Chapter 60

Crossroads

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Noah

It was dark, gloomy. Nothing dared to move, nothing could be heard. I was feeling light, free of those heavy emotions that for hours had prevented me from sleeping that night. I slowly opened my eyes, but didn't want to get up. Content to do nothing, I didn't want to question anything. I didn't care to know where I was, if I was alive or dead, asleep or delirious

It was all very strange. It was a familiar feeling, like I was in a flashback, witnessing something I had experienced before. This feeling of numbness, fragility, exposure …

I was in a dream. A vivid and bizarre dream that seemed to envelop me again, as it had done once before.

And then ... "Hey man." I at once heard behind me. It was serene, familiar, and echoed through the darkness like the toll of a bell.

I turned around startled, almost certain of what I would see - the incandescent phoenix, the colors of the setting sun, standing next to me, emanating a faint light. I could barely see the golden eyes of that weird creature in the midst of so much darkness, but they were there, bright and vivid as burning villages.

"What?" I asked, confused. His voice had floated through the thick air with a well forced Antivan accent, very different from the serene and calm tone he had used before.

"What's the matter, man?" he asked, blinking a few times. He seemed to be feeling amused.

"This way of speaking," I said, dragging myself a bit away from him. "It sounds like a street urchin."

"Hmm," he murmured one long note before replying, "Just a different approach. I thought that if I spoke like the young people of your age, it might make gaining your acceptance a little easier."

"... I do not talk shit." I crossed my arms angrily.

"I see ..." the bird said, in that mysterious way, without opening his beak, as he stared at the floor. He looked bewildered, as if I had said something worthy of reflection.

"Stop playing your little games," I said, no longer able to contain the unrest caused - ironically - by the peace of mind that emanated from his brilliant aura. "What do you want?"

The bird focused his two topaz-colored eyes toward me. They now held a wild glow, almost predatory, but still, indescribably calm.

"We have to admit one thing, Noah," he began, and the Antivan accent had disappeared completely. "Several things have happened since we spoke last, and many of these events were very unsettling and disturbing. And some even strangely unusual, but in a good way, perhaps."

I felt my face heat like a storm was building, reflecting my state of mind. On my lips, I could still feel the sweet taste of Mahariel's kiss, in stark contrast to the taste of blood from the Lady tearing my throat. It was a combination that made me particularly unsociable, so I just snarled at the creature, closing my hand into a fist.

"What do you want?" I repeated.

The bird seemed to take into consideration my anger and went straight to the point, "You are treading a dangerous path indeed, Noah. Even redemption, the supreme act of forgiveness and renewal, has its limits. It does not come to those who do not want to be reached. And you ..." He paused. "You did something bad today, Noah. Something very, very bad. And you regret it, from the bottom of your heart, as it should be. But if you continue to follow this path, even the most sincere of regrets won't be enough to save you. "

"I did nothing!" I growled angrily. "There is no guilt without a crime."

"There was no crime, indeed," he said, so quietly that it only increased my irritation. "But you attempted to kill the Lady, and more than that, although you did not succeed, you were comfortable with your decision to do so. You have accepted the way of the killer and nearly destroyed your soul for it."

"You know nothing!" I snapped, advancing toward him, but he did not seem to care. Not even when my hand pushed hard on his chest full of feathers, daring the creature for a confrontation.

"I know." He looked with disdain at the messy feathers, before again looking at me. "In truth, I know. The world is offering you a second chance, and all you have done is to walk in the opposite direction."

"Nonsense. Second chances are nothing but bullshit ..."

"Do you think the only second chance that would be worth it would be the survival of your parents, or to have Fergus and Helena back? That you could then have someone you trusted and loved to lean upon, yes I know, and it would be wonderful if it were true. But a new beginning is also a second chance, and you're closing yourself off, fleeing the healing that you so crave. "

I opened my mouth to answer, but closed it again soon after. And even if the words had not fled, he continued to speak without waiting for my answer.

"Do not refuse what life offers you so willingly. Remember that if you hit the same door several times, it can end up stuck for good, and never open again."

"You're just talking shit because of the favor you want me to do."

"The completing of your purpose is of interest to me, yes, but the only beneficiary is you." He answered quietly, inflating all the feathers of his body, like a bird about to fall asleep. "Think of me as a mediator between your fear and good SENSE, someone who wants to reconcile the Prince of Highever with the crazy man who almost killed the spirit of the forest."

"Who sent you?" I asked, trying provoke it again, but this time he took off, hitting his long flaming wings in the sea of darkness around us. Strangely, not even the intense fire of his feathers seemed to be able to dispel at least some of the darkness. Everything went black as tar, unchanging and quiet, like a sea without end.

"You think I'm an opportunist, but I'm not." He was suddenly sad, and for a moment it seemed that his feathers had become dimmer. His words sounded morbid and heavy. "I'm dead. Nothing you can accomplish will benefit me, or even change any aspect of my existence. Your motivation to resist my influence is unquestionably admirable, but your tendency to turn a blind eye to truth is not. "

"Do you suggest, then, that I just accept that you're just some sort of divine entity who enjoys giving advice to a troubled human for free? That's it?"

He seemed to think about it.

"Well, I never asked for anything in return for my words," He seemed to smile behind the curved beak.

"And you will not tell me what is that purpose?"

"We've talked about it," he said, "For now, all I ask is that you embrace the opportunities that life has given you. Sometimes those opportunities reflect on a simple gesture, but can change the course of a lifetime. "

I tried to answer but could not make my mouth move. It was as if my whole body was becoming numb, and little by little engulfed by the darkness around us. The last thing I saw were his eyes, yellow like a cat's, which shone more than the flame of a thousand torches, and brought out a feeling of familiarity that was difficult to question, before I completely disappeared into the darkness of my soul.

Mahariel

Solitude has always been a loyal companion for those who know how to inspire with its wisdom. It allows a deep immersion within oneself - a journey of self-discovery and exploration. For the hunter, it means the moment of silence before attacking his prey, when he reflects on his actions and apologizes to the gods for his sins; For the doctor, it means the search for clarity and wisdom, so that his actions bring healing, and not the reverse.

For Eilleen ... The defeated, soul-weary elf, it was not either of them at the time ...

Instead it meant a reminder of how uncomfortable it can be to easily lose control over all things. An imaginary control, I might add, for any belief that someone might actually have dominion over anything is mere speculation. The events at the ruins just led me to believe that we all live adrift in the great sea of fate, and in the end all, all the effort we make only serves to delay the inevitable.

Noah has a rotten nature, and Zathrian had one too. It was only a matter of time before they rose to the surface, and I was right in the middle when it happened. And I, who had believed the situation was under control, had to almost die for anything to be resolved.

I felt used by circumstances. By people. By everyone. I was tired.

And now I was left with the illustrious mission of bringing disappointment to two dear friends, who had made the mistake of trusting the wrong people.

Kallian was still asleep, and as much as it worried me considerably, since she had been unconscious now for at least three days, I was also partly relieved not to have to deal with so much at once. Lanaya alone was already hard enough.

The new Keeper was lying on her bed in the ward. I sat beside her after she'd thrown herself there, and she hugged the pillow tightly as I told her that Zathrian was dead. I could not do more than that, more than sit beside her while she mourned the loss of her mentor, while I told her that one of the people she had respected most was actually a nasty son of a bitch.

She did not cry, just listened to my story in silence, without questioning me. It was only my word; someone who had always hated him, was against him, and yet she did not question me. I could be lying, and yet she would believe. It was an honor, but also a terrible weight.

I put my hand on her head in a gesture of solidarity and she flinched, as in a moment of weakness.

Obviously I omitted certain parts. She did not know the what happened with the demon, or what Noah had done. That knowledge could impair her judgement when it came to humans, blaming them all for something they'd had nothing to do with.

For all practical purposes, my wounds were caused by the werewolves .She already had enough trouble ... she did not have to worry about my wellbeing.

"The truth was in my face all the time ..." Lanaya said, her voice cracking. "I lived with him for nearly twenty years. I should have realized." She pressed against the pillow even more. "It was my duty to have noticed. And I never ..."

"You could not know ..." I tried to say, but she interrupted me.

"I should ...I was supposed to..." She sobbed. "I had the responsibility to known ..."

"Yeah, maybe you could have noticed something," I leaned back on the headboard, still stroking her hair. "But so what? You might have been able to prove that he was a blood mage, yes, but then what?"

She stopped sobbing and looked up from the pillow, staring at me from beneath the fringes of her hair.

"Whatever happened, it was long before you were born. There was nothing you could do to avoid it." I said. "Besides, even if you could have proved something, it would never have been connected to the wolves. It was all very well interlaced ... And for you to take responsibility is pure stupidity."

She stared at me, hidden behind the safe barrier of her hair. She seemed to be processing my words.

In the meantime, a dry noise caught my attention, followed by the metallic sound of a chains rattling. As I turned, I saw Shaw lying by Kallian's side with his front legs off the bed and his muzzle pointed at the ground below.

There was a huge bone on the floor, still with bits of flesh and skin hanging from the ends. He stared at the thing as if he should be able to return it to his mouth just by the power of his thought, or as if the cost of getting out of bed would be his own life.

He stared at me with that pleading look that every puppy has, as if begging me to help him, but I could not look at that thing without wondering where he'd gotten it.

"I just hope it is not a human bone," said Lanaya, almost completing my thought.

"The witch must have given it to him," I commented, shaking my head. The dog snorted angrily, and I could almost see him frowning behind his white muzzle as he stood idly and got down off the bed.

"I think you may be right," she said, lying belly up.

"I know I'm right." I blinked and her lips twitched in a brief, small smile, which soon turned into a rueful sigh.

"How do I tell a whole clan that the person they most revered was a despicable person?" she asked in a completely choked voice, bringing both hands to her face. Her eyes were red, but she was not crying. "How can an outsider unmask the respectable family man?"

"You belong to this family. You deserve to be here as much as he, or more." I brought one hand to my forehead and something in my arm contracted painfully - the stitching done by Lanaya, clean, firm, which pinched every time I make any sudden movements.

I could see the dark lines beneath the bandages, pulling the thin skin and keeping it in place while the wound healed. The pain was horrible, and I needed painkilling herbs almost all the time to make it bearable.

I quickly lowered my hand and quietly pulled the sleeve of my robe to cover the marks before she could realize my distress.

"Easier said than done," she said, crossing her arms over her forehead. Her brown eyes stared at the ceiling of the infirmary.

"You do not need to do that." She blinked at my comment and turned her head to face me, with incredulity stamped on her face.

"Are you suggesting I lie to them?"

"For better or for worse, this is your family now," I said, and she shuddered. Neither of us had said the word Keeper since I had awakened, let alone discussed the unquestionable. The laws of the elves were clear, and from now on she would be their leader, even if the idea terrified her inside. "If you are convinced that the truth will do more harm than good, then it might be better to say nothing."

"Zathrian is already their hero. To omit the story will make him a martyr, a God," she said, sitting on the bed. Now she stared at the sheets, but her eyes held determination rather than pain. "I do not want my legacy to be built upon a lie. The era of lies has to be done with the sun, or we will never be rid of the curse."

I also did not want Zathrian acclaimed as a God, so I was more than happy with her decision.

"Whatever your decision, you have my support," I said at last, and would keep the promise even if she decided to hide the truth from the others. It was her story, and I had nothing to do with it. I only had to make sure she had the freedom to do what her heart her thought was right. But rather than cheer her, my words seemed to have the opposite effect, and her expression dismantled altogether.

"If you will support me ..." she said, lowering her head, with a tearful voice. "Do you think it would be very wrong if I ..."

She could not finish the sentence. Her crying exploded the moment I pulled her into a hug, sobbing against my chest so hard I feared she would start choking any minute.

She was in mourning. She needed the struggle, to feel that loss with all of her heart and soul, before she could forward in her new life.

If you asked me if I would cry over Zathrian, I certainly would say no. If you asked me if I thought it was right to cry for Zathrian, my answer would remain the same. But Lanaya's tears were not from the loss of the evil blood mage who had put men, elves, and nature itself under a curse of hatred, no - it was the loss of the good man of her memories, her Keeper, who had given her shelter, food, education and years of love and care. One who had welcomed her, gave her a home and people she could call family.

So I think in this case ... Tears might be okay after all.

Kallian felt dizzy.

She had barely opened her eyes and already wanted to go back to sleep. Her consciousness was floating in pieces, like long waves of nausea bombarding her head, and the feeling was not good. It seemed that she had a stone hammer inside her skull trying to pave the way out.

She tried to straighten to relieve the pressure of her head, but the movement only worsened the situation - her neck was stiff, her back and calves were numb and her eyes were pasty.

It took a while before her hand found its way to her face in an attempt to clear the sand from her eyes (as her mother used to say) but she still could not see anything. In addition to her heavy eyelids, everything around her was immersed in darkness.

She blinked a few times, and the big, black blur gradually began to disperse. Inky spots in her field of vision, combined with a severe headache, fiercely fought to prevent her from regaining focus. But even with all possible physiological distractions, one thought was latent and alive in her mind; something that pulsed in her temple more painfully than any hammer.

I am in the Fade.

She began to panic. Her breath quickened, hurting her lungs, as if her fear was turning the air she inhaled into acid.

She suddenly realized that she could not feel her legs, and the motivation to flee only increased. She felt trapped, cornered, as usually was the case in her nightmares, and could almost anticipate the arrival of the Lion, with its stench of death and sadistic laugh.

Then, she felt a strong, warm breath close to her thighs, and her spine froze. She jumped up from where she was with an involuntary reflex, and then felt a hand take ahold of her arm.

"Kallian, calm down," the voice said. It was not that thunderstorm voice she was used to in the Fade. The voice whose timbre made her legs fail, and made her heart race so fast she was afraid it might explode.

It was a velvety voice, slightly slurred, like a lazy phlegm in his throat. He seemed tired, almost groggy. And perhaps the most important thing of all, his body did not stink.

The hand had no claws. It was kind of rough, but warm and welcoming as the sun should be. There was a light touch on her wrist, which soon rose to the joint of her arm, and he wrapped his fingers lightly around her elbow.

The comfort allowed her to let down her guard. She held her breath until, after some strong blinks, the place around her began to take shape. The dark blots further gave way, in distinct and identifiable ways. The murky tones of gray in her eyes gave way to indigo shades of blue and silver as her vision grew firmer, and soon the figure of a man was forming in her field of vision.

"It's okay," the voice reaffirmed. It was less groggy and more calm, as if he understood the scare the little elf had taken. "Are you alright?"

His voice held an almost palpable relief, as if his words were more to reassure himself than her. His hand, which now ran up and down the length of her arm in an attempt to calm her, moved as if he needed that physical contact to prove that it was all real.

"Fade ..." She began to babble. "It's not real ... not ..."

"It's not a dream," the voice said, now holding her hand tightly. "You're fine. You're all right."

"But ..." she stammered, looking around.

She could see a dim light coming from the sky, and square shapes around them. Holes in the ceiling, she was able to identify, where the moonlight entered. It was the infirmary, for sure. She had been so long in that bed that she was able to recognize them from afar.

The hot and heavy breathing stroked her thighs again, but this time she could see at a glance it was Shaw. He was sleeping between her legs, and on them, apparently comfortable enough not to awaken from all the excitement.

When she looked in the direction of the voice, she lost her breath for a brief moment.

Silver eyes stared at her as if they were mirrors of the moon itself. They held an unusual glow that resembled a cat's eyes in the dark, but different. There was a mixture of relief, concern and something hot and intense, almost like that of worship, which seemed to reach into her own soul and transform the rest of her muscles to jelly.

When she blinked one last time, and her eyes flashed with recognition, Alistair smiled - the crooked smile she had learned to like, and that also had a different silver sheen.

"Where ...?" She started to say, but he made a soothing sound to quiet her.

"Shhh ..." he whispered, straightening the covers more snugly around her. "You should rest."

"But ... the wolves ... You ..." she began, but this time she cut herself off. Her eyes searched the darkness in search of fur and claws, but all she saw was his naked torso bathed in the moonlight. He was shirtless, with bands of cloth around his ribs and chest, and a dark cloak covering his back.

His dark skin had a warm glow where the moonlight played along his skin, in a natural contrast that emphasized the curves of his muscles, rising and falling in harmony with his breath. The movement was almost mesmerizing, as if inviting her to calm the fast pace of her heart. And as it was still too dark to see him clearly, she could not take her eyes off him.

He resembled a drawing - the perfect features, with harmonious colors and gentle shapes, the kind you could admire all day without getting tired, and still continue to be enraptured with its beauty.

When she came back to herself, her hand had slipped from his and raised, hovering right in front of his face. He was leaning forward slightly, so she did not have to lift her elbows from the bed to do so.

Alistair just watched in silence. He did not seem surprised, but neither did he seem to expect it. He did not understand what she wanted to do, just knew that whatever she wanted, he would allow it.

Then she hesitated. Her fingers twitched slightly and her hand fell back a little.

She stared at him intently. Her cheeks had acquired some color, a cute little shade of rose that combined with the fiery red of her hair and her half-open lips. He could see the admiration in her eyes as she stared at him, and even a twinge of concern when she noticed his bandages.

Her focus, however, was on his caramel eyes, which begged for proof that he was real.

"Alistair," she said so faintly it seemed no more than the whisper of a breeze.

Without thought, Alistair leaned against her hand - gently burying his face into her palm, and with the same lightness in her fingers she gently touched his cheek. Her skin was not cold, but even so, it caused a strong shock when her little fingers rested on his face.

It was an almost feverish chill that spread throughout his body, as if that small contact alone was enough to light within him. And it was getting worse as her fingers began to explore his face. First, her fingers touched his brow, as if they were the fine hairs of a painter's brush. Then they traced the outline of his nose and returned to again stroke his cheek. She'd thought that she'd never have to chance to see him, to touch his human face, ever again.

"It's over," he said in a long, deep sigh, this time surrendering to her touch, slightly moving his face until her hand slipped to his mouth. His lips brushed her palm, but he restrained the urge to kiss her. "I'm fine. Everybody's fine. It's over."

She sighed. It seemed that finally she had released the one apprehensive breath she'd been holding in her chest, removing the huge weight that had been stuck on her back. But she did not seem particularly relieved, not when her gaze became lost in the darkness before her.

She frowned. Her eyelids were heavy with deep, dark circles under them, but held that expression of stubbornness that he knew so well. As it used to be when she refused to sleep.

She, however, was disarmed when she felt the warm hand of Alistair touch her head.

"Sleep in peace, Kallian," he said, stroking her hair gently. "I will guard your rest. Nothing bad will happen to you."

Her eyes widened as much as an exhausted look could. She looked surprised, feeling her eyes begin to burn while trying to express their disbelief without using words. In response, he just smiled.

Her favorite smile again.

If only he could know how much such a promise could mean to her, perhaps he would have reconsidered the proposal. Or perhaps never thought of it in the first place. Her heart was beating so hard that it seemed there was something pressing on her chest.

It was fear. Afraid to feel safe. Fear of holding onto false hopes. Fear of not being afraid, to let her guard down, falling into a trap ... Fear to really let anyone but herself try to help her, and the greatest fear of all, that person could get hurt for trying.

She then felt another force, even bigger than her little paranoia. Alistair affectionately stroking her head, so soothing and enjoyable, almost like a natural tranquilizer for her nerves. Her eyes were closing and thoughts were fading one by one. Her body was gradually relaxing, and she allowed herself to surrender to the small caresses on her hair. His warm fingers gently touched her scalp, in a calm and engaging rhythm, sending waves of heat to her entire body, and calming her frayed nerves.

The cries in her mind were diminishing more and more, until she felt the troublesome whispers become stifled by the beating of her heart, which seemed to echo his firm and sincere words.

Until there was no more, nothing of the world beyond the little elf, and only the care of a human in love.

A/N: Sorry for the long delay. Things should get back to normal now :)