of this land. Use an elementary cognitive approach, here; you have just fished me out of a prison. It is not only you who cares little for the ways and orderings of the superstitious," Gann replied, his anger seeping into his tone. He narrowed his eyes at the woman.
"Well, I will only speak for myself. If Cal wishes to impart anything about herself to you, that is at her own discretion," Safiya said after a moment's hesitation. Gann glanced to her.
"Have you never met with the concept of equality?"
"If you want equality, then I only owe you a romanticized dream of what I wish I was," she said flatly and Gann felt the backlash like a blow to the middle. She had taken his melodramatic sentiments of identity and ran with it, though unlike others who mistakenly believed him to be serious about his own sense of worth, she met him with disdain rather than approval. But something about her judgment gave him pause. He'd been reciting different renditions of the same introduction for so long, that he had begun to lose sight of the original version – that is to say, the unaltered. This girl, whoever she was, seemed to realize that his smooth charm was an additional effort rather than a natural grace.
In the silence, she frowned slightly – and if Gann believed it to be possible, seemed to show some hint of remorse. "I don't have an introduction for myself. I don't remember anything about my past or who I am. It's all a blur before Safiya fished me out of Okku's barrow."
Gann nearly laughed aloud; such a hypocrite! For her to judge him on dishonesty, she had some nerve trying to pass with such a shaky, weak excuse. "It seems that I was not wrong in my earlier assessment of your imagination – or lack thereof."
Cal scowled at him. "I'm not lying."
"And I'm not a shaman."
"Well, then what in the nine hells are you?"
"Certainly not sarcastic."
"Oi!" a barmaid with a seemingly dark temperament snapped at them. "Don't make trouble, or else!"
Gann couldn't care less about the repercussions that 'else,' ensured, but he found himself exhausted by the girl's presence. If the strange void of her aura hadn't been enough to drain him, her personality had done the rest. He rose and promptly left them with a curt tip of his head, seeking out one of the two rooms they had rented on the second floor. The feeling was obvious, now. She pissed him off.
xxx
The rain had returned with the night; it was mild and summoned up thick and putrid fog from the docks that thinned the higher into town Cal walked. Moonlight wove in and out betwixt the heavy clouds in the sky and lanterns smeared their color against the rolling fog like stains. She paced through the mud, angry and bitter and nearly wishing to meet a spirit to do battle with it. She wanted to pick a fight, but not with him – oh, no – they were allies. She had begun to wonder if she had made a mistake. No, no, she knew she had made a mistake and that knowledge incensed her like no other. She had lowered herself to request his assistance – and then even did him the favor of freeing him from that witch's prison – and his gratitude had a very strange way of taking shape. He was sarcastic and narcissistic and obnoxious and utterly oblivious to anything that did not concern himself. That shaman, that Gann – whatever, whoever he was, he was on her last nerve and she had half a mind to toss him back at the old matron.
And with that in mind, it with only a slight margin of surprise that she found herself at the prison's entrance. Cal stalled, listening to the rainfall around her, staring at the cold and hapless walls. Her eyes moved to the gallows and images of the hagspawn came to mind. Groznek. A fresh wave of loathing and pity swept in tandem through her. Loathing for the witch, for any matron or warden capable of such unadulterated cruelty; Cal, memories or no, whether basing itself on present interactions or a deep-seeded chaos, found herself wholly and unabashedly distrustful of anything proclaiming itself to be lawful. The hagspawn had been taunted into his rage. Any idiot could see that he was innocent. So what if he had spilled blood? They had asked for it.
And yet something lingered further than the indignation and sympathy, something deeper, and darker. There was a voice in her, somewhere, it screamed to free the hagspawn from his fate. It begged her to return to him and offer him a chance for redemption, to steal him away from the witches and show him that he could live a new life without being reviled as a monster. Cal could neither explain nor reason with this desire, it gripped her so deeply that she felt choked when she opened her mouth to speak, reaching for the prison's doors. It almost frightened her.
The sight within the building did strike a little sliver of fear into her heart. As she stepped inside, she realized that the old matron had been entertaining a guest – a certain witch she'd had the misfortune of meeting earlier in the day.
"You!" the old matron hissed, pointing at her as she whirled around. Cal tried to save face though was inwardly groaning. She didn't want to deal with the convoluted mass of horseshit wading through in speaking to the screaming, threatening old women. They lingered like braying crows, practically offering themselves up as target practice and Cal itched to make use of a slingshot.
"Stranger..." the witch in white began evenly. Cal realized she was the eldest, who had been the – shaky and illogical as it has been – voice of reason between the three of them earlier. "You have not yet made peace with the bear god. Tirzah the Old tells me that you have relieved the spirit shaman, Gannayev-Of-Dreams from his sentence. Why have you returned?"
She was staring at her – maybe studying, or maybe scrutinizing – at length, squinting as she slowly pieced together the words. Cal was aware, suddenly, that Gann might have done her more than one favor in standing at her side in battle. The witches seemed to be startled by the notion that he would stand with two foreigners. He had utterly floored them – and that leverage had been passed unto her, the bearer of the responsibility for her dispute with Okku and her party. Somehow that meant that she had become the uncelebrated hero of her domain – and half of her allies hated her.
But she had a vague idea of where she might find more. Her eyes moved across the interior of the room, and she noticed a couple of full quivers beside a shortbow and a spear.
"I take it those belong to Gann," she said, gesturing at them. "So I assume you'll have no issue with me taking them."
The old witch observed her as she cross the room and plucked the weaponry from the corner. She strapped on the slings and quivers, working out some precarious balance in being a pack-mule.
"I do not believe you, foreigner," the witch said as Cal struggled against the awkward artillery. In hindsight, that was fairly obvious; surely she was going to bring Gann along if she had sought out his things – or at least would have left her sword behind. "What is the real reason you have sought out our doorstep in the nigh middle of the night?"
Cal overturned the spear in her hands, resentful of being called out on her dishonesty – but not quite yet defeated. She turned back to the witches. "I wanted an audience with your hagspawn prisoner, Groznek."
"You have already stolen one life in the pursuit of meeting your vendetta. Must you take another?" the witch responded after a moment, sounding somehow taken aback.
"Gann made the decision to join us and he is not mine. His life is his own responsibility, here and now. Hells, he might even take off while I'm here talking to you," Cal snarled at her after having a double take at the old witch, hardly able to believe what she had heard. "And you would accuse me of stealing lives when I just saved his? I hear you're going to shove this man off a cliff soon, too."
She gestured to Groznek's cell and there was a certain disquiet that arose in the wake of her sentiment. Cal peered through the dark, and slowly began to put two and together once she realized that she couldn't make out the shape nor shadow of his bulk. Cal drew back in horror.
"You didn't."
"You have no right to tell us what is and what is not moral, girl," Tirzah the Old snapped at her, sounding grave and stressed. "He killed three men in cold blood. He knew the price of his anger."
"They forced him to do it! They taunted him because of his heritage!"
"He was not forced to do anything – he made the decision to kill them and knew that death would be the punishment," the witch in white steered the conversation, looming over Cal. "Such was his wish."
"He was innocent."
"He was a murderer. Your praise proves his guilt and would have worsened his sentence should you have involved yourself; only one monster would ever feel sympathy for another," Tirzah snarled at her and Cal recoiled. A moment later, anger billowed and roared in her wake.
"You bleeding bitch - !" she began, raising Gann's spear when suddenly the witch in white cleared the distance in two quick steps and slapped her. Cal stumbled back against the wall in the force of the hit and slowly brought her hand to the throb against her cheek and jaw. The floor and ceiling rallied and converged and Cal had to steady herself against the wall in an effort to remain on her feet. There was more than just brute force behind that hand. The witch had smacked her outright with a spell rather than just scream the usual methods. She might have been impressed if she had not been – in equal parts – homicidal and nauseated. Nor could she even locate the floor.
"I've had all that I can stand and more from you, child, but I will not allow you to threaten my sisters," the woman said, and despite the withering age in her voice, it was a stern command. One that really tested the weight of your balls. Cal felt herself sneering, chewing on some strange, familiar indignation and angst regarding that tone.
"I'll lie your hide down next to Okku's when the day is done tomorrow," Cal threatened her, feeling faintly delusional. She had expected another slap, or at least for the old woman to conjure up a worse spell than whatever was currently making the entire room sweep in dark waves all around her, and yet nothing came. Cal reasoned that the old woman had not heard her, and tried again. "I said, I'm going to fucking skin you."
"I heard you, child. I wonder if it is that same desire for attention that caught you so deeply ensnared in the bear god's vision."
"What?" Cal knit her brow, thoroughly perplexed. It was difficult to sort through the lecture, the pain, the dizziness and the urge to swallow her gorge every few minutes.
"Your youth is evidenced in how stagnant and embittered you are – a truly petulant and incorrigible child will seek the attention of her superiors through marked disobedience. I wonder if it is that trait in you, child, that has caused Okku to rally his army, and I wonder if you'll ever yet learn your lesson. And I wonder now if you still feel that it was worth it."
"You don't know anything about me, you blathering old hag," Cal groaned. "I didn't take anything from Okku and I only killed him once because it came down to him or me."
"You boast that you will kill the bear god for a second time, and even if you could, stranger, I would warn you against such a foolish action," the witch said, deliberately and coldly as she glared over her. "The spirits are tied so strongly to the land, to shatter the heart would be to weaken the whole. Rashemen would cripple under his absence and the spirits would become melancholic and chaotic."
"Yippee," Cal said, still reeling and not fully aware of whatever was coming out of her mouth. "I ain't staying long, so that isn't my problem."
"It is that self-serving and careless attitude that makes mine and my sisters distrust you so," she said. "Should you kill the bear god tomorrow, you shall never meet with Magda – and no matter how powerful you are, my sisters and I shall drive you from our town."
"Ha," Cal laughed, tilting her head back and instantly regretting it. The nausea clawed angrily in her stomach, making her hesitate and swallow. Whatever spell that was, it had done more than knock her sense of equilibrium completely off its mark, it had drugged her. "Arrogant. You can try. My allies will be hungover for the big bear-killing parade tomorrow, a pity that. But that won't stop me – won't stop us."
"Then what are you doing, child? Forsaking the two allies who risk life and limb to aid you by sneaking into our prison and sacred ground in this hour of the night? Your very presence taunts the spirits, yet you linger so and make no disguise of it. We all shall be lucky if they do not storm through Mulsantir tonight," the witch said. "You came here to try to illegally free a prisoner, thinking we would not notice?"
Cal only growled at her in response. She slung herself between a table and a chair, her feverish eyes interchanging between Tirzah the Old and Anonymous Witch in White.
"You do your allies a disservice to obsess over the dead. Groznek knew of his crimes. He repent, and he chose to die. His remorse gave us pause, but the hagspawn insisted his life to be taken," the witch said.
"Bullshit."
"Perhaps you have never felt such remorse, child. Such shame and such regret that leads a person to putting the knife to his own throat to seek his own redemption."
"There are other ways," Cal said, closing her eyes as she felt them spinning.
"If that is what you think, then you have never felt as the hagspawn did. Perhaps you never will."
"You made him want to die. You and the other Rashemi. You reviled him. You turned him into a monster."
"He could have gone with you and started a new life outside of Rashemen, where people are less cruel to him and his kind – but he did not. He chose to die," the witch said before kneeling where Cal now sagged betwixt table and chair. She took her chin in her hands between long, wrinkled fingers and the young barbarian sneered with disgust. But the witch commanded her attention, sweeping her eyes to meet one another. Her eyes were brighter, silver and raging with a fierce intelligence. She spoke softly, yet deftly, holding Cal's drunken attention long enough to get her point across. "He has felt humility for his actions and wished to die as he felt he was: a monster. It was an honorable death for him to admit fault and surrender to the gods. You, girl, you meet every opposition head-long and that pride that drives you in every careless action and thought will leave you with an undignified death and a shallow grave, when your time, as it inevitably will, comes."
Cal opened her mouth to retort, but gagged instead. The witch nimbly moved from the way as Cal crashed down in the chair, overturning the table in the process and collapsed upon the prison's floor, retching. Afterwards she rolled away from the meal she'd lost, holding a hand against her damp brow, trying to swallow away the burn in her throat. The nameless with returned to her side and held out her hand, which Cal promptly slapped away.
"That curse will last as long as you will find a more capable healer than I, girl, should you turn away my offer," she said and Cal numbly shook her head.
"No," she said and slowly, shakily, rose to her feet. Her limbs moved with the grace of jelly and she felt as though the floor underfoot quaked and thrust itself every which way in her step. She grabbed Gann's spear and fell against the prison's door, holding herself aloft by the bars as she threw a final, feverish glare towards the two witches. She spoke with a certain incoherence, hardly aware of what she said – or how she was saying it. "Your influence is toxic. I'll see that Gann never returns to these cells, and if you so much as raise a hand against Safiya I shall cleave it from your wrist."
Tirzah the Old recoiled in her anger, but the other witch seemed calmer – if not perplexed by the unprompted and senseless threat. Cal groped for the door's handle as a few arrows spilled from their quivers. "I won't let it happen again. Remorse makes no difference when you're dead."
"See that you won't, child."
Cal opened the door and stumbled out of it, landing face-first into the mud.
"Do not linger here at night," the witch in white warned her before shutting and locking the door. Cal had lost track of time, lying in the mud, waiting for the spell to wear off – but each time she stood, she realized that the old hag had been right; it wasn't going away. She needed to find a healer, and gods help her, she did not want to. She had an immediate, powerful and very nearly visceral reaction against the notion of healing. Magic and its uses, it made her head turn and gave her gooseflesh. She did not trust the witch's spells anymore than she did Safiya's.
She rose to her feet and stumbled up the road, grasping any fence or lantern that might act as a temporary means of stabilizing her before she staggered off again. Her head swam and ached just as badly as her stomach, and she fought herself to separate up from down, left from right.
xxx
Gann did not linger in the land of dreams; spirits clogged the planes and their cries echoed beyond thought and emotion. It was so strong and so infested with hate and fear in tandem that it gave him a headache. He had considered braving the gales from the spirits to seek out Safiya or Cal's dreamscapes, but he had no luck in that particular mission. He had assumed it to be the fault of the spirits interrupting the normally calm waters of the dreaming plane, before a thunderous knocking assaulted his door.
His first instinct was to make for his spear, but he realized with a sudden horror that he had not retrieved it from Tirzah's prison. He mentally kicked himself. Hard. That spear was not just a weapon, not just a trinket, nor was his shortbow. He had long since been mostly purchasing the arrows, but he had enchanted them – and crafted the heavier artillery by careful, meticulous hand. Temper thoroughly flaring, he rose and opened the door, expecting to meet with some furious peasant or pirate, or even some long-standing enemy he had forgotten the name of. But to his surprise – and slight relief – he met with Safiya, instead. And she looked as though she were in the throes of a nightmare.
"Where is Cal?"
Gann was baffled for a moment. "I hope you aren't suggesting that I was entertaining her; even I have standards, you know."
"Damn it, Gann, I'm serious. I can't find her, and you know how dangerous Mulsantir is to foreigners – let alone foreigners who have an entire spirit army against them," Safiya said, inviting herself into his room without another word, despite his half-formed protests. "She isn't at the bar, she isn't at the docks, she isn't in our room and she isn't in here. You're our ally, aren't you? I need your help."
"It has hardly been an hour since I retired to my room. You were the last one with her, therefor if our esteemed ally has gone missing, it is entirely your fault."
"Yes, Gann, I know!" Safiya turned on him, shouting in his face. He recoiled slightly, having not quite expected that. She gave a shuddering sigh and withdrew, tapping her staff against the ground. "After you left, we remained at the table... and then I told her I would retire to bathe and let her know when I was finished. But I can't find her anywhere. Please, Gann."
Feeling resigned to a combination of remorse and pity, Gann sighed. For that girl to wander about on her own would invite the entire spirit army to descend upon the living, tear through the houses and churches, braying and killing and until they found the blood they wanted. It was dangling fresh meat before a starved wolf. "I'll humor you – but do not expect any groundbreaking clarity. Even one of my talent is subject to static when the spirits are in such an uproar."
Safiya folded her arms as Gann sat down on his bed, shutting his eyes to concentrate. He focused on the cold void he felt emanating in Cal's presence; despite his warnings to Safiya, he had assumed she might be easy to sense. She couldn't have gone very far, and even if she had, her strange, draining aura was distinct enough where it would be hardly difficult to sort her out from the massive quantities of spirits and peasants. And yet... it was. Not just difficult, but nigh impossible. There was one fleeting moment in which Gann had thought he might have located that cold pocket, but it came and gone without reason or warning. He wondered, suddenly, if Safiya's suspicions were warranted. Had the girl gotten herself killed?
"I do not sense her," Gann opened his eyes, glancing to his robed companion. Her eyes widened, but Gann rose a hand. "Causing a scene will only make my job harder. It is entirely plausible that the interference from the spirits is covering her tracks. If she were dead, they would be aware – and they would be celebrating."
That seemed to calm her slightly, but still she began to pace around the room. There was a lingering pause in which the woman seemed baffled – before suddenly he realized that she was flustered. "She's still alive, but you don't sense her – as if her tracks are being covered. Gann – if she were on another plane, would you be able to find her?"
"Through traditional means? No," Gann frowned at her, confused by the outlandish question. What did that matter? "What do you mean, 'on another plane'? I can walk in dream, of course, and if she were dreaming I would have found her by now."
"No, she isn't dreaming," Safiya muttered, holding her forehead. "Why would she...? Of course!"
Gann contemplating the sanity of his temporary comrades. Safuya turned back to him, fist in her palm.
"Shadow Mulsantir!"
"Shadow what?"
"Oh, but – she had the stone with her!"
"Safiya, you're making about as much sense as Okku's army. If you want my assistance in tracking down your friend, I'm going to need more information than half-formed thoughts and incoherent babbling," Gann said, rising to his feet as she shot him a glare.
"There is a gateway to the Plane of Shadow here in Mulsantir. Cal and I entered it when we first arrived in town, but if it is the only one... she has taken with her the only key to unlocking the portal through it. I suppose traditional means of discovering secrets would be to just stumble across them, but trusting in luck is a fool's errand..." she was beginning to mumble to herself again.
"Then we won't trust in luck. The Plane of Shadow, you say? If there is indeed another world in the shadow of our beloved little town, then we'll hear tell of it through rumor," Gann said and Safiya frowned at him.
"Gann, even if it were temporally-logical to ask every Rashemi still awake if they're aware of any gateways to the Plane of Shadow, we're going to attract even more negative attention from them."
"Ah, but I did not suggest that we banter with the living locals," Gann said, opening his door and leading her down the stairs. She still seemed a little nonplussed. "If there is any mystery to be found, peasants won't be aware of it."
"You speak of the spirits? Gann – despite how illogical the spirits are, they're fairly enthused by the notion of killing Cal and presumably anyone that allies with her. I cannot fathom any of them willing to offer us any aid in our search for her."
"Yes," Gann said, mildly distracted by the task at hand. She was right; many of the spirits would not be interested in helping them, for any price – but a few more suspect and susceptible to suggestion would be more willing to listen. Those that followed a less strict nature of morality or law – or some of a more desperate interest. "But that does not suggest such things are impossible, if you know how to speak a certain language."
"What are you suggesting?" Safiya asked as they stepped outside. Gann swallowed the urge to smile and swept out an arm, gesturing around their dark surroundings. Safiya, not perceiving what his was indicating, furrowed her brow – until with a little gasp, she stepped back and covered her mouth. Likely in sheer surprise just as well as it may have been horror; she was hunted, afterall, and Gann had just invited several of her pursuers to her doorstep. Spirits gathered in the corners of darkness, or rolling into sight with the fog. Some of their eyes, gems of pearly light blinked at them through fine mist in overhead as other figures were just barely outlined against their shadows. They whispered, some eagerly and others suspiciously, converging around the two living. Dozens of rats, several foxes, a handful of bats. All ghosts from the nightside of the universe, all eager to hunt down the prisoner and prove themselves to the more... orderly of their kind. "Gann...?"
"Lord Okku would reward the prisoner's warden with the respect of the mightiest of kings; a place among legends, and to be revered among man as well as beast," Gann spoke to the darkness, commanding the attention of the spirits. Many of them stirred, excitement rolling like thunder among them. Some of them, however, were smart enough to question his logic.
"The monster's protectors would willingly offer us to her?" a jackal approached, braying at him.
"Her presence offends us; just as she has robbed Old Father Bear of his offerings and slayed many of his kingdom, she has touched us with corruption and fled to the Shadow Plane. My companion and I wish nothing more than to see her subject to justice, and pledge ourselves against her," Gann said noted Safiya's brow lining. Either she found the notion or his dishonesty distasteful, but she had little idea how much of his reputation he risked in manipulating and betraying the spirits to such a terrible extent. Whatever their reason, he had never seen them unite in such passion before – not even against the invading Red Wizards of Thay, of which Okku was a sworn enemy. But Gann had meditated on what siding with Cal would mean before he had left the cell. If they were to know him as an enemy, Gann would be certain they knew just what the extent of that would be.
Only a small number of spirits dispersed, rightfully distrusting him. But others – a far greater number than the fleeing loyalists turned and ran into the night, embarking on the hunt for the prisoner and the portals into Mulsantir's shadow. Gann and Safiya immediately chased after them.
xxx
Kaelyn had thought another undead had risen when she heard the wet noise of a stranger approaching. It had been confusing and in Myrkul's vault, everything resounded against shade and shadow, echoing against one another ricocheting in breaks as they formed the whole. But a rhythmic slapping and dripping had caught her attention, and the Dove had whirled around to meet the beast with her mace – but recoiled in surprise when she instead saw a living immersed in shadow – and blood. A person was limping towards her, covered from nearly head to toe in blood; it dripped and pelted the floor as they slipped on it. Their tracks suggested they had met with the enclave of blood, wading through it rather than going around. Kaelyn was wary, but it was clear this person was not a threat; even if they had been hostile, they clearly were in no fit state to do battle.
As if propelled by such an observation, they collapsed to their knees, dropping their spear. Several arrows spilled across the muted floor and the quivers rolled to the ground. Kaelyn approached them, taking notice of every visible detail; there was fresh blood among the old, wounds peppering their body and savaging their armor. Some touch of magic had sunk into them, likely some form of curse. The Dove knelt beside the stranger, praying that this was not one of Kelemvor's tests to call her back to her title of Doomguide.
"Sanctuary," the stranger whispered, revealing her gender. Kaelyn was slightly taken aback, though she reached out and helped the girl place her head in her lap. The blood stained deeply into her pale hair and reached into the grooves and curves of the Dove's armor.
"There are few that would brave the tattered black gates that tie Mulsantir to its twin. Yet you have come, brave or not," Kaelyn said, bemused by the pilgrimage. If she was an adherent of Myrkul's, she would imagine the girl having had easier passage to his vault. "Has something called you to this place?"
"Yes," the girl said, though Kaelyn had to strain to hear her. "You."
Taken aback, Kaelyn remained silent, contemplating this girl and any association they might have shared. She opened her eyes to reveal a slight glow that was strengthened against the shadows of the plane, revealing her heritage. "You posses celestial blood, as well. But not from a Solar. Who are you?"
"Cal," she mumbled after a moment. "Your siblings are looking for you."
"I am not surprised," Kaelyn said, though frowned. "Evidently as were you, but you are hurt – and cursed."
"This town is hurt and cursed," she replied.
"There is terrible suffering in many of the planes," Kaelyn concurred, her face softening. "My spirit lies within the house of Ilmater. I shall do as I can to relieve you of yours."
"No," Cal said. "I follow Ilmater as well."
Kaelyn frowned, terribly confused and surprised. "He has forsaken you? Who, or for what cause, are you martyring yourself?"
She merely shook her head and mumbled incoherent phrases that Kaelyn could not decipher. She removed one of her gauntlets and felt the girl's forehead, though nearly recoiled – her flesh was hot enough to startle her. "Forgive me, Cal, but I do believe that your mind has fallen to fever. I cannot allow an innocent to suffer – such would be an offense to Ilmater, as you certainly are aware. You have found me, and no longer need to ignore your own pain."
In spite of much protesting, Kaelyn tilted her head back, shutting her eyes as she focused in prayer. She had resided within the vault for days, studying the puzzle of the door and had no need of prayers that did not concern her goal. She had considered that perhaps Ilmater had answered her at long last with a key in the form of a stranger, and the fact that she was an aasimar as well as a fellow disciple strengthened that suspicion. Perhaps in carrying on his work, she could somehow learn of the real key to unlocking that door – for the greater good.
But there was something of a backlash in her prayer to Ilmater. She had only just asked for the extent of his ability, to be endowed with a spell to combat the girl's many ailments – and met with such a swift and fervent denial that she was startled. Ilmater, known for his patience and sympathy, had not so much denied her as he had forbid her from healing this girl.
She had sensed that there was something not-quite-right about the stranger, but had no way of putting her finger on it. Even now, she did not know what to think – Cal did not seem to be a threat, but...
A murmuring of approaching voices shook her from her thoughts.
"Did you really not see that coming?"
"Of course I did. It would take a grand fool to have missed it."
"You certainly seemed surprised when they attacked."
"I was hardly surprised; I knew they would attack when we did not hand her over. I simply did not expect them to do so before we found her."
"I'm amazed that they believed you long enough to lead us anywhere at all."
"You certainly followed us rather quickly for someone so full of doubt."
"Gann – look."
"Ah, what a perfect trail for us to follow. I suppose we should not be surprised that our incorrigible ally has gotten herself mortally wounded."
"Gann!"
"What is your purpose for coming here?" Kaelyn asked, very aware of how terribly off her guard she was. With Cal lying in her lap, her gauntlets on the floor beside her mace and without Ilmater's blessing, she was not in the best circumstances should these two prove hostile. The voices abruptly stopped, and Kaelyn squinted through the darkness. Two forms took shape, peeling around the enclave of blood rather than wading through it. They neared her and halted, seeming to be taken aback by the scene. The man recovered first.
"My purpose resides in your lap, my winged beauty," he said, his voice drastically changing from the snide, irritated tone he used with the woman to a gliding velvet. Kaelyn frowned and glanced to Cal as his comrade rounded on him, chastising him for his comment, little as Kaelyn understood it.
"With Cal? Have you followed her in her search for me?"
"Technically, yes," the woman donned in robes snapped, startling her. "We had no idea she'd be chasing down you specifically, as she told neither of us before disappearing into the night. Kaelyn the Dove? Your siblings asked us to find you, as I suspect Cal may have told you."
"Now this I have not heard of. Why now?" the peculiar man glanced at his companion, folded his arms and returned his attention to Cal – his eyes immediately widened. He promptly unfolded his arms and dropped to his knees, grabbing the spilled arrows and quivers as if in terrible scandal. "These are mine!"
"You seem far more concerned with what is or is not yours than the terrible state your companion is in," Kaelyn said, baffled and almost incensed by their cold interactions. She gestured to Cal, brushing aside the uneven, bloodied bangs to feel her forehead once again. "She is struck with a terrible fever, cursed by a form of magic and wounded perhaps mortally. Ilmater has forsaken me, and I am at a loss of how to heal her – or why she was forsaken at all."
"Perhaps because that brat is very nearly suicidal and your conscience knows better than to waste pity on someone who invites abuse unto themselves."
"Gann, I've had enough!" the woman snapped at him as he collected his arrows, quivers and bow. He blatantly ignored her anger. She turned to Cal and Kaelyn, neatly side-stepped the blood and tucked her legs underneath her. "I've had some training with healing spells – some. I memorized a couple the other night, but... admittedly, I did not count on requiring them. What is the the most pressing concern?"
"If you cannot use healing magic, dispel her curse," Kaelyn suggested. "Assuming that you are capable."
"Of course I am capable, I am a -," she began, indignant before regaining herself and glancing around. Kaelyn merely stared up at her, patiently. Safiya sighed after hesitating. "I suppose there really isn't any point in keeping it a secret; the witches already know. I am a Red Wizard. So, yes, capable of dispelling curses."
"Oh, there we go," Gann said, finally retrieving his spear and strapping it onto his back. "The truth, finally rears its bald, tattooed head – a mortal enemy of Rashemen, allied with the cause of the spirits' madness. How little I saw before, now it all makes sense."
"Stifle it, as if you're in any better position. You know, you never did tell us what you were locked up in there for."
"For a wizard, your memory is certainly unreliable. I told you, I am far too handsome to look upon," he said, playing bashful with a hand upon his chest.
"Why did we even bother asking for your help?"
"Consider that if it were not for my help, you'd be traipsing about the docks of Mulsantir calling for her all night, inviting sailors and spirits to silence you. I found her."
"No, the spirits you manipulated found her – but not before they tried to kill us."
"And surely we'd be dead if they had not first picked a battle with that nightwalker!"
"Peace, both of you," Kaelyn plead. "It makes little sense for you to tear yourselves apart and burn loyalties over temporary squabbles. Your ally still requires assistance – such that I am unfortunately able to give."
"Yes, yes," Safiya rubbed her brow and paused momentarily before muttering a lengthy and tongue-tying incantation. There was a release of something in the air, as if something pulled taut and then let go, gradually decreasing until it was gone. Cal sighed loudly and knit her eyebrows.
"Son of a bitch," she whispered. Kaelyn was bemused by the wizard's ability.
"You have great skill," she turned to her and Safiya looked briefly sheepish.
"Yes, well, I've been studying magic my entire life – such things are not profoundly difficult," she said. "Though that was a particularly complex curse to unravel."
"And now we have another puzzle," Gann interrupted, gesturing to Cal. "Your friend is still – apparently – mortally wounded. Unless you have a spell for that, she'll bleed out and then this will have been all for nothing."
"I..." Safiya began, and withdrew in something of a despair. "... nothing strong enough to heal everything. Anything that remains, we'll have to take care of with bandages and stitches – but she'll be in no fit state to meet the army tomorrow."
She had rose her hands in an effort to concentrate, but Gann's own fell atop them. Safiya started and frowned at him, where he met her with a grin.
"Then let me prove my worth, if you still have doubts."
"Your own loyalists did just assault us, Gann."
"My loyalists?" he laughed and knelt beside them. "The spirits I barter with pledge no loyalty to Okku. Those that lead us here? Pay them no mind. That was only a temporary means to an end."
"I'm not mortally wounded," Cal grunted and withdrew from Kaelyn's lap, trying to sit herself upright – she faltered, however, her palms slipping in the mixture of fresh and old blood, causing her to fall back into it. She cursed under her breath.
"Even if not, you still must face Okku tomorrow. And... at dawn, I think. Do you really suppose you have a chance without proper healing?" Gann asked and Cal turned, narrowing her eyes at him. But she had no sufficient argument. Her ally grinned. "No, I had thought not."
"And you are... a healer?" Kaelyn asked him, still trying to keep her bearings in the strange situation. So much information pelted her at every angle, but she could only process so much of it at a time. Gann gave a theatrical, though minimal bow.
"That and more."
"Prove it," Safiya rose an eyebrow at him and Gann huffed slightly, though seemed to comply. He shut his eyes and braced himself, leaning back for a brief pause as if caught in a temporary trance. He reached out, and despite how she shied away from him, he reached Cal and moved his hand just over one of her wounds. At his fingers, a blue light began to fringe and bloomed in his palm – it spread to Cal's flesh and she inhaled sharply as it began to knit back in place. He moved to the next, and it was not long before she was once more intact – the only scars were the tears in her armor, revealing glimpses of pale flesh beneath. Safiya's face had seemed to freeze in a permanent surprise.
Kaelyn was perplexed. Ilmater had denied her the ability to heal this girl, but the stranger – Gann – whatever he was, wizard or sorcerer had called upon a power of his own. Something yet allowed this girl to live. She turned to him. "What god have you petitioned?"
"God?" Gann repeated, frowning and sounding quite baffled. "Petty superstitions are meaningless to me; it is through no illusion that I find a source of power, but through the spirits."
"The spirits of Rashemen?" Kaelyn asked. She was not familiar with them and knew of them only by rumor, having yet to encounter any. Gann nodded.
"The same spirits who want to kill me?" Cal asked, still having yet to pick herself up from the ground. She lie as if defeated, glaring up at him from the blood.
"No – you'll find that spirits are as diverse in their loyalties and strategies as the living. Some of them would see that you live and defeat the bear god in battle," Gann said and Cal knit her brow in confusion.
"Forgive me," Kaelyn said, "but I must know – what battle do you speak of? Which spirits, and which god? You say you'll meet with an army tomorrow, is that right?"
"Yes, songbird," Gann nodded to her. "Our ally has offended a spirit who many see as a king – she has robbed his grave and slighted him once, and he seeks her blood as penance."
"He's a delusional despot who's mistaken me for some prisoner," Cal said angrily, heaving herself upright. "I haven't robbed his grave, I escaped from it. He's gotten an army together to kill me tomorrow. That's why I sought you out; your siblings pledged to stand at my side in return for finding you."
Kaelyn was taken aback. "They did what?"
"They want you to return home, wherever that is."
"No," Kaelyn said and Cal rose an eyebrow at her. "I will not see my siblings harmed. You have kept true to your promise to them, and for that, I thank you. Allow me to stand at your side in their stead and free them from their pledge; they are innocent and should not raise their hand to a force that has not called them."
"We'll need all the help we can get," Gann said, but Cal put a hand up to hush him – a gesture he seemed to take deep offense to and promptly glared at her.
"If you feel that strongly about it, I'll let them go," she said, though seemed perplexed. "You are a priestess of Ilmater, though?"
"And you are a fellow adherent; I would not see blood spilled if we can avoid it. Will you reason with the spirit king, and look for an alternative to war?"
"Reason with him?" Gann began and Cal shot him a look. He folded his arms and returned it.
"I can try, but I doubt he's going to be reasonable," she said, turning back to Kaelyn. The situation gave her pause and she wondered if Ilmater had denied her because the girl was a war monger. Had he forsaken her for her crimes and path to bloodshed? The thought certainly was illustrated and perhaps biased by the copious amounts of blood still bedecking her, and something terribly hollow in her silvery gaze. "I have a mission. I can't let Okku stop me. If it comes down to him or me, I won't be taken without a fight."
Kaelyn nodded after hesitating. Yes, she could understand that – how deeply she understood that sentiment, in fact. It felt fairly profound – the way the girl had said it, underlying what it meant to her. She, too, had a purpose.
"What brings a priestess of Ilmater to Myrkul's Vault, anyways?" Safiya, quiet until then, had asked rather suddenly, surprising the two girls. Kaelyn glanced to her, bemused.
"I seek entrance to the depths of this vault. The next stage of my pilgrimage lies there, and this gate before me is but another obstacle placed in my path," Kaelyn said, gesturing to it. In the shadow, a staircase lead down to the massive gate, reviling it to be as sinister as it appeared. The curious party studied it.
"Do you know how to open it?" Cal asked.
"I have stood before this door and studied its surface for days countless, and let my eyes fall upon the black upon black, the thin etchings of its surface. If you relax your eyes to the shadow, you see the true depths of the artistry of these mosaics, some written in ash, others in shale, slate, and dyed tileblack. Within these shades is a key. And once unlocked, the path will continue on."
"You said you would stand with us against Okku's army tomorrow," Cal said, turning back to her. "Assuming we live, I'll do my best to aid you in opening it."
"Cal," Safiya began, then paused, as if unsure of herself. She frowned at her ally, and Kaelyn took the hint. She smiled at the two girls.
"I would welcome such company," she said. "Still, my purpose is here. I will stand with you, and return to this vault. You mentioned that you have a mission, as well. I would urge you not to abandon it. If I am still seeking an answer when you have met with your purpose, then I would gladly accept your help. I pledge myself to your service. Let us see what good we can achieve by our alliance, and may Ilmater bless our endeavor. Perhaps you were called here, just as I was. If so, perhaps the planes have need of us."
Gann uttered a laugh under his breath and Kaelyn glanced to him.
"And pray tell us, priestess – what is our purpose here?" he asked. Kaelyn paused, and took the moment to drink him in – everything and nothing spoken in tandem. He continued as she observed him.
"Kaelyn – is that your name, songbird?" Gann asked. She nodded curtly. "Well, forgive me, but I had the sneaking suspicion that quite none of us are aware of what's going on here. The closest thing we have to answers are the witches of Rashemen and Safiya's own little secrets... and whatever is rattling around in that empty skull of Cal's."
"Stow it, Gann," Cal growled. Safiya had begun to mutter something under her breath. "You helped us tonight, but don't forget who saved who first."
"Who saved who?" Gann seemed taken aback, withdrawing as he blinked at her. "Such arrogance! It was I who agreed to stand at your side and face an army!"
"Yeah, and we got you out of that death sentence in the prison!"
"Dying from boredom is hardly a death sentence," Gann scoffed, and folded his arms as he glared at her. "I knew your temper was monstrous, but your ego is utterly staggering."
"Ain't that the pot calling the kettle black."
"You are so ungrateful – I could have let you die, you know."
"Thanks for keeping your word and not letting me die."
"Please," Kaelyn said. "I would not see that my presence causes such a rift between two allies."
Safiya snorted. "Oh, you don't have to worry about that, Kaelyn. They hated each other long before they met you."
Kaelyn returned her attention to Cal and Gann, tilting her head. They were glaring daggers at one another, and she indeed saw the brand of anger and angst that set between them. They met like oil and water – such an oil that was about to meet fire. She settled her sights on Gann. "You are strange."
"I beg your pardon."
"There is much about your heritage that evidences in your behavior," she continued and Cal seemed to perk up.
"Oh?"
"I am curious what this ebony-eyed creature of the slopes of Celestia sees in one such as I. Perhaps more than my comrade?" he indicated to Cal, his tone biting with annoyance. "Pray, priestess, continue."
"Very well. I see that your feet find the patterns of dirt and sand beneath them uncomfortable, as if you are used to stepping in dreams, not earth. You toss about words like a wind around you, in the hopes that their speed and flurry will deflect questions and prevent you from being seen for what you are," Kaelyn said, then her expression softened. "You are hurt. And that pain drives you to hurt others, for you have been taught that that is the wheel that turns the world."
"You saw that from looking at him?" Cal asked, clearly incredulous. Gann had lapsed into silence and Kaelyn saw at once that she had done more than make him uncomfortable – she had chilled him into a brief, yet impotent submission. She felt an immediate surge of guilt.
"Ah... I think your faith may have led you astray, and your eyes may not see as deeply as I had thought," Gann said, his tone just as shaken as he appeared to be. He reclaimed himself, however, and waved her off theatrically. "A shame, but no doubt my colors would blind you."
"Spectra of color is something I know only from text, not from experience. My eyes do not perceive color as you do. There is only black, white and little else. It is another mark of my heritage, and I do not find it a hindrance," Kaelyn explained. ""My grandfather had once told me that it was something my belief had chosen, not my blood. I would not call it blindness, but I do see the world differently."
"Hmmm," Gann rubbed his chin, seeming to steady once the attention had been surrendered from him. He suddenly gestured to Cal. "And what do you see in our esteemed comrade? She is an amnesiac, you know, and certainly would jump at any reading you might offer her."
Cal seemed almost to blanch, and Kaelyn hesitated – yet there were so many questions and so many perplexing curiosities she felt upon looking at her. To invite wonder at the mention of her lack of memories only made her more eager.
"Although I saw it on you when we first met, now that I've studied you, I see that it is not the first time you have walked in shadow," she said, and paused, knitting her brow as she ran over the details. "Your journey has marked you, and I sense an absence within you, as if your heart was removed. Its pain has faded, to be replaced with something new, an affliction... seeping into the open wound. Whatever affliction I sense within you that has filled the wound – it feels larger than the wound itself, as if the wound is merely a door."
Cal met her stare, breathing slowly as the priestess examined her. There was a lingering sense of doubt in her presence; Ilmater's fervent denial, Gann's ability to heal her, her sense of purpose in tandem with her sense of loss and... was it...? Yes – fear. A deep, chilling vein of it. Kaelyn could not place what shook the girl so – it was beyond her assessment and existed long before she had entered the realm of shadow. But she knew she would be doing her a disservice to name it. "I do not know if Ilmater's blessings will aid you, but the fact you bear such pain is a testament to your strength of will."
"She is heartless? Well, that certainly answers a few of my questions," Gann said and Cal responded with a very rude hand gesture.