Chapter 10: Springtime Blues
The sounds of nature echoed far and wide about him—the birds cried their songs to the heavens, as the winds whispered a soft, bell-like lullaby. The melody brought a soothing sort of calm; and he felt as if naught could hurt him within Nature's embrace.
He was home.
He smiled—then stretched, noting absently that the trees—tall trees, oaks and pines, had spread their branches out above the clearing in which he lay. The leafy greens cast about a sweet, warming scent. And amidst these comforts, the sun—ah, the sun! It shone with a magnanimous brilliance, and it illuminated every rabbit's hole, and every bird's nest.
Such were the wonders of Scosglen.
When had he returned home?
For a moment or two, the druid wondered—then abandoned the question. Deep within the wonders of his home, he found that he no longer cared.
Several long seconds—they seemed like days, passed. And yet, the druid could feel his heart longing for her—
—ah , but who was she?
Try as he might to surpress the curiousity within him, he found that he simply could not. He tried—oh heavens, he tried, to keep her from his head; how he wished he could push his not-so-distant reality away.
The face kept appearing within his mind's eye. A fair young lady—graced with firestorm hair, and eyes of brightest blue.
He pushed the face from his mind, releasing a rather irritable grunt. She would not take him from his home; his one true love. She would not be the cause of his leaving home—he would not allow it.
And yet, even as he grumbled faintly under his breath—he knew his conscience to lie. He wanted to see that face, to awaken from his dream for just a glimpse of her laughing lips—
And so, he bid a solemn farewell to his home—promised to, someday, return; and surrendered himself to the ever-encompassing light.
It was twilight—or perhaps just past twilight. He could sense that it was so; the birds had ceased to sing, and a chilly night breeze had begun to blow.
A dream.
Saul stirred slightly—then crooked the faintest of smiles. The serenity of Scosglen seemed not to have left his being. He lay still for several long seconds—for the memories of his home brought joy to his heart.
It was several seconds longer when he'd finally decided to open his eyes—perhaps it was time to greet the realities of the world.
Crimson locks.
"Cordelia—" The smile had barely had time to form upon his lips, before his vision chose to return. "—oh."
The rogue Captain scowled slightly—then shook her head. "I'm afraid not."
"Sorry." The druid coughed. Truth be told, he was rather shocked to find the Captain by his side. She'd never seemed to care, before. He crooked the smile again. "How long have I slept?"
"Two days." She said, dryly—and with a faint grimace, Saul saw that she'd taken his recognition error as a personal insult.
He decided to try again—she was, after all, by his bed. Surely she wouldn't allow her temper to get the better of her? "Have I missed anything interesting?"
"Nothing at all." The Captain said. Then, with a languid toss of her crimson hair—"Are you feeling better?"
He nodded quickly—and then, not wanting to seem at a loss for words, said, "Much better. Thank you." He paused, and cleared his throat. "—Incidentally, is Gheed still alive?"
For a moment or two, Saul thought he'd caught a flash of a smile flicker across the rogue's face. She nodded. "Unfortunately."
He chuckled vaguely, nodding for several long moments—he had nothing to say. Kashya seemed to sense his discomfort; for with a slight inclinition of her head, she straightened, and cleared her throat.
"Well, I'll—" She began, stiffly. "—leave you be, then."
Saul smiled slightly—then nodded. "Thank you."
She stared at him for several long moments, and he began to wonder if he'd hit yet another nerve. She seemed rather tetchy; and he did not much fancy the thought of angering the Captain so early in his recovery. For a moment or two, a flash of disappointment reverberated within her teal orbs—but her expression did not change.
With yet another stiff nod, the Captain exited the tent.
He sat silent upon his futon—a small frown made its way slowly onto his still-weary visage. Kashya's demeanor was somewhat different; and though he could not quite put his finger on it, Saul did not think it a good change at all. He much preferred the cold, temperamental woman he'd come to regard as an equal.
As a friend.
Heaving a small sigh, he lifted a hand to rub gently at the back of his head. Women were so difficult to understand, at the very best of times.
"What in the name of Horazon did you do to her?"
Another auburn head had begun to make itself seen within the tent—and it was one he was glad to see. He grinned. "Cordelia!"
The sorceress chuckled faintly, shaking her head even as she made her way towards him. He was glad to see that her smile was true. "Hello there." She wrinkled her nose slightly—then leaned forward to kiss him gently on the forehead. "I'm glad to see you too."
For a moment or two, he remained still; shocked into silence by the simplicity of one such kiss. Then, he smiled—and pushed himself into a proper seating position. "I mistook Kashya for you." He rubbed sheepishly at the back of his head. "Did she look offended when she left?"
To his surprise, Cordelia simply smiled—a rather small, wry one. "Well—" She began; her slow, low volumes told him that she was thinking her words over. "—just a little." She paused, her brows knitted closely together. "Honestly, Saul. We don't look alike at all, Kashya and me."
Saul released a low, amused chuckle. "I wasn't properly awake—and her hair colour is almost similar to yours."
"Mine is a lighter shade." Cordelia wrinkled her nose again, tossing her auburn curls over her shoulder—as if to place emphasis upon her words.
"I'll be sure to remember that the next time I awaken from near death." Saul smirked. "Now, Cordelia dear, I find myself in a bit of a pickle here. I can hardly remember what happened in Tristram—" Here, he paused, and scratched briefly upon his nose. "Would you care to remind me?"
The sorceress sighed softly, as though exasperated. And yet, even as she settled herself comfortably upon the ground beside his bedding, she grinned. "I don't remember much, myself."
Saul rubbed at the back of his head. "Just tell me everything you remember."
Cordelia threw him a rather vague smile. "I've heard stories of those of your walk—of how your kinsmen bend their bones and change their appearances." She said. Her voice was just a touch lower now; though she spoke her next words with rather a sly grin. "You look very nice with fur."
He gave her a half-hearted scowl. That sounded like quite the opening line of a good, long tale.
Or tail, as it were.
Spring seemed to arrive with a great many bursts of fresh, new sunlight. All life seemed rejuvenated—if not renewed, within the vast expanse of good, green earth surrounding the Rogue Encampment. The skies were a constant—fluffy clouds of gold and white amidst the never-ending blues. The sun shone as it once did—brightly, bringing with it a warm sort of radiance.
At first, all had appeared well. The rogues had begun to hope—a luxury long sacrificed in the face of danger and darkness. Perhaps they would live to see the end of the dark reign. Perhaps, perhaps—it was all but a cumbersome question which bore no answer.
And then came the rain.
The crystalline droplets poured from the skies—and in a matter of mere days, the long-awaited spring was over. The birds ceased to sing and the flowers hid their blooms.
And thus the world returned to its perpetual state of gloom.
Saul stood by the gently-flickering embers of the bonfire. The silence that encompassed the night-darkened encampment was almost deafening. He could see but few others about the clearing—two younger rogues who sat in a corner, deep in discussion, and Warriv; who sat upon a boulder, a leather-bound book propped open upon his knees.
For a moment or two, the druid watched the fledgling flames amidst the pieces of burnt charcoal—they flickered to and fro, glowing brilliantly, then fading away. The flames reminded him of the weather—undetermined and undecided.
With a low, heavy sigh, Saul crossed his arms. He'd felt constricted lately—short of breath, as if the winds were choking the very life from his lungs.
And he quite understood why.
Chaos had wrought destruction upon Nature—she quavered, and trembled with fear, now. The faded spring was but a desperate reminder; for Nature greatly loved the season of flowers and bloom. But the need was there—men must be reminded of the great evil upon them.
Men must destroy the great evil—if only to restore balance to the Sanctuary.
Are you quite alright?
Saul lifted his head slightly—then smiled, as the jade-eyed hawk landed upon his shoulder. He nodded briefly, and then reached out to stroke absently at her feathers.
You are looking quite pale. The bird stared dubiously at him for several long moments.
The druid chuckled vaguely. "And you're looking quite brown. Did you stay under the sun too long?"
Ceres clicked her beak, then pecked him indignantly.
"Augh!" Saul scowled, rubbing tenderly at the small crimson mark upon his ear. "Most birds don't do that." He grumbled.
Most birds don't offer advice, aid, and companionship. She clicked her beak again, as though emphasizing her point.
He narrowed his eyes at her, then sighed, simply choosing to remain silent.
She watched him for several long moments, then rustled her tail feathers with an air of impatience. Are you going to tell me about that which is bothering you?
Saul found himself at a loss—he did not quite know how to put his problems into words. Then, wrinkling his nose, he muttered, "I feel—" He paused briefly. "—trapped."
Ceres blinked placidly at him, her leathery eyelids opening and closing in fluid movements. I see.
"I feel as if a great darkness is approaching. The storm that makes itself seen at the end of every spring." Saul frowned, rubbing at the back of his head. "And spring has ended—before its due time." He paused. "I don't rightly know what is wrong, Ceres—but something is wrong. Something is very gravely wrong."
She shifted her footing rather uncomfortably, rustling her wing-feathers slightly. The way you are feeling now, druid—that encompassing helplessness is what my kin feels; what we have felt since the dawn of evil upon our Sanctuary.
"I'm not going to sit about and do nothing, if that's what you're implying." He muttered out of the corner of his mouth. The young rogues were beginning to look towards him—he'd supposed he looked rather odd. Not many spoke to hawks.
Ceres seemed to have noticed their staring—she returned their gazes with one of imperious haughtiness. Such children. You'd think they'd never happened across those of Nature.
Saul allowed himself a stiff chuckle, shaking his head just a touch as he began to stride away. "Come, now. There's no need to get snippy."
They made their way to the edge of camp—to the edge of the Adura river. A lone rogue stood upon the bridge—she nodded briefly towards the druid in greeting, then returned her gaze to the vast emptiness of the darkened moor.
There's a sensible young woman. Ask no questions and bother no-one. Ceres clicked her beak in approval.
"Oh, stop it." He grunted, settling himself down onto the ground beside the river.
She flapped her wings lazily, and then came to land upon the riverbank beside him. What will you do, druid?
Saul inhaled deeply—for a moment or two, he said nothing. Then, he picked a pebble from the ground, and, after yet another moment, tossed it into the river. "The siege of Entsteig began with the Tamoe Monastery." He began. "I believe—that whatever fests within the monastery can be destroyed."
And? Will you be the one to destroy that evil?
He shrugged. "That future is unclear to me."
The hawk watched him stiffly. Then, cocking her head slightly to a side, she rubbed her beak affectionattely against his arm. I have faith in you, druid.
Saul allowed the tiniest of smiles to grace his lips. "Am I to understand that you will stay with me, then?"
To the death.
They sat in serene silence for quite some time—the soft, rushing rapids of the Adura calmed them in ways both known and unknown to them. Nature had such ways of soothing her children—and those who did not see it were blind to all that were good and green in the realms. The moon arose within the dark, star-lit skies; they, too, flickered lifelessly within the prussian-blue blackground, like little candles in hurricane winds.
By the by, the rogue-on-duty left her post—and another came in her place. By the time the sun made its presence known, Ceres had taken flight; she, too, had business of her own to attend to.
Dawn descended upon the Sanctuary in faint shafts of golden light—for the accursed clouds of grey and ebon spangled the skies; they blocked the sun from view. Such was the weather of Entsteig in days of darkness.
"Didn't you sleep?" Cordelia had clearly just arisen—her crimson locks fell in dishevelled waves over her chest and waist, and she was rubbing at her eyes. She had dressed—her simple white undershirt flowed loose over her pantaloons.
Saul chuckled quietly, then turned around to face his new companion. She yawned, and he smirked slightly. "Why aren't you wearing one of your beautiful collection of gem-encrusted silks?"
Cordelia scowled, then bent over the edge of the river. "Go on. I should've expected that you would tease me so." She cupped some water in her hands and splashed it over her face. "If it helps, I can't imagine why I chose the gowns over practical armour, either. It's quite unnerving really, that my mind can make decisions on its own without my actual consent."
"You don't like your silks and velvets anymore?" Saul grinned. A faint, mischievious glint hovered within his grey orbs. "I mean, I know they're actually really old, regardless of how new they look—and I know that they were once worn by that self-obsessed countess. But surely, that is no reason to reject such beauteous finery!"
Cordelia grumbled faintly under her breath—then, in one swift movement, turned around and flung a cupped handful of icy-cold water at him. "If you like them so much, you can wear them."
Saul found himself laughing aloud—he got to his feet, and made his way towards the sorceress. "There now, you know I'm only teasing." He grinned, then leaned over the water himself. "You'd look better in them. I haven't the right body for such gowns."
"You haven't the right gender for all gowns, you fool…"
The encampment was abuzz with activity by the time they deemed it necessary to return. Many of the rogues were, by now, awakened—they strode about the camp with purposeful gaits, some weary-limbed, and some fresh-faced. Kashya stood in her corner, her expression grim—and though the druid waved a hand in greeting, she barely responded.
Saul found himself frowning in slight apprehension. Now that he'd begun to pay attention, he could see that many faces were beset with anxiety. Even Liene, who usually bore little, to no fear in her eyes seemed distant—somewhat aloof. She, alone, managed the weakest of smiles, before disappearing beyond the gates to the Blood Moor.
He leaned over towards Cordelia. "Do you get the feeling that something isn't quite right today?" He muttered quietly. "The rogues are usually solemn, but they seem far worse for wear today."
The sorceress nodded stiffly. "I noticed. Perhaps we should ask Akara—" She muttered.
Saul crossed his arms. "—we probably should. But not right now." He made a random motion towards Akara's tent-clearing.
The High Priestess stood by the bent figure of Deckard Cain—her expression did not differ much from that of her rogue sisters. She looked weary; and her ashen face seemed, somehow, as if it were more lined—more aged. They spoke in low, hushed tones; and every once in a while, Akara would shake her head, as though greatly distressed.
She'd caught Saul's eye for half a second—and he'd thought he could see the faint, wavering flame of despair within her ebon eyes. But she'd shook her head slightly—then returned her attention to the Horadrim mage before her.
"Come. Let's go find Charsi." Saul held a hand out towards Cordelia. "She might be able to tell us of this sudden change in morale."
They'd found Charsi pounding heavily upon a glowing piece of metal when they'd made their way towards her tent. She held rather an irate expression within her face—a stark contrast against the other rogues' grim demeanors.
"What?" She muttered grumpily, without quite bothering to look up. When she did, her expression softened somewhat—though she did not smile.
Saul cleared his throat quietly; to see Charsi in such a manner was a surprise, indeed. He'd never seen her angry. "We just wanted to talk to you."
The blonde woman muttered darkly under her breath—then straightened, wiping some soot from her brow. She gazed expectantly from Saul, to Cordelia, who blinked several times and bit her lower lip in shocked silence. "Well?"
Saul frowned slightly. "Are you quite alright, Charsi?" He tilted his head slightly, then moved to her side. "You seem troubled."
"Do I look alright to you?" Charsi snapped. She whipped her hammer from beside her anvil—then resumed her pounding of the now-flattened piece of armour. "You would think—" She grunted, punctuating her words with the ringing clang of metal against metal. "—that they would have given up by now. But no—" Here, she paused once more, raising the hammer with rather an angry growl. "—the both of you had to go and rescue that old coot."
Cordelia blinked several times—she looked rather confused at the smith's words, though she hid her concern beneath the solemn, somber façade of her face. She said naught, choosing, instead, to stand in silence in her corner, her hands folded primly over her abdomen.
Saul placed a gentle hand upon Charsi's shoulder. "Come, now. You can't expect me to understand all that." He said. "What's really wrong?"
Charsi threw her hands in the air, her hammer coming to land upon her anvil with a great, resounding pang. "Deckard Cain wants you—YOU, to go and kill that—that she-demon hounding the monastery! That's what's wrong!" She shrieked.
Saul blinked several times, his eyes widening ever so slightly. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw Cordelia throw him a bewildered look—and he shook his head. The sorceress nodded briefly, then motioned towards the rogues' sleeping tent, before slipping silently away. She, too, seemed perturbed at this rather new side of the cheerful smith.
"Alright, slow down. Charsi, slow down." He murmured, reaching out to draw her into his arms. "Calm down. Slow down."
It took him all by surprise—for, the next second, his headstrong cousin; one who never cried for any reason fell into his arms and began to sob. Saul patted gently upon his cousin's heaving back—he felt almost as if the world would collapse. The idea of his brave cousin weeping brought a new meaning to things; perhaps, perhaps, things were as bad as they seemed to be.
"Hush, cousin." He whispered gently. "It's going to be quite alright."
She made a noise through her nose—and it sounded as if it were half an angry cat, and half a moose. When she lifted her tear-stained face once more, he could see the fire within her deep, sea-coloured eyes. "You don't know that." She said—and beneath the choked cadence of her voice came accusation. "You don't know." She repeated.
Saul lifted a brow; then smiled, shaking his head. "Of course I know." He half wished he would believe his own words—but he saw no reason to further aggravate his cousin. "Your cousin is an able warrior. You have no cause to fear for him."
"Oh, stop it!" Charsi cried, slamming her fists into his chest. "Stop acting like it's going to be alright. It's not, and you know it." She pulled away from him, her eyes flashing with an odd sort of emotion. "You act all cheerful—all nonchalant, and you scoff the demons in the wilds. Can't you see, Saul? The very existance of the Sanctuary is threatened—we shall all perish if the evil is not destroyed. It is not a game!" Here, her voice broke off—and the tears, once more, began to fall from her eyes. "How do you remain in good spirits? How?"
Saul found himself silenced for several long moments. The pounding within his chest did not ache him—no, that which hurt him were his cousin's words. Did she think him thus nonchalant? Thus shallow, to remain in joy when all about him grieved the end of spring?
When he spoke, it was in an oddly low murmer—and it did not quite sound like him at all. "I am sorry you think of me as such." He began, his voice a quiet baritone. "I had thought—of all the people within the realms, that you would understand."
She choked back a sob, though her chest continued to rise and fall in her almost-breathless state. "Sometimes, it just feels as if you don't care whether you live or die. It feels as if you don't care whether we survive this massacre."
Saul merely gazed at her—he did not quite know what to say.
The truth, and the whole truth was that the druid felt it somewhat easier to face the darkness of the realms by remaining as he were—glad of heart and bright of spirit. He did not think it prudent to parade the effect of darkness—nor did he think it wise. Few within the encampment knew the true depth of the druid's thoughts—the true depth of his pride. He detested weakness, choosing instead to dread the darkness in solemn secrecy. After all, what good would public fear bring the others of light? Surely, it would make him seem more human, somehow—and yet, it would bring no hope, as was greatly needed in such times.
Finally, he found his voice once more. "You mayn't understand my being, cousin." He murmured, and his voice was low. "But know that I do want care. I want many things for my future—I want to marry, and I want to have babies. But these things are best abandoned in light of such times. I may not live to see the end of such times. Therefore, it does not do to care too much—or to show too often what I feel." He paused, and though he did not look at her, he knew she was listening. "I don't want to be disappointed when I die, cousin—and that is precisely how I should feel if I were to wear my heart upon my sleeve."
When at last he lifted his solemn grey gaze to meet that of his cousins, he found her starry-eyed, and stiff-backed. She had ceased to weep, though she seemed less than ready to smile.
"I don't want you to die." She murmured—and it was with rather a defeated air that she lowered her arms to her sides.
Saul attempted to smile, but found that he simply could not. Instead—"I won't die." He said.
Charsi made a movement that may have been a nod—then turned her back to him, reaching out to take a hold of her hammer. "If there is anyone in the realms who can reverse this accursed spring, I believe—I believe you can." She paused, biting down upon her lower lip. "Just—please promise me that you won't die?"
The smile that broke his lips was, this time, rather a true one. He leaned over to kiss the smith gently on the cheek. "I can't promise you that. I'm sorry." Then, taking a step back, "But I can promise that I will not yield my life without a fight—if I must fall, they will fall with me."
Charsi thinned her lips slightly—then slammed her hammer onto the now-cooled piece of metal. It made an uncomfortably loud, ringing sound within the air.
And it was with rather a sad smile, that the druid made his way from his cousin—and at the very least, he knew now that she would understand the depths of his heart.
The accursed spring would have to be reversed—by all means necessary.
Author's note: Woohoo! Here's another chapter! I know it's a little anti-climatic, after all those quest-rich fighting scenes, but I just thought that Charsi and Saul deserved some family time. Also, I'd thought of bringing them all the way to the monastery gates in this chapter, but that seemed to be moving along a little too quickly for my tastes. This way, I get to savor the emotions of my darlings, and I get to drag it out another chapter!
As usual, thanks go out to Ophelion, ArkangelsWrath and LoneWolf69sg for the reviews! Oph, I'm glad you're loving Cordy. I've had a hard time trying to get her into character, but its been worth every bit of it. I love her too! .
That's all for now, people—please don't forget to drop me a review for this chapter! Otherwise, I get all cranky, and ya'll don't like cranky Emmy. Seriously.
Haha, kidding. Signing off for now!