Chapter 2: Heaven's Wrath
Cassandra's voice brought her crashing back down to earth.
Errol instantly dropped the staff like it was a snake. It clattered across the ice but the feeling persisted, that feeling of being connected to something vaster than herself, like she was a rock who could feel the stream parting around her and seeping into her crevices, wearing her down. "I'm sorry, I don't know—"
"You're a mage," Cassandra spat out. "Is everything you have said to me thus far a lie? An elaborate trap?"
"Cassandra, I swear to God, I have no idea what just happened. I just grabbed the staff, and—"
"Why?"
"What?"
"What would someone who's never heard of mages grab a mage's staff?"
"It… it called to me. I can't explain it. And then I touched it, and everything… changed. I felt things, I knew things…"
"That's not how magic works." Cassandra pressed her lips into a thin line. "It presents itself during childhood and takes years to master, lest you set something on fire or become possessed by a demon. The level of control you just displayed is not something you pick up on a whim."
"Woah woah woah, demons can possess people? I thought they were just scary monsters."
"They can possess people - we call them abominations. But perhaps you know this? I've seen enough combat magic in my time to know that you cast fire and lightning spells well, though in an… unorthodox manner."
Errol met her gaze evenly. "I'm telling the truth, Cassandra."
She shook her head. "That's for the Chantry to decide. Right now, you need to defend yourself, and it seems you can. You can keep the staff. For now."
For a moment they just stared at it lying at Cassandra's feet, just a stick on the ice. Then Cassandra bent with a grunt, picked it up, and - with a look of complete disgust and mistrust on her face - handed it to Errol.
Tentatively, Errol reached out, her fingers brushing the wood and then jerking back before taking it from Cassandra. The feeling wasn't as strong now, but it was still there, that feeling of being porous, something flowing through and around her. She felt like she could see more, things that both were and weren't there, and hear whispers and words and songs just for her. It was beautiful, and terrifying.
Cassandra was watching her face carefully, her sharp eyes missing nothing. "This… is new to you," she admitted. "Or you are a very good liar."
"I'm really, really not," Errol said, and noticed that words tasted different on her tongue. "How am I supposed to run with this thing? It's taller than me."
She made a noise in the back of her throat, the vocal equivalent of rolling her eyes. "I don't know. I have seen novice mages use clasps but often the staffs simply stick to their backs."
"How?"
Cassandra glared. "With magic."
"Ah."
Errol fumbled awkwardly for a moment, trying to maneuver the long staff onto her back, but it wouldn't keep. Finally she gave up. "I'll just carry it."
The Breach pulsed again, as if urging them to move. "Fine," Cassandra said shortly, then turned and started to run, calling behind her as she did. "We've wasted enough time as is it. We're getting close to the rift. You can hear them fighting."
A panting Errol followed in her wake, trying desperately to keep up as she awkwardly carried the heavy staff with both hands. "Who's fighting?"
"You'll see soon. We must help them."
"Yeah," Errol gasped, trying to switch the cumbersome staff to a more comfortable position as she ran. She could sense the spirits snickering, not even trying to help. "Because being cryptic is really what I need right now."
Cassandra didn't answer, only sped up, so that Errol, winded and aching, was alone when she turned the corner and saw the rift for herself.
My God…
It was like the Northern Lights had solidified into crystal. The spirits around her went into a frenzy, and she felt a pull, so strong that her feet actually dragged back a few feet, as they begged her not to get close, to cross over to them where it was safe. Getting close makes us change, something whispered in her ear. Yanks you through, hurts your heart. Run, run, hold on to yourself, all is warped there.
Demons. They were surrounding the floating crystal and were engaged in an all-out battle with the variety of fighters surrounding them. Errol felt her mark flare and it sent the spirits around her skittering. As if at the center of a game of tug-of-war, Errol's marked hand pulled her forward, reaching toward the rift, into the path of the demons.
Help me, she pleaded with the nebulous other side, slamming her staff into the ground to keep herself from being dragged forward or back. She reached for the place she had felt before, of standing with one foot in each world, except it was harder here, each world fought harder to keep her, to force her, to change her…
And there was something else here, something that looked at her with hungry, interested eyes, a feeling that left Errol deeply shaken.
Demon! the spirits shouted, and Errol turned just in time to see one bearing down on her.
As if on instinct she lashed out with lightning and felt it sizzle through the darkness, claws severing from a body. Fire followed quickly, burning it away, but her staff was off the ground again and her left hand was pulling her whole body toward the rift, dragging her feet behind her like she was a doll. She dug in her heels and tried to jam her staff into the snow, but nothing stopped the relentless drag of her hand to the void.
She was almost at the mouth of the rift itself when someone grabbed her wrist.
His hand felt strange, like cold fire on her skin, soothing and burning all at once. She heard his shout as if from far away. "Quickly, before more come through!"
Then her palm had the sensation of opening up, and all of that fire and pain was sucked out of her veins into the void in front of her, killing it as surely as it had attempted to kill her. It sputtered for a moment, then flared green - once more the peaceful aura of the Northern Lights - and went out, leaving only a ghost image in its wake.
Errol stared at her hand, the terrible pain momentarily gone, then turned her vision to the man who had stopped her from tipping head-first into the abyss. He wasn't a man though, and Errol's jaw inadvertently fell open.
He was unassuming in every way: bald with a thin face, rough homespun clothing, a pack and a staff like hers on his back, some kind of animal jawbone hanging from his neck (morbid), bare feet (in this weather?), but he felt not all there, somehow shadowed and shining, and his ears were elongated and pointed, sticking out from the side of his head like…
"Lord of the Rings," she muttered, dazed and overwhelmed.
The man cocked his head. "I beg your pardon?" He had a light, pleasant accent that reminded her of Welsh.
She shook her head and tried to focus on the situation. The crazy, crazy situation. "What did you do?"
He continued to study her with very light, ice-grey eyes, and Errol continued to study him back, entranced by his ears and vaguely on the edge of a breakdown. "I did nothing. The credit is yours."
That snapped Errol out of her trance. "You mean this mark? It was dragging me toward it. I thought I was dead for sure. I didn't know it could be used to close it."
That seemed to interest him. "Dragging you? I wonder why…" He frowned, then shook his head. "Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand. I theorized the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach's wake - and it seems I was correct."
"So whatever gave me this mark also brought me here?" Errol asked eagerly. "What could do something like that? Could it send me back?"
He looked at her quizzically. "What do you mean, brought you here?"
"It's a long story," Cassandra said, sounding exhausted. "But if I understand you correctly, the mark could also close the Breach itself."
The man with the pointed ears didn't seem to want to let his question go, but he did, dropping his shoulders and nodding, his gaze still holding Errol's. "Possibly. It seems you hold the key to our salvation."
"Good to know," another voice said. This one was deeper, and sounded like stone that rumbled up from deep underground. "Here I thought we'd be ass-deep in demons forever."
Errol turned to see a very short, stocky man in a heavy coat with a red shirt under it that was open to reveal a shocking amount of chest hair. A wicked looking crossbow was strapped to his back. He felt different - less mutable, more grounded, like he was part of the very earth itself. It wasn't as obvious as the other man, but something wasn't quite right about him. "Varric Tethras - rogue, storyteller, and occasionally unwelcome tagalong." He winked at Cassandra and she scowled.
"Oh," Errol said. She kept darting glances between him and the other man, unsure of how to react. "Hi."
"Chatty one, this girl," Varric said.
"Does something you see interest you?" the other man said, and Errol flushed - she had been staring at his ears again.
"I just… please excuse me… but… what are you?" she blurted out.
Everyone stared at her like she had just asked what color the sky was. The man actually looked taken aback. "What makes you ask that," he said, a bit warily.
"Yeah, as if the pointed ears weren't enough of a giveaway," Varric quipped.
"So like… they're real?" Errol asked tentatively.
She could feel Cassandra facepalming behind her. "Now is not the time…"
"Of course they're real," he said, sounding more curious than affronted. "I am an elf."
Errol's eyes widened. "Oh. Wow. Okay. I thought that might be… but I didn't…"
He tilted his head. "You act as if you've never heard of elves before."
"Oh, I have, just probably not in the way you're thinking."
"Well I'm a dwarf, if that helps," Varric offered up, and Errol jumped and looked at him, her face red.
"I'm assuming you mean… a species?"
"Weird kid you got here, Seeker," Varric said to Cassandra. "Where'd you pick her up from, under a rock?"
"She's from… where she's from has yet to be determined. She claims it's a place without magic or the Fade."
"Suffice to say it has no other races either," the elf said, watching her carefully. He reached his hand out. "Do you mind?"
Errol just stared, not sure what he was getting at. His fingers were very long and pale, graceful to an extent that was almost otherworldly. After a moment of no reaction he tugged the windbreaker hood off of her head and touched her cheek lightly, turning her slightly from side to side as if studying an interesting specimen under a microscope. Something sparked on her skin, and she felt something else, an invisible magic unfurling its tendrils and probing her.
"How odd," he mused. "As before your eyes are wide set and sweep upward, but with the hood on I could see little else. When you were unconscious you appeared one way, yet for a moment I thought—"
He dropped his hand abruptly and shook his head. "You arrive through the Fade from a world without magic, and now magic flows through you at an unstable level. That cannot be merely a result of the mark. I'm curious to know how you came by your power, and how it is you arrived here."
"That is something we can determine later, once the Breach is sealed," Cassandra said brusquely. "Right now all we need to know is that she can close the rifts."
The elf nodded thoughtfully. "Of course." He turned to Errol. "I hate to think that you are referring to me now in your head as the elf. My name is Solas. I am pleased to see you still live."
"He means, 'I kept that mark from killing you as you slept,'" Varric said dryly. Errol spread her fingers wide and felt the skin stretch against the mark and the burning tingle of magic that lingered there.
"Thank you," she said. "You seem to know a lot about all of this."
"Solas is an apostate," Cassandra said, her words tinged with disdain, her eyes scanning the horizon.
Errol closed her eyes, exhaustion nearly overtaking her. She conjured up the feeling of her dad guiding her hand as he taught her how to throw a punch, how he showed her how to angle her elbow into a man's neck to make him choke and fall. Be strong. When backed up against the wall, act the Owl. She opened her eyes. "Thanks Cassandra. Now what the fuck is an apostate?"
"Nice mouth she's got on her," Varric said, and she glared at him too.
"Please stop talking about me as if I'm not here," she said. "I might be new, but—"
"I'm afraid we shall have to leave the definitions for another time," Solas said before Cassandra could snap something back. "Suffice to say that I am a mage, and my travels have allowed me to learn much of the Fade, what we call the world of spirits. I came to offer whatever help I can give with the Breach."
He turned to Cassandra, and his tone changed, as if reprimanding her. "If it is not closed, we are all doomed, regardless of origin. You should know, the magic involved here is unlike any I have seen. Your prisoner is a mage, but her magic is new and unstable, and it's hard to imagine her having the power to do this, let alone the ability to control it to such a degree."
"I'm not a mage," Errol protested.
"You most certainly are," Solas said, just as Varric scoffed: "Oh, so you just shoot fire out your ass as a party trick?"
Cassandra addressed Solas. "Noted, but she is still under suspicion. We don't know who she is or how she arrived in this world. We can deal with it later. We must get to the forward camp quickly."
Varric held up his hands. "Wait wait wait. If Sunshine here is a new mage, don't we have other problems now too? Like a demon possessing her?"
"Something else we can deal with once the Breach is closed," Cassandra said tersely. "That is all that matters."
"That doesn't sound like something I'd wait to deal with, Seeker," Varric said. "I've seen demon possession and I'm sure you have too. It is not a pretty sight."
"Don't worry." Solas sounded like his words were meant to be soothing. "I'll keep an eye on her. If worst comes to it, and she becomes an abomination, we could restrain, sedate, or even kill her."
"Thanks for the ringing endorsement," Errol said dryly.
"I said it could happen. I didn't say it was likely," Solas said. "Just stay closely grounded in reality until we have a chance to speak more about this."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning don't converse too much with spirits," he said. "Though they may try and speak with you."
Varric shivered. "Good advice. Can we go now? Bianca is ready and raring for a fight." He smiled fondly over his shoulder, and after a brief moment Errol understood.
"You named your crossbow Bianca?" she asked, inordinately excited for something that finally seemed to make sense. "Do all weapons have names? Can I name mine?"
Solas made a noise that might have been covering a laugh.
Cassandra cleared her throat. "Varric…"
"Seeker—"
"I was going to say that your help isn't needed but I simply don't have the time to argue to with you. We'll discuss this more once the Breach is sealed."
"Aw, Seeker, I feel all warm and fuzzy inside."
"Don't push your luck." Cassandra turned her back on them and started to walk. "This is what I get to work with: A barefoot apostate, a girl who can't tell Andraste from a dragon, and Varric. Maker help me."
Errol followed in her wake, the staff heavy in her arms. "What the hell is an Andraste?"