Chapter 17: In Marble Entombed

Liene Emeraude Sabbeth

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"Winter of year 653—Summer of year 675"

"Beauty born of winter noon,

A maiden fair and strong;

As golden sun and summer wanes,

And thus shall end thy song."

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"In life, one's spirit seeks freedom; but in death, one's soul finds peace."

The storm of evil within Entsteig had, at long last, been vanquished. The curse had been lifted; the Maiden of Anguish was banished, forevermore, from the realms of the Sanctuary. All was well.

And yet, in the bitter watches of harsh reality, all was not well.

Six days; no less than six days had passed since the fall of evil within the monastery. Since the untimely death of the rogues' lieutenant.

Saul had not yet recovered.

She'd watched him many a day since first she'd awoken; but always, he was silent and somber. Indeed, he had not spoken a word since their return from the catacombs. Even Akara, who had, on many occasions pulled him from sadness and grief, was powerless against this new shadow within him.

He was inconsolable.

Try as she might, Cordelia could not properly remember the details of that which occurred within the deepest chambers of the catacombs. She had witnessed Liene's fall; the sight of that dwelled, still, within her conscious mind. Yet, she found that she could recall nothing else. She had simply awoken, one fine morning, to find Akara leaning over her, pale with anxiety. After several short minutes, it had become apparent that she'd lain unconscious over the span of two days. The next line of business was to enquire after Saul—and then, because she felt it would be rude to do otherwise, enquired after Kashya. To her great relief, she had been told that neither were in any way fatally injured, though the former, like her, had slept long. His injuries had, by far, been the most extensive, as compared to that of the captain's, and that of her own.

But his physical pains, albeit grieveous, was the least of their worries, as Akara had put it.

Cordelia had not understood why, just then. Her head had felt groggy, and, in addition, her entire body had seemed to ache somewhat. She'd tried to move her arm—but the paralysis had only just begun to wear off, and her movements were weak. Andariel was, in all, a dangerously skillful alchemist when it came to poisons. Indeed, she hardly thought of the druid again just then, for it was all she could do to keep from swimming into the depths of unconsciousness again. The pain was nearing the very limits of bearable.

Then the world had gone black.

Yet another day had passed, before she'd awoken once more. She had felt just a little better; but the mere sight of Saul had near broken her heart. For this time, it was none other than the druid who leant over her bed; but his eyes were devoid of his usual cheer. He was, in every essence, a man robbed of happiness. No smile had graced his lips, just as no words escaped his lips. He'd merely watched as she'd awoken—then, nodded briefly, and made his exit.

They had not spoken since.

It was near mid-day; and half of forever had already seemed to pass her by, when the sorceress found herself gazing through the circular alcoves carved into the ivory marble archways surrounding the Inner Cloister. The glorious sight shook her from her reverie—and, for the first time in many days, she felt truly awake. The lush green grass was littered, still, with ruddy-petalled blossoms; and amidst these petals lay the fruits of the crab-apple tree. And yet, as she stood in solemn silence, Cordelia came to understand that the beauty of the Inner Cloister was no tonic for a heart beset with guilt and grief.

He sat upon the chilly soil beneath the shade of the crab-apple tree. His hair hung limp over his solemn eyes; it had grown quite a bit since first they'd met. In his hand, he held a knife—and his eyes, beset with dark circles, were narrowed in deep concentration as he hewed at the grey marble slab before him.

That which would sit at the head of Liene's burial site.

He did not look up, nor did he make any sign of having noticed her arrival as she made her way up to him. She wore upon her one of the countess's gowns—a silken chiton of deep grey silk, which rustled gently upon the grass as she walked. But she made herself still, when finally, she came up close upon him. Several seconds passed, in which he merely scratched at the headstone; and in the silence, Cordelia found herself studying the defeated stance in which he sat, and the beads of perspiration rolling gently along the crevices of his cheek and jaw, which was set in grim determination. So intent was he upon the his work, that he hardly appeared to notice, even after she lowered herself onto the ground beside him.

"Saul—" She began; and her voice was, to her utter dismay, rather feeble. She had not the slightest idea of what to say, or how to behave, and the soft quavering of her voice was beyond her control to fix. But she persisted; and gently, laid a hand upon his shoulder.

He froze. Then, with perhaps just a trace of scarlet within his sad, sad eyes, he turned to face her; and for the first time that morning, acknowledged her presence. "Yes?"

Cordelia inhaled sharply, biting down upon her lower lip as her eyes sought his. The bitter chill within his tone crept, slowly, into her very veins. She felt rather choked; almost as if she could not breathe. "—how are you feeling?"

He seemed rather distant and aloof as he regarded her silently—but after a moment or two, rolled his shoulders back into a faint shrug, dislodging her hold of his shoulder as he did so, then resumed his carving of the marble slab. "As best as can be expected of me at present."

"That doesn't answer my question." Cordelia murmured quietly. She crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes never leaving his, though he seemed unconcerned of her. "I want to know how you're feeling. Not how you're pretending to be feeling."

"My answer to your question will remain the same, no matter how many times you ask it." He grunted. It pained the sorceress somewhat to hear the dully muttered volumes of his dulcet tones. "Nothing is going to change the fact that Liene is dead. And nothing is going to change how I feel at present."

"I'm not telling you to change how you feel. That is beyond your control." Cordelia frowned. "But by Horazon, how I wish you were less beset with sadness."

She could see the flash of petulance in his eyes as he met her gaze; but it was gone in but half a second, to merely be replaced with the grim countenance of his earlier self. "I would not tell you to forsake the mourning of a dear friend."

"I'm not telling you to forget about her." Cordelia muttered through her gritted teeth; and it was rather subconsciously that she'd dug her nails into the flesh of her palm, creating tightened fists as she did so. "I suppose it hasn't occurred to you that your current state worries all who care for you, still?"

"Well, what would you have me do?" He was greatly incensed now—the sorceress saw that his ears were slowly reddening, as was his neck. But it had never been in her will to anger him; and she was greatly distressed as she swallowed the lump within her throat. "Would you rather I smile, and pretend as though naught has happened? Would you rather I were a cold fish that disregarded the death of a close personal companion? Would that not make me less than human, Cordelia? How could you call me friend, then, if I were to ignore the loss of one I hold as dear to me, as I do you?"

Cordelia found herself silenced just then. She had not the words to counter his; nor did she think it prudent to do so. In such situations, she'd long learnt that it was best to simply leave the afflicted to their own devices; for she, as an outsider, would have no insight into the thoughts of one so beset with sadness and grief.

She bit her lip—but in her silence, found just enough strength in her being to reach out, and to clasp his face in her hand, drawing his eyes to hers. For several short seconds, she merely gazed into his solemn eyes, and he did not look away. Perhaps he had found some comfort, be it by some miracle, or by her intent gaze; for, with a softened sigh, he'd leant back, his carving-blade falling limp onto the ground with a softened thump.

"I don't quite know how to behave at present, Cordelia. Forgive the harshness of my speech." His words were quiet—and they held within them such confusion and pain, that she was struck speechless. It was several moments later before she blinked—and yet again several moments later when she'd finally moved to return her hand to her lap.

"You needn't apologise, Saul. I—I wouldn't have believed you to be one to forget your companions in the blink of an eye." She said, at last; and her voice was but a low whisper. "And I'm aware of how—well, innately passé this sounds, but promise me that you won't grieve forever?"

It had struck her, even then, that her words were somewhat reminiscent to those of helplessly romantic maidens.

She was no such helpless maiden.

He seemed quite ready to remark upon her words; and there was what seemed a smile upon his lips as he leant forward, laying his chin upon the unfinished tomb. But what he had been about to say, Cordelia never discovered; for, just then, a softened, almost demure cough arose within the air—and they were interrupted.

It was Kashya.

Perhaps she had sensed wrong, and perhaps it had been but her imagination—but Cordelia thought she could sense a hint of bitter resentment in Saul's eyes as he turned to regard her.

At any rate, there seemed a distant chill to his tone as he lifted his head, and said, "Kashya."

The captain of the rogues cleared her throat. Apparently, she, too, had sensed the animosity in the way he'd said her name. "Good morning, Saul. I see you are better."

"What do you want?" There was no mistaking it now—the hate in his voice was painfully obvious.

Cordelia found herself gazing wearily from one to the other; somehow, it seemed as if a battle of words was about to break out. The thought half amused, and half alarmed her—would Kashya stand for such abuse?

But deep within the depths of her heart, the sorceress had to admit that she somehow had seen this coming. That which happened within the catacombs had not been spoken off—but it was without a doubt, now, that Saul blamed Kashya for Liene's untimely demise. And it was evident, by the way the latter avoided his eye, that she, too, felt the weight of guilt upon her shoulders. She certainly didn't rise to anger, as was the norm for her, at his tone.

"I just wanted to see how you were." She began, slowly.

"Well, now you know." Saul said, blandly. His eyes were narrowed—and he seemed to have forgotten Cordelia's presence. He got to his feet, his fists clenched. "And now you can leave."

Kashya gritted her teeth—but did not turn away. Instead, she took a step towards the druid, her hand outstretched. "Saul, please—I need to speak to you. But I cannot, if you turn me away without listening."

"There is nothing you can say, that I will wish to hear." Again, his words were harsh—and Cordelia could not help but feel but a touch saddened by the gleam of despair within Kashya's eyes. "It would do the both of us much good, if you would consent to leave my company."

"Why?" The word was but a whisper—and the captain's teal orbs were vaguely starry. "Why won't you listen to me?"

Something clicked in the deep of the sorceress's mind—she felt as if she were an unwanted intruder, a non-involved third party of insignificant importance. The thought made her feel rather small—but to attempt to leave would draw attention to herself. And that, in every essence, was something she did not need at present.

Yet the nagging feeling of consciousness within her forbade her impudence; who was she, and what right had she to listen to such a conversation, as was prone to happen? But even she could not deny the truth—she was curious. Was this the moment? Would Kashya, the great captain of the rogues, finally be broken enough to reveal her deepest, truest emotions? Would Saul, at last, be fully realised of Kashya's feelings for him? It all interested the sorceress to an extent—but only partly because she had little hope for such a future, herself. Scenes such as these were as close as she was likely to get to romance.

Surely, it couldn't hurt to just observe them? Besides, the druid and the captain seemed unlikely as ever to realise her presence.

With that thought in mind, she crossed her arms, and returned her gaze to the two.

"You know why, Kashya." Saul hissed quietly—and his face was but inches from her, as his deep grey eyes narrowed further, further, into mere slits. "Don't you dare deny your part in Liene's death."

"I wasn't going to, but what would you have me say?" The captain's face was deathly pale—but her eyes were wide as she reached towards the druid and clenched on to his shoulders with what seemed an almost bone-breaking grip. "Would you have me cry for forgiveness? She is dead, Saul! I cannot ask her forgiveness, and you cannot imagine the torment it causes me!"

Saul jerked his shoulders, his brow creasing deeply as he reached forward to dislodge her hands, rather roughly, from his shoulders. "You could've helped her. I told you to help her—but you hesitated. Your hesitation cost Liene her life." He spat bitterly. "Your own sister, Kashya—how could you?"

"I couldn't think at that moment, Saul—please, understand!" Kashya was screaming now; and the shrill volumes of her gritty tones reverberated within the courtyard. "I didn't think. I couldn't."

"That—" Saul said, rather dryly, "—is obvious." And without another word, he turned from her, and began to walk away.

"Surely you must know. You must know why I hesitated!" Kashya cried; and for a moment or two, she looked as if she wanted nothing more than to latch herself onto the druid's arm—so aghast, was she. "You have to know why I did it."

"I really don't care."

"It was because I loved you."

The word had barely escaped as a whisper—yet it echoed loud and clear within the depths of Cordelia's mind. It had struck rather the same effect upon Saul, who had, by now, halted in his steps. But he did not turn to face the captain, and, after a moment or two, simply cleared his throat, and strode away into cathedral; then shut the door behind him.

And then all was silent.

Cordelia nibbled gently upon her lower lip. Every inch of her being thought it most sensible to leave—but somehow, it seemed a cruel gesture to abandon Kashya, however nasty she may be, to her thoughts, which surely, at this point, were quite beset with darkness. Tentatively, almost timidly, the sorceress cleared her throat, her eyes fixed pointedly upon the other.

She did not respond

—nor did she make any gesture to suggest that she was aware of Cordelia's presence within the courtyard. Instead, she merely stared; stared, and stared at the doors of the cathedral, as if she could not glean enough from the lacquered surface.

Perhaps she, too, had begun to die from within.

Author's Note: Phew! So this is what happens when I suffer from writer's block! The lateness of this chapter is attributed to the fact that I've been busy with my prom, Christmas, New Year, and a road-trip with my besties down to the capital city of Malaysia, Kuala Lumpur. So, so sorry if my lateness have caused… any form of distress? XD

Thanks, as usual, go out to Harold Hou, BloodHeron, and skopde for the lovely reviews! Many thanks! You have no idea how your reviews make my day!

And thanks go out, also, to maeve27 for the favourite! I'm glad you enjoy my fic!

Thanks also, to Ophelion, because I've yet to have a chapter out without thanking you. XD Hope you get back soon! I'm in need of some serious Nyhl Oread fluff!

Thanks again, guys, and Happy New Year! Have a good 2008, and look out for the next chapter, entitled, "Veiled Affection"! Its just that final chapter before my heroes depart for Lut Gholein. And I am aware that things seem to be moving a bit slowly, but you can all be guaranteed a slapfight, and face-scratching fun in the next chapter! Until then, cheerio!