Chapter 25: Torn Air
Sister Letha of Cloughbark
The air was in tatters, undulating in the breeze with sparkling edges, like fluttering silk if it catches the light, but there was no light beyond the tears. The world beyond the frayed edges had no light or darkness. It was gray. Gray like the consciences of men concerned with convenience. The other place beckoned, it called, it cajoled, it cried of something beyond and it frightened me.
We had been tutored to be wary of such things, told of the dangers of demons. They never told us of demons that lived on this side of the Veil and wore the armor of men sworn to protect us and serve the Maker. I had never seen a demon possessing a mage, I had seen men assume the guise of demons by choice, embracing it like a new mission. They first came saying that we were blasphemies in the sight of the Maker, representing a false prophetess that broke faith with her husband and tempted all of the waking world into sin. They claimed Maferath was the true servant of the Maker, he surrendered Andraste to the hands of the unrighteous to be purified by flames as a sacrifice necessary to relieve the corruption of the female taint. The sin of men assumed that she was a savior and glorified her, forgetting the true savior. The false Templars claimed the world was wayward to follow the weakness of a woman instead of the strength of a true warrior.
Claiming true enligtenment, they cast us out and burned the Chantry. When we refused to be separated from our sacred duty they clapped us in chains. They condemned us to purification through labor along with countless innocents in the bowels of the caves beneath their stronghold, the abandoned bones of the domain once held by the dwarves. They banished us from the sunlight in their greed to plunder what should not be touched by men, poisoning those who they should have protected.
As I scrabbled through dirt and dust, as it glowed with the rock that the demon men craved, I prayed until my prayers became nebulous, until my words became slurred and downy with pain. My hands burned, my lungs burned and my mind burned. My eyes burned every time I rested them and vainly tried to sleep. The names of my sisters faded, the names of the people I served faded, the Chantry faded, and I vaguely gripped what little of the Chant I could snatch from the shattered scraps of my memory. The caves were dark and the days were interminable. All I knew was that I was trapped by demons and I vaguely prayed for release, any escape that the Maker could afford me.
They beat any who resisted, they beat any who slowed in their work, they beat any as it pleased their cruelty. I could no longer recall why they singled me out from the others. Perhaps it no longer mattered. I was beaten until it no longer hurt. The burning sensations making me nearly insensible to all else beyond the burning glow that we eked from the rock with shovels and picks and bleeding finger tips.
Then it happened and I heard the sound of water running free and smelled the soft air of the forest through a collapsed section of tunnel. I escaped, I ran with another in tow, though the fingers were slack, listless as I dragged the one I rescued behind. Sister Millicent? Sister Arabella? The hand was not reluctant and allowed me to pull her behind me after we stumbled through a gap in the cavern into the darkness of a night shrouded forest, the splash of running water licking at our ankles with each frantic step until we staggered onto dry ground. I heard indignant bellows, but dared not stop. To stop was death, to stop was a return to a den of demons. Heedless of the snatching fingers of trees and the tripping feet of roots, hurtling forward on staggering legs, we strove into the darkness from a deeper darkness.
Then there was the tattered air, the gaping mouth waiting to swallow the unwary into the unknown. Could it be worse than the yawning caverns that swallowed men and women, consuming their very souls? The moment of indecision and my sister staggered forward, transfixed, insensible to the dangers both before us and behind. She walked into the waiting maw, shaking her hand from my grip and I let her go unable to give voice to my terror. As afraid as I was to continue alone, I feared what waited crouching in the unknown far more. I ran away from the tattered door, leaving the baying of men like dogs. I kept running until I could remember nothing but the sensation of the wind and the thudding of my chest as I gasped for air.
Once I could run no more, I collapsed, feeling the caress of ferns and the press of yellowing needles against my cheek and I slept.
In the days that followed, I wandered the woods. I had eluded my captors, but I was senseless to my surroundings. The haze of my existence closed in and all I could conclude was that I would die and I no longer cared. Everything had been ripped from my hands and the only assurance I had was that death would return me to the embrace of the Maker. The air was clean and remained free of sound save for the howling of wolves in the night. The rest of the Maker's creation remained mute, as if the birds had forgotten how to sing.
When the sound of voices muttered in the waning light of evening, it broke the hush of the woods and caused something to stir at the edge of my mind. I tottered toward it, the call of a harsh man's voice made me pause, but I was unable to answer, unable to remember how until he swept back the greenery and threatened me with a sword, causing me to cry out in terror. He lowered his weapon on seeing me and spoke wavering words of confusion and tenderness, reaching out an empty hand but I was too frightened, cowering.
The chiding voice of a woman caused the man to retreat. Gentle hands stroked my hair and loosened the words from my lips, unraveling what was left of my memory. The only certainty was that the demons had not found me and I was somehow safe. The Maker was still merciful.
The burning ebbed, leaving weakness, welcome weakness for I felt surrounded by strength. They did not abandon me, they did not harm me, they sat with me and spoke softly to me. Eventually they no longer blended together. The matronly woman gave me sweet tea and helped the darkness to recede. The young gentleman held my hand on long nights and smiled down on me. Our benevolent guardian watched over us as grim as stone and in time I no longer feared him. He had not the heart of a demon.
We travelled, but I knew not the destination, knowing I would follow them as surely as I followed the Maker, but the memory of the torn air haunted me still, filling me with a foreboding I could not comprehend.
**Sorry for the delay folks. Here is a very short installment, but I will be adding more soon