As the companions ventured beyond the shield, they realised that Isobel hadn't lied. There were ravenous shadows outside the Last Light Inn. Even in proximity to their refuge, Nymuë could sense their hunger. The creature's voracity followed them like a putrid breath at the back of their necks, biding their time.
Four Harpers greeted them as they crossed the stone bridge. Their leader - a wood elf named Branthos - came to meet them: "Jaheira informed us that you wish to reach Moonrise Towers. I have been ordered to help you."
"We're ready for the ambush," the dark elf said.
"I hope so. The road to the Towers passes through a darkness so deep that even torchlight cannot dispel it. And yet the cultists have found a way... Whatever this asset is, we must seize it."
"We came across duergars who spoke of a moon lantern..." the musician suggested.
"I doubt Selûne favours the Absolutists... It's stolen magic, no doubt."
"So what's the plan?" Lae'zel asked impatiently.
"The enemy convoy is expected to travel past old ruins not far from here. My men and I have already set some traps. The strategy is to hide and take them by surprise."
"Let's hope they don't destroy their protection during the attack," Astarion grumbled.
"Perhaps there's a more subtle way..." Nymuë mused. "You already know, I suppose, that we have an illithid tadpole?"
Branthos looked uncomfortable, scrutinising her as if tentacles could come out of her skull at any moment: "That's what I understood," he replied cautiously.
"We're not under its influence," Shadowheart reassured him. "However, it has sometimes helped us. If we pretended to be True Souls..."
"... You might get what we're looking for before we even launch the attack," the Harper agreed. "It's a good plan; the glyphs we've prepared are just begging to be triggered. We'll await your order."
With that, the battalion set off. The rubble around them was that of a once prosperous city; the Last Light Inn was just a small fragment of it. Amongst the brambles, chasms and mud, the adventurers could discern old dwellings frozen in mid-movement. Through a window, Nymuë saw a child's bed, covered with dolls and toys. They noticed tables dressed for a dinner that was never eaten, and a doghouse attached to a pile of bones.
There had been life here, before Ketheric Thorm.
After a bend, Branthos pointed to an imposing building. Harpers and adventurers operated strategically, some positioning on ledges and others under windows. Nymuë caressed the chains of her dagger; a slight roll was approaching.
The convoy was small, and just wide enough for raw materials... Three goblins and two orcs with a grumpy air surrounded it.
Leading the way was the drider.
He towered above all his warriors. His long spidery legs were as sharp as razors; Lolth, in all her cruelty, had a sense of pragmatism. Each limb, each joint, proved to be a deadly weapon.
Long white hair obscured his face, but not enough to hide his deformity. Five dark eyes, similar to those of a spider, adorned his forehead. They shone intensely in the light of a strange lantern.
Nymuë felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise: unlike Nere's device, this lantern seemed in perfect condition and was glowing brightly. This was their ticket to Moonrise!
"We bring more to your church every day, my Queen," the drider grumbled. "Your followers are legion."
His voice was guttural, as if his vocal cords were struggling to produce humanoid sounds. His fervour, on the other hand, was obvious... And all the while, the musician couldn't detect a tadpole.
The monster was serving the Absolute of his own free will. They were dealing with a fanatic. The slightest suspicion, the tiniest misstep... and their protection would vanish into the shadows.
"Your faithful stand ready, Majesty," the creature continued. "Soon we march. Soon the world will bow to you."
"Hey, web arse!" shouted one of the goblins. "Something moved up there!"
Nymuë turned around: behind her, a Harper was clinging with difficulty to the beam he had managed to climb. Leaving the safety of her hideout, she made her way alone towards the convoy.
"What's this?" the leader spat.
The musician concentrated on the goblin who had spotted them. In a commanding voice, she ordered: "Step back. Now."
The mark on the creature's face lit up. Nymuë fought against the euphoria that accompanied each use of her parasite: this time, she would control it. She suppressed its joyful cries, while the sentinel humbly submitted to her instructions. The drider's many eyes widened in surprise: "One of your True Souls, my Queen! Kar'niss is amazed. How has she survived?"
"It's not for you to question the gifts of the Absolute, nor those of her disciples," the young woman retorted.
"You blessed her too, my Queen? Where is her lantern?"
Kar'niss backed away, his eight legs sinking into the ground like stakes. He was agitating, gripping his lamp so tightly that it trembled. The dark elf could see his fever, his desire to be his sovereign's only chosen; perhaps there was a card to play here.
"Her Highness guided me to you; she told me that you were her most treasured child. The one she had appointed to hand over her lantern to me, so that her design could be fulfilled."
"Majesty? Is... is this true? Did we not serve you well? We can fulfil your will without her help!"
His movements were now erratic, his lips curled over his sharp teeth. Nymuë watched in horror as his subordinates slowly drew their weapons. "You have misunderstood me, First Disciple: it is not I that the Absolute acclaims. I am but a messenger. It is your action, your adoration that has made my mission possible."
"Did she... see us? Does Her Majesty know that we have worked for her, for her kingdom?"
Emotions flashed across his face. For a second - a terrible second - he seemed close to the person he must once have been. The young woman stifled a retch and let her parasite dictate her next words: "In Her Name," she said slowly.
Kar'niss smiled; he looked at her as if she had just appeared out of the heavens. The hand holding the lantern relaxed. His eight legs curled up as he bowed deeply: "For you, my Queen," he whispered.
Nymuë took the lamp. Behind the drider, orcs and goblins also knelt down. "Return to where you came from," she commanded them. "Wait in the Underdark. When the Absolute reigns over this lands, she will call for you."
Kar'niss raised his head to pledge allegiance... when suddenly, the glyphs placed by the Harpers exploded. Four concentric circles appeared around the worshippers, releasing a torrent of flames. The blast struck Nymuë, sweeping her away like a straw! She and the lantern would have fallen into an abyss, if it hadn't been for Lae'zel.
Blood pounded in her ears. The power of the ultrasound was surpassed only by the cultists' screams. The musician briefly distinguished a few figures running through the inferno, but the largest, with his eight long legs, remained motionless. Kar'niss's many eyes stared up at the sky in despair as his body was consumed.
The last howls died away quickly. The dark elf limped towards Branthos: "What were you thinking?" she shouted. "I had sent them miles away! They were going to leave!"
"For how long?" the Harper retorted. "His people killed countless numbers of my men, and without any hesitation! Why bother sparing them?"
"Those deaths were pointless! They won't bring back your comrades, and you took the risk of signalling our position! If the cultists come to investigate..."
"Let them come," Branthos hissed.
"Jaheira hired you to help us recover the moon lantern," Shadowheart intervened. "Not to organise a personal vendetta."
"Not to mention that your little explosion almost destroyed the lantern and its bearer," Astarion added. "That would have been a real waste of magic. And of our leader, of course."
The Harpers gathered together. "You have your lantern," Branthos spat, "and the servants of the Absolute are dead. This mission is a success."
"We should go back to the Last Light Inn," said one of his companions. "Report to Jaheira..."
"Yes, go ahead," Lae'zel replied. "We've had enough cowardice for today."
Nymuë was struggling to breathe, still reeling from the surprise attack. Shadowheart attended to her burns. After searching the charred bodies, Branthos and his men left without a glance for the adventurers.
"Damned idiots!" Nymuë bellowed.
"You should be more concerned about yourself than a few dead cultists," the rogue responded. "Your good heart will be our downfall. This Branthos is an imbecile, but he's right about one thing: this massacre wasn't our problem."
"Nor was it necessary!" the young woman protested.
"You're a survivor," Lae'zel declared. "You know perfectly that this kind of sentimentality has no place here."
The dark elf held her tongue, letting her fury tinge with bitterness. Was she too emotional in treating the followers of the Absolute as victims? Was she putting her companions in danger by showing mercy? Their combat against Nere had proven that she wasn't a symbol of purity, far from it; yet, she couldn't help fighting that part of herself that wanted to let go. It would be too easy to attack anyone who got in her way. But she refused to be what the world expected of her; she wouldn't sow the seeds that Lady Seri had planted in her childhood. Neither heroine nor murderer: she would be something else.
"Holy patriars' pourch!," Shadowheart exclaimed. "Something's moving in there!"
She pointed to the lantern: inside, emitting a light so bright that it was blinding, stood a little pixie.
"A fairy!" Astarion cried with delight. "A real fairy!"
"Oh please, oh golly, me-oh-my!" the creature chirped. "You must release me or I'll die! This lantern only lights the way, when I'm hurting night and day!"
"She's talking in rhyme," Lae'zel grumbled. "Of course she does."
"What's your name?" Nymuë asked.
The pixie eyed her suspiciously, and the musician held back a laugh. She was well aware of the immense power of names in Faerie... Elyon herself had never revealed her real surname to her.
"My name? My name is Dolly thrice," she finally answered. "Now, won't you free me from this vice?"
"I need help with this curse." the dark elf negotiated. "If I free you, will you take us through the shadows?"
"You can't be serious darling! Are you really going to release our safe-conduct?"
"My dear Astarion, you should know that fairies attach great importance to services rendered. They are always rewarded..."
The vampire snorted, unconvinced. The pixie squeaked again: "It would be my pleasure, truly! Once I'm freed I'll help you duly."
Under the exasperated gaze of her comrades, Nymuë opened the lamp's door. Dolly Thrice flapped her wings as she escaped from her prison. "FINALLY!" she exclaimed. "Been trapped in that coffin with no one but a mad drider and my own farts for company..."
"No more rhymes?" Shadowheart scoffed.
"Uh-huh. Did me a good turn there, didn't you. What do I owe you?"
"We must cross the curse where the shadows are at their strongest. Could you help us?"
"I can... But do I want to? Oh, yes I do! But only two of you will benefit from my donations, because the other half already has a benediction."
Instinctively, the priestess and the musician looked at each other: was the pixie alluding to their strange immunity?
"The daughter of darkness knows who protects her, but have you forgotten, Snow Flower?"
Nymuë's eyes widened. Souvenirs gripped her violently, and she didn't realise that her parasite was manifesting itself again, connecting her mind to that of her companions. A green-eyed little fairy appeared in her memory. Arms around her waist in a shared bed inside a caravan. Emerald and golden wings unfurled in a trapeze act. A sigh after yet another humiliating performance. The promise of a better tomorrow.
A crowd. A knife reserved for another.
"I can protect you too," Elyon's voice whispered like an echo.
"No!" the dark elf breathed.
The scene had changed; she was back in that cave, her hands covered in blood.
"I saw a setting sun and a river on fire. I saw a sky full of rocks and stars. And there was a city, a big one; some people were laughing, others were crying."
"SHUT UP!" Nymuë shouted.
She recoiled abruptly, as the cursed lands, the remains of the lantern and her companions reappeared. A hand touched her shoulder, which she pushed away. Ignoring the pixie's shrill laughter, the young woman searched in her bag and took out a purple satin pouch, shining with a translucent glow.
"Fairies have a very rare ability, for those who are lost in obscurity!" the creature sang.
"Nymuë," Shadowheart murmured. "I'm really sorry about..."
"Not a word," she roared. "Don't say her name. Don't say anything at all."
She was breathing heavily, struggling to regain control. With a sharp tug, she broke the tadpole's connection.
"For the rest of you, the promise is granted. March through the shadows undefeated!"
An intense glow enveloped Lae'zel and Astarion. The vampire regarded the light warily, while the githyanki pursed her lips at this foreign magic. Without hesitation, Dolly Thrice disappeared into the night.
The adventurers glanced uneasily at their leader. Nymuë had her back to them. The day before, she had already opened up with fear. But this? This brutal and shameless exposure? It was not a choice; her memories had imposed themselves on her and - by extension – on her surroundings. She hadn't had the luxury of being prepared.
She silently packed away the bag containing Elyon's ashes and walked down the main road. She let Lae'zel and Astarion take the lead, while Shadowheart ensured their direction. She remained quiet.
The path gave way to muddy ground, littered with bones and rusty weapons. On them, they recognised the symbols of the Harpers and the Dark Justiciars. The ancient battle that Jaheira told them about - the one she and Ketheric Thorm had fought - had taken place here. The songs evoked the bravery of the combatants and the justice guiding their arms. Very few mentioned the curse preventing these soldiers from having a decent burial. After a hundred years, only the dead still bore witness to the events.
They stopped once they had passed what looked like a tollgate; the stone building was gigantic, and contained goods from all over the world. Here, precious gems from Thay; there, silk produced in Waterdeep... This checkpoint must have been bustling with life in the past, when the region was still flourishing. How sad that misery had replaced the effervescence.
Beyond their makeshift shelter, a huge facade dominated the desolate landscape. Moonrise Towers were only a few hours' walk away, finally within reach. A faint light emanated from them. The cultists had also found a way to protect their headquarters from the curse.
Dolly Thrice had kept her word: all along the way, the shadows had thickened without threatening the companions. Nymuë had remained silent, speaking only to point the group in a new direction.
The day's events weighed heavily on her heart. More than sadness, she felt anger towards the last person worthy of her grievances: Elyon. Why, when she was on her deathbed, had she chosen to protect her? Why hadn't she saved her own life instead? Did she really think that her noble sacrifice would spare her sorrow or loneliness?
"I saw a setting sun and a river on fire. I saw a sky full of rocks and stars..." A vision. Elyon had chosen to sacrifice herself for a stupid, ridiculous vision. Had she witnessed her abduction on the Nautiloid, or the rise of the Absolute, Nymuë didn't know. It was true that their small team was fighting forces far too powerful for them... As if they were the epicentre of a tornado. But despite all this, they were just a bunch of individuals struggling for survival. They weren't heroes, and they had no desire to save the world. In the place of the gods, Nymuë certainly wouldn't have bet on herself. It was stupid that Elyon had agreed to die for that.
Finishing setting up her tent, the young woman sat down in front of her improvised dressing table. The mirror reflected a tired expression, tarnished by memories.
"Do you like what you see?"
She jumped; without making the slightest sound, Astarion had slipped inside her shelter. He was even more discreet than a thief! The musician flinched as her eyes fell on the mirror. No, it was more than just stealth; the rogue simply had no reflection.
"How?" she murmured.
He laughed bitterly: "Another quirk of my affliction."
The dark elf didn't know that vampires couldn't see their own images. How on earth had Astarion managed to conceal it for almost two hundred years? It was a miracle. She wondered what it felt like. To note his absence in every window, as if he had vanished. To no longer be able to anchor himself in reality with a simple glance, gone from the world of the living...
"Do you miss it?" she asked. "Seeing your face, I mean."
For a moment, her companion seemed surprised. He knelt down beside her, but Nymuë only saw her own gaze in the mirror. Astarion studied the movement of her grey irises, detailing the space that he should have occupied.
"Preening in the looking glass? Petty vanity? Of course I miss it. I've never even seen this face. Not since it grew fangs and my eyes turned red."
"What colour were they before?"
The rogue frowned, as if concentrating. "I... I don't know," he admitted. "I can't remember. My face is just some dark shape in my past."
He turned away, clenching his fists: "Another thing I've lost."
Nymuë studied each of his features intensely. His piercing ruby eyes, with their predatory aura... and something like a fragile, flickering sparkle. She also observed his smile, brandished like a shield. The young woman had noticed that her companion regularly put on a mask to blend in, while his genuine laughter was much rarer. During these moments, his amusement caused his lips to part and his fangs to show. He then seemed almost... juvenile.
She examined the square lines of his jaw, the unnatural pallor of his skin, the silver of his hair. She almost giggled: for heaven's sake, without a mirror, how many hours a day did he spend styling his hair?
"What?" he questioned.
"I see you," she replied simply.
"And what do you see, exactly?"
The dark elf pretended to think: "I began my thoughts with your strong, piercing eyes..."
"Oh," he appreciated. "Go on."
"... Then I continued with that dangerous smile..."
"Very good. Now just tell me I'm beautiful and we can call it a day."
"... And in my conclusion, you're no match for Shadowheart, even if you're pretty good."
He put on an indignant air, forcing her to hold back a laugh. "How dare you!" he exclaimed theatrically. "And I thought we had something special!"
"Competition never hurts," Nymuë grinned.
"That's true. Let's see how I can defend myself..."
He raised his hand towards her and placed a lock of hair behind her ear. His movements were cautious, devoid of his usual confidence. He watched her: "You always look pensive. Kind. Sometimes to the point of being simplistic."
"That's not a compliment at all!" the musician protested.
"Hush, now. You're made of steel, too. Your lines reflect your survival. Every battle, every day."
"So... I have wrinkles."
He tapped her on the forehead. "They only disappear when you play music. Then, you almost seem... serene."
He hesitated for a second, before adding: "In your memories, the little girl had the same expression. You were her violin."
Nymuë felt her hand close around his. She fought against the instinct to push him away and end the conversation. Instead, she took a deep breath. "Ironic," she said in a falsely amused voice. "Your observations don't match with what people say about drows."
"I don't see you as a drow," he retorted.
The musician didn't understand. Everyone had always seen her as a drow. They looked at her without even considering that there might be something else. If that wasn't what he perceived... then what else? When she met his gaze, Astarion simply smiled. "Good night, Nymuë," he told her.
The young woman then realised that she didn't know why he had come in the first place. She dared not ask him; in the mirror, it was as if the canvas of her shelter had been moved by a gust of wind.
END NOTES:
Did Astarion come to comfort Nymuë?
I'm very curious to know your opinion on this chapter! I hope you enjoyed the perspective I brought to Karniss, as well as the revelation about Nymuë's immunity... Not to mention, of course, the mirror scene, which I reworked in my own way! I really enjoyed writing this chapter.
Next time, Moonrise Towers!
Thank you for reading, and see you soon!