Chapter 58: Snared by Folly
Svenya / Mae
The road was wearying and I was thirsty, but I desperately needed to keep moving. Eventually, unsure if I were making progress or merely going in circles, I found a tree with enough leaves for cover and a few low branches that I could reach from the ground, pull myself up and scramble onto. I curled into the crook where the trunk forked into two large limbs, wedged snuggly against the rough bark that I could feel through the thick cloak I gripped to stave off the shivers.
The limbs groaned a soft lullaby in the night breeze and the rustling leaves whispered soothingly. My exhaustion fed the sleep that should have never arrived, as worried and uncomfortable as I was in the embrace of the branches. My eyes drooped, replacing the night shadows with shadows of another kind.
"Hello, sweet morsel," the large wolf grinned as I became aware in the confines of the Fade.
Though he was familiar to me since the service he had provided before, I was reasonably uneasy and wary of his leer, "Am I to run from you?" I asked this while preparing to bolt at the slightest indication.
He laughed that billowing sound, part jocularity and part insult, "You are no meal for me, little one. There are other things abroad which I have had the pleasure to hunt. There have been wonders and entertainment in these unusual times."
"Forgive my bluntness, but I was unsure of what to think since you called me `morsel'." I explained, still on my guard.
He grinned wider at that, and the voice chided, "I called you `morsel' but I didn't call you `meal'. For the time being I am sated, fear not."
"You say `fear not' to a mortal who has been attacked by wolves," I shook my head in disbelief at his cavalier attitude, "though you may not be one of those beasts of the waking world, you look to be their kin."
"What I appear to be and what I am are two different sides of the coin, sweet morsel," he argued before allowing, "but you are wise in your wariness. I can find no fault with that. These are dangerous venues, particularly for one stalked on both sides of the Veil."
"Are you referring to the patchwork woman?" I inquired, finding myself curious about the being that had attacked me previously when I attempted to fetch my mother.
"No," he answered, his maw sneering with distaste, "She was a construct. No better than a pile of glorified sawdust, a tattered doll, a discarded toy, a trick of rude stitching and desire."
"Did you eat her?"
"Of course not," the Fade wolf scoffed, "She would have been far less sufficient for my appetites than you. I sent her on her way once you were safely gone. There was no benefit in harming her when there is better sport to be had. Her former master, her maker, is far more interesting."
"Who is he?" I pressed, unable to rein back my curiosity as this new information was presented, "Why was she made to look like me?"
"Now the roots grasp for substance to keep the tree from toppling," the wolf crooned, sounding pleased with the question, "hence why I have been engaged in shadowing your shade. A figure of benevolence has bartered with me to keep you safe from a threat. What started as a nuisance has gained substance, gorging himself on what he scavenges. The wisp of a whisper is preparing to roar. I would probably have followed you for less than what she offered me, for this is an intriguing scene of folly, but a deal was struck and I fair quite well for it. It might be my undoing, however. This being has feasted enough to now be formidable. What once seemed to be a pleasantly tipped scale now skews in another direction."
"Could you be released from your bargain?" I was unsure if I felt sorry for the enigmatic wolf.
"A word has more substance here," the spirit being explained, "A vow is sharp and can turn and cut the speaker as easily as the intended target. Mortals have made words flimsy and false in the waking world so when they enter the Fade they often carelessly injure themselves by an ill-spoken phrase. We denizens of the Fade know to take full advantage of such ignorance when it is a boon to us. We do not lie, though we do not necessarily speak all truth."
"Then how can I trust you?" These disclosures were continuing to add to my unease.
"You don't!" he growled, irritated by my gadfly questions, "Never trust us. Even those with good intentions will cause harm. They do not wish to, but it is in our nature since there are only absolutes with us. I wish you neither good nor ill, but I will turn on you on a whim. It is the swing of the pendulum. It behooves me now to be benign for it is a diversion, but I will not be cloyed. I am not toothless, morsel, and you would hardly be chewed before you would be no more. Speak not of trust!"
"Fine, I hear your words and submit to your council," I put my hands up, palms out, "It corresponds with what I already know to be true."
"Wise girl," the wolf snipped before stretching his bulk upon the ground, crossing his paws before him in a posture that implied carelessness, but his eyes remained alert and glittered green. He cocked his head in my direction, waiting for me to speak further.
"You said I was being stalked on both sides of the Veil. The…spirit…that is stalking me in the Fade…you imply he is powerful but you haven't told me what it is…" I left off, hoping the beast would elaborate.
He sighed, "He is mostly a demon."
"Mostly?"
"He has reached beyond the usual delineations of his kind. What I could glean, he wishes to be flesh like most of his kind wishes it, but at some point he was tampered with and tempered. His motivations are not entirely self-seeking. He worships and desires. He seeks communion, but also consummation," he explained with halting phrases, as if he was unsure of how to make it coherent in the frame of my mortality.
"Does he want to possess me, then?"
"He wants possession, but not necessarily to possess you. He wants you not as a demon desires to control but as a man desires. However, not being a man, he cannot have you in the way he desires. With the Veil thinning, perhaps he seeks to cross over so he can claim you as he believes a mortal would. His reasoning is warped by what he wills, but the outcome is the same. He wishes to make purchase in the mortal realm."
"You were sent to protect me from this…being?"
"I was sent to uphold the rules, though the rules mean nothing to me. I am not bound by these same borders. The lines are not impassable to me, but mortals are no longer a curiosity…at least, not until recently. The Lady begged my favor to maintain balance before ripples threaten that which she holds dear. She is soft in that regard, investing in such fragile, flawed things," he huffed, "As long as she honors the contract, I care not for her motives."
It was my turn to cock my head, "What did she promise you?"
"That concerns you not, little morsel," he chided, his eyes slitting in mild, measured warning.
"How do you know of what stalks me in the waking world if you are in the Fade?" I changed the subject, not willing to test the extent of my host's patience.
"As I have revealed, the boundaries of the Fade do not hold me. I have wandered to and fro for longer than you can ken. I have freedoms many of the Fade spirits envy. To me, it is all much the same. You all struggle like injured animals in a trap. It brings me no amusement."
My brow furrowed, "If you travel into the waking realm regularly, how is it that there is no one who speaks of you? People would notice, I should think."
"You, you should think. However many of your kind are too preoccupied with these lesser brethren wreaking havoc that no one takes note of me in my subtlety," then he shook his head, "Pardon, I err. The Dalish have long been aware of my comings and goings, harboring a healthy fear for my…capacities."
The realization of what he was saying struck me like a blow to the gut as I recalled some of the tales of the Elvehenen that I had read in a book. I squeaked, "You are Fen'Harel!"
The toothy grin in response was further unnerving as he nodded his head in mock salute, "You are not as dense as most humans. Full marks! Many of your blunt eared brethren are oblivious of the old tales of the Wandering People. Yes, I am the Trickster, though even the Dalish have forgotten some of the more flattering details of my existence, along with much of their own identities. Perhaps some things are better forgotten, do you not agree?"
"No," I insisted vehemently, forgetting who I was talking to for a fragment of a moment, "Forgetting allows one to repeat foolish mistakes of the past."
He panted happily, "Yes, I have decided that I like you. Perhaps that is your power. You draw admiration from a variety of interesting sources. Let me see: a mortal-longing Fade spirit, a red-crowned knight, an ersatz Fade warrior, the Fade tainted Armored Man, a bumbling boar…so many admirers. With equal vehemence you draw ire as well, mainly from your own kin. Such petty knaves! I like your brother, though, more fox than wolf that one! Unlike me, who can see all sides, he thinks he knows more than he does. He is awake and seeking you along with the Armored Man. Poor pawns!"
"Someone else is using them?"
"Now to reveal all would remove the sting of the bee. You wish to be schooled? Learn by living and importune me no more with your questions. I will be safely by and intervene if I see fit, but do not rely on my sense of fitness to match your own."
With that I jolted awake, nearly falling out of the tree with the violence of my waking. My shaking caused the leaves to tremble on the branches. I gasped and grabbed at a limb to steady myself. Even in the biting morning chill I perspired. My heart thudded in my chest so loudly that I feared any and all could hear it.
"Damn," I growled in my grogginess, "I know not what is worse, my pursuers or my protector. The Dalish did not lie about Fen'Harel."
There was the chattering laugh of a magpie, sounding amused at the queer bird sharing his tree. He flapped his blue-black robes, ruffled his white jerkin and cocked his head, considering his guest.
"Do you dream, Feathered Fool?" I queried sarcastically, "Or are you spared such diversions in the realm beyond? I have always envied your wings. You have the potential to escape your enemies with ease and fly beyond the distant horizon. I cannot even escape in the oblivion of sleep, it seems."
"Not if they are nested," I recalled the memory of Bruna saying, "They will not abandon their young. They also remain faithful to each other. If only men were as constant as magpies."
"You wear motley like a fool," I observed as the bold bird left his perch to roost on my knee and I acknowledged, "Ha…bold fool! Here you preen and I could be an enemy and wish you harm. Is it that you are unaware or are you so certain that I will not try to pluck your tail?"
The bird again ruffled his feathers before lifting off into the air, seeking his breakfast in the frosted morning.
"If only men heeded the wisdom of fools. If only men saw the benefit of constancy and honor rather than the desire to grub for more. They root so long in the ground when the sky could be more than enough for anyone."
I carefully picked my way down from my perch and I was chagrinned to realize that I had slept far later than I should have. The sun had begun to crown at the edge of the cliffs of the surrounding mountains, causing the shadows to stretch off their complacency and flee before it. Shielding my eyes, I gaged that it had to be mid-morning but the basin of the ravines where I wandered had prevented the light from fully reaching me until late.
I felt disoriented, but not so much that I forgot the wisdom Bruna had taught me. Peeking around the tree, I found the heavier mossing indicating the south side of the tree. I quickly consulted the map that I had purloined from the arl's study and headed in the direction likely to lead to the ravine passage.
Unable to fly, I trudged in the dim light, glancing at the map periodically to ensure that I remained on course to exit the Cauldron, leaving the dangerously boiling politics behind me that my brother had carefully stirred up.
Ronan had never seemed dangerous to me, for I had always been more concerned with Fendril's open brutality and free use of force. Now I understood, it was not the club that one should worry over, one should be mindful of the hand that wields it. The fox had turned the most dangerous men in the Cauldron into his tools with a well-placed suggestion and nudging phrases.
"How should I counter him?" I found myself muttering aloud, "If caught he could claim ignorance. He has not dirtied his own paws with his machinations. Who can tie him down when he ducks into the bramble thicket? Of all the missives I saw, none make mention of him. None are framed with his slanted script. They are all sealed with the boar's crest. Not even my own father, the indomitable Arl Crewe, or Arl Boese know of Ronan's collusion with Ser Manning. The brutish Templar is probably being played false by my dear brother as well. Blinded by greed or a false sense of superiority, the lot of them! They are practically tearing down the mountains, stone by stone, to build a dais for their ambitions."
The sound of hooves broke me from my tirade and I found cover amid the trees and boulders just off the settled path. I gripped my knees to my chest and held still as the clopping became louder before awkwardly coming to a halt a short distance away. Not daring to try and visually spy the riders, I instead strained my ears to hear if some conference would pass and I was not disappointed.
"You!" the sour, enraged tones of my betrothed accused, "You said that my bride was secured. You said that there was no chance she could escape from the accommodations that you had prepared for her, yet here I am, taking to horse, to scour the countryside in search of the bird you had caged!"
"Peace, Manning," my brother wheedled, sounding confident and secure, causing me to wonder what it cost him to remain so unruffled or if he honestly believed what he spoke, "Is it not more sporting to hunt the wren than to have it brought on a platter? This may not be how I devised, but the bracing air will do us both wonders and the chase offers a light diversion. You have seemed tense as of late…"
"If I am tense, it is because all you have promised has not been met by what you have laid before me, Arlson. I will not be made a fool! I am the hand of righteousness! I will not shirk my duty, as you seem intent upon doing," the snarled words answered my brother's light response.
I could hear my brother tutting before he continued, "Does it not say in holy writ that patience is a virtue? Would we value the Maker's bounty if we did nothing to pursue His will? Such haste and desire for instant gratification is unworthy of a man so controlled and disciplined. Fear not, dear Manning, the prize will be worth the effort." The words dripped with condescension and I vaguely wondered if the Templar caught it.
"Arlson, you have no idea how much my control is slipping, do not tempt me."
"Actually, I have a better idea than you realize, dear Manning," came the measured reply before the sound of the horse taking off at a gallop met my relieved ears.
They had not found me and continued to ride ahead, but their appearance brought to mind a new dilemma: my brother had guessed at my intended destination. The two of them would be on the road ahead and depending on the arrangement of the pass they would be waiting for me to come through. How could I sneak past them?
I remained safely off the road as I continued to travel. If I needed to stop to rest I climbed into an obliging tree that allowed me a good view of the byway. There was more danger and more chance of being caught, so I needed to have my wits about me and remain alert.
The day dragged on and my tongue cleaved to the roof of my mouth. I bemoaned the fact that I had no water skin. It caused me to tire faster than if I had been well equipped for the journey.
At the wane of the day I came upon a gurgling trickle of a stream issuing from a crevice in a rock wall and emptied into a brackish puddle. My tongue felt swollen and I had to wet it or felt I would die. My thirst outweighed the warned cautions that jigged between my ears from all the times Bruna instructed me on our sojourns in the forest.
As I lifted a handful of the water to my lips and sipped it, there was a prickling and tingling in my mouth. The cold water suddenly burned in a way that water from a mountain spring should not and I spit it out, but the damage was done. One mouthful was too much and the stuff should have never touched my lips to begin with.
My sight became watery, as if I were looking at heat rising from a griddle over the fire. The world reeled and I could not remain on my feet. I could feel tears on my cheeks as I began to jibber and giggle, unable to control the waves of emotions as they crashed relentlessly within. Looking about me, astonished, I could see undulations in the air. It was like the undulations that sheets make when pinned upon a clothesline and left to be wafted by the breeze. These sheets of air were like sheer, blue glowing silk and behind them, between their dancing and swaying, I thought I saw eyes, toothy smiles and above it all was a queer humming that made my back teeth numb.
Then, it was as if sleep had overtaken me and I had passed into the Fade, but I was without control. There were dancers swirling about me. There were people in masks and they pointed, laughing silently, their faces contorting in cruel sneers. Behind the dancers, milling about in the shadows, monstrous forms swayed as if they heard some kind of silent music that was out of time with the dancers. I could feel the burning that had once been in my mouth running over my face, needling the old scars that had become a part of my fabric. When I finally discerned music faint but distinct, it was overpowered by other disjointed sounds that blared and blew through me, like the braying of hunting horns and the yelping of mabaris. There was the stench of seared flesh, dirt and decaying leaves that overcame me and seemed to seep into every space of my being and clung like pitch.
When the onslaught of sensations abated and I began to make sense once again and the world ceased to be rippled by the undulating blue fabric all around me, I saw a man in armor. On the metal was the reflection of dancing flames and his face was hard and cold, though the gleaming in his eyes implied that something smoldered within, consuming him.
He abruptly lifted me up from the ground and my head lolled to the side, unable to remain upright. His touch both froze and burned where it made contact with me and I tried to shriek but my voice had abandoned me amid the chaos of the world upturned. All I could manage was a sound akin to that of the magpie's cry I had heard that morning.
He lifted me into his arms, his gauntlets bruising where he gripped as he promised in a voice that was simultaneously harsh and tender, "Never again, Lady. You are mine and you will not be free again. It has been ordained by the hand of the Maker. In three days, we will be wed and by my hand you shall be purified."
Even as I hallucinated, I realized that I was being held by Manning and my escape had been for naught, for I had been snared by my own folly and tainted water.