Aric and I walked silently down the corridors through which others rushed, still fanning at remaining poison fumes and tending to others who had reacted much more poorly than some had. Svaentok was among those who had fared relatively well, and although his blue eyes seemed all the more blue for the tearing the poison had caused, he tended to others with gentle hands.
"Don't let him fool you," Aric said, a laugh not far from his rasping voice. "That one had pride in the very marrow of his bones- and sometimes still struggles with it. We value great deeds here as well, and while he later decided to walk the monastic path, he had done much in the warrior's way in his past. I spent quite a lot of time trying to explain to him that we are all born equal, and that gold cannot pay for our souls. He believed deeply in the inevitability of death, but could not grasp the concept that one death was not worth more or less than another."
"How could that be?" I asked meekly. "Surely your death would be much more weighty than his, and his more than mine. That is the way of things."
"Not at all, my daughter," Aric replied, stopping at a small cloister whose cloth had been pinned up. It stood empty, without anything but a stone bed and a single protruding valence for the unlit black candle. "You are mistaking one's social station for the intrinsic worth of one's soul. Perhaps my death would weigh heavily with these people here, who respect me as their Shepherd, but not a tear would fall for me in Cormyr, just a stretch of the legs away, because I hold no position there. Yet, in the eyes of the Raven Queen, your most beautiful, tender and compassionate soul would be just as important as my own."
"But what you are is also who you are," I contended, confused. "What slave, who was born to serve, can say that their soul is greater than a warrior, naturally born stronger and braver than she? The gods, whoever they may be, have sewn your purpose into your very being, so that you can do no other but that which you were destined to do. Would not one miss the one who defends their house much more than the one who cleans it?"
"Yours is a double edged question," Aric nodded sagely, sitting down on the floor in front of the entry to the cloister. He tried not to look pained as he did so, but the attempt was a miserable failure. "Let us consider it deeply. Please."
And without him even articulating the full command, I sat with the tops of my ankles flush to the floor, as I had done before.
"When you were born, daughter, did you have the collar piercing in your neck already, or did someone hold your arms, pull your hair forward and pierce your neck later?"
"When I had seen twelve dark seasons," I replied after some thought. "But they did not have to hold my hair. I was commanded to do so myself, and I obeyed without hesitation."
"A fact of which you are now strangely proud," Aric noted with a raised brow. "Pain clearly means little to you. Your subservience and tolerance are your gifts, then? You believe that your slavery and mistreatment was the fulfillment of the wishes of the gods- but what now, that you are free? Are you now living in contradiction to their commands?"
I had not thought of this. "Perhaps," I answered, hearing a distant quality in my own voice, as though it were somehow not mine.
" Do you believe your soul to be of less worth, now that you are not doing that which was sewn into you? Will you be chained to another master, soon? Whoever is strong willed enough to command you, or whoever will hurt you the most?"
"What should I do, then?" I asked, struck as though he had insulted me.
"Ah, the most important question of your life to this point," Aric smiled warmly, his voice purring in his chest. "But it is not one that I, nor any other, should answer for you. I have pestered you enough, I sense. It was not my intention to harm you in any way- only to provoke that one sensation of urgent inquiry. Dwell in this moment, and consider it deeply. It may prove extremely significant in the time to come." He struggled to arise, and I thought nothing of instantly getting to my feet to help him. He turned slowly and grasped both my hands in his own. "I do thank you- in her wings rest well, daughter."
I bowed my head slightly, but stopped myself from referring to him as a master, which I was sure he would chastise. I entered the cloister, whose candle was now somehow lit. As Aric had explained his magic research before, I thought little of it, and instead simply gazed into the flame, and past it to the shadows that danced on the walls as it flickered. After a while, I tired of standing and decided to sit on the bed, which was the only other thing in the entire room. The bed was completely level and carved straight into the rock- it was cool to the touch, but warmed easily under my hand as though magical. Just as I'd sat upon it, cross legged, Svaentok entered with a small scroll.
"I- wanted to leave this with you," he managed quietly, having caught my eyes at once. Without thinking, I'd arisen again, awaiting a command with eyes lowered and hands folded in front of me. After a few moments of silence, I looked slowly upward, feeling quite awkward. He had cast his eyes toward the candle, watching it instead of looking at me. "It's- a treatise concerning the-"
"Brother Svaentok!" a voice cried from somewhere. "Please, Sister Yelena is suffering with acid burns!"
I crossed silently to him and opened my hands to receive the scroll, which he gently placed in my hands with a grateful smile. He turned and moved off quickly, and I lowered the door covering, then took the scroll back to the bed to look at it. The Common seemed to have been written by someone who did not naturally speak it, and some of the descriptive phrases were strangely worded. Having only truly experienced the cultures of the Shadowfell and the Underdark, I wondered at where the writer may have been born or brought up. He or she spoke of how the Raven Queen was once mortal, and gained part of her divinity by overthrowing the god Nerull, who had crushed her spirit with years of subservience. It then went on to describe her holy pilgrimage through the Shadowfell, which bewildered me. I could not imagine a mortal woman somehow taking winter itself- the actual season- into her left hand and the thread of fate- or rather, all the combined fates of all creatures in all the worlds- in her right and walking alone across the Shadowfell with them.
Someone in the Shadowfell would have seen her, of course, had this been the case. To say such a trek would go unnoticed and uncontested was ridiculous, even for the Humans who had been caught up in the struggles between Shar and Mystra-pas-Mystryl. Just one generation ago, the Shadowfell- as I had been taught- had been made by Shar's unfolding of Mystra-pas-Mystryl's world within her own. It was a gruesome time- bursting with Spellplague, haunted by Shadows, crushed between furious, chaotic Netherese wizards, the Shadovar, and the children who had begun their decent into what would soon be called Shadar-Kai, but I somehow doubted that even with all that, the tales and writings from those times would fail to note a battered woman walking across the changing face of the Plane of Shadow with all of winter and the thread of fate in her bare hands. Someone would have been able to tell a half-goddess apart from a Human woman who was fading into a Shadar-Kai, a Shadow or a Shade. Surely some mage would have ended her holy pilgrimage as soon as she stepped into the evolving Shadow Plane, for would not her presence there by detected and instantly detested by Shar, who must have been full of magical energy after tearing down the barriers between her power and Mystra's?
I must have fallen asleep pondering these things, since I don't remember rolling the scroll and putting it anywhere. I dreamed pleasantly of much younger years, before my breaking began, when my sisters and I were free to explore my father's entire manse. I did not know, then, that the sun could be bright or that natural colors could be sharper than painted ones, but that did not bother me. Jhaeldana, whom my mother always called her good friend, would run around with us, constantly fighting us and provoking us to fight with each other, sending us to spy on others for her, or to steal things that she would later either put back or throw away, setting traps with and for us, and letting rodents loose in our rooms to make us scream. She never got in trouble for such things unless my mother saw her do it- and if that happened, one could expect a good rapier fight in the courtyard. Many were the scars on arms, faces, thighs and backs after such encounters, but they spoke kindly to each other at the end of them all, and disappeared down the halls hand in hand.
Strangely, zagging through these memories came Mi'ishaen's voice as she called back to me from the soldier's arms-
"I'll be back for you, Gorgeous!"
Between dream and reality somehow, I heard the light clatter of metal- a shimmering sound, almost like water. I awoke to find a raven sitting right next to my head. I sat up with a start, but the bird did not move as Quilafae's had when the Drow female had turned suddenly. It simply stared at me, expecting something from me.
"What can you possibly want, little master?" I asked simply, hands on my knees as I prepared to get off the bed completely. "I cannot feed you or give you water, and I don't know where the sky is, that I may set you free."
"Betzal. And he is not bound," Aric's voice replied. I stood instantly and looked around the room, terrified, until I saw movement near the covered entrance arch. "He stays with me on his own terms, and leaves my side when he so chooses. When I awoke, I noticed that he was not near me, as he usually is in the morning. When I called him, he came, then left immediately. So I followed him, and it seems that he is concerned about you. Did you know, daughter, that you laughed in your sleep?"
"No," I nearly whispered, completely embarrassed.
"It was a most endearing sound- so pure, so precious. I understood instantly why he should be interested in it, and in you- ah, pardon me." Aric cleared his voice softly, then raised an immaculate, solid tenor note that shocked me to the bone. It spoke, without words, of loss, of utter longing- of a dream incomplete or a desire that could never be fulfilled. And throughout the catacombs, there rung the voices of all the adherents.
"Turn your face westward, children of eternal cold," they sung.
Aric allowed his note to fade into silence after they had finished, then struck a lower, richer note, full of strength and purpose.
"Cast down your dark gaze, lest the sun you should behold."
Again, Aric's voice fell quiet. After a slightly longer pause, he struck another note, then pushed the tone higher so that it approached a moan.
"The sun sets in rising; all light fades into darkness-"
I quickly moved forward to push the cloth open, and was struck with the full force of Aric's voice. It was clear now why his speaking voice was so worn- the power of his singing voice seemed to fill every hallway of the place to echo back with an amazing beauty. And the sorrowful glory of it somehow became even greater as the other followers added their voices to it.
"We die each day living; find purpose in destined silence."
There were a few moments of silence in which Aric breathed deeply and cleared his throat again. With some effort, he sung what seemed to me a weighty benediction.
"May my thread be severed before thine, let the Shepherd in due time be led; an I this day join the sands of time, my peace I give thee, as I rest."
A few moments of absolute stillness followed. I couldn't break their stunning beauty with a foolish question, but Aric seemed to snatch it from my mind anyway. His grey eyes radiated understanding and compassion, and he laid a hand on my shoulder.
"Quite frankly, someday, I won't be alive anymore," he smiled. "One of our dearest tenets is the expectation of death, which is the Raven Queen's first gift to each of us. When we accept that death comes to all of us, we begin to understand that what we do with our lives, short as they are, is of the utmost importance. Yet, our blessed rest often grieves those around us, even if they too expected it. The founder of this temple, Shepherdess Robynette, understood that even among we who expect death, there is an attachment that must be addressed. So after years of consideration and meditation, she wrote and added that last line to the morning chant."
I stood in silence, thinking over his words, and remembering the soldier who had been thrown overboard on our trip to this place. One would think that a soldier would understand that their compatriots could die on any day, yet such had not been the case with the soldier who'd had to be restrained.
Someone caught Aric's attention, and with a squeeze of my shoulder, he moved away from me. I watched his limping- a slow drag of the left leg, balancing gingerly upon it, then a drop onto his right leg. Mortality was written into his frame, but his serenity and open manner made it seem like a lie. Betzal flapped past me and toward him, and when I opened my eyes again- I ducked and closed them when he passed me- I found Quilafae before me.
"You know, Brother Svaentok still has his hands full with acidic burns," she began, arms crossed over her chest. "He didn't sleep all night. Working with some who can hardly breathe without spitting blood, others who woke up with lesions on their skin..."
"Perhaps I had better go find Bahlzair?" I suggested, not wanting to be in her presence much more than I had to be.
"There's a good girl," Quilafae smiled with genuine gratitude. "Let me put you on your path."
For all the warmth of this invitation, there was no conversation between us on our way out into the morning light. Perhaps it was partially because Quilafae did not care to speak to me, but I did not mind, as I was still considering all that I had read and heard. Or at least I was, until we neared the stairwell. There, my ankles began to itch and burn. While I stopped to look up into the trees for Bahlzair, Quilafae surged past me and gave a shout.
"Hey! You can't practice that wickedness here!"
I turned to the unmarked open field in which Quilafae was standing, hollering at none other than Seyashen. Around him rested a low-level mist that I knew was not just fog. He sat at peace, as he had when I had seen him speaking to an ethereal figure.
"I know you can hear me- who are you talking to?" Quilafae demanded, her tone not far from frustration. I walked past her, my ankles and bare feet stinging as I did, but stopped a few feet away from Seyashen. As I walked, the mist began to clear, and I supposed that Seyashen knew that I was coming.
"Her?" he asked in a light tone, as though talking to a friend. "Oh, yes, her I know. She means no harm." After a pause, during which I moved forward to see that his eyes stared out at nothing, he spoke again. "Yes, she's fully Shadar-Kai, but I do not know whether she can be called Netherese or not."
"No, I cannot," I replied. "Only my father tried to swear loyalty to Netheril- my mother and the rest of the house would not."
There was a long pause, so I continued.
"All of us were made slaves, or tortured, or killed-"
Seyashen shook his head. "No, I don't suppose she can. I know, but she's not- yes, I can. You already know why. Alright, if you must hear it- because I am-"
"A necromancer," Quilafae spat. I turned to find her and a guard standing on the other side of the field. "On the sacred ground of the Raven Queen. I accuse him of desecration."
The guard moved forward on this, clearly intending to get Seyashen off the ground. "Wait, please-" I began thinly. Amazingly enough, he stopped and turned to me, his brown eyes resting in my own for a few moments.
"Yes?" he sighed. "Are you one of these as well?"
"I- no," I replied quietly. "But I do know that this male doesn't mean to-"
"You can't take her word; she befriends thieves and other criminals," Quilafae stated at once. I stared at her, absolutely lost for words. For just the second time in my entire life, I was actually, genuinely angry.
"I'll make sure he doesn't come to harm, miss," the guard comforted as he moved past me to get to Seyashen. "Come on, lad, time to go."
The ground trembled, cracks appearing in the earth as though the guard were too heavy to be walking there. Seyashen turned his head over his shoulder to face the man, who suddenly withered as though he had been a tender flower bud in a murdering heat. "See your death," he suggested quietly, and the poor guard crawled away from him, sweating and trembling in terror.
Quilafae, not to be deterred, lifted her voice and actually hollered for more guards. I sat next to Seyashen, who turned his face to me, but looked past me. I bit my lips, wondering if he were protecting himself or those around him.
"Can you hear me?" I whispered.
"I hear you and them," Seyashen replied distractedly. "but I am alone with them. All day long, they scream their injustices, show me their wounds- all the shallow graves- the graves- they cry out to me-"
"You're not alone," I urged, pressing close to him. "I'm here- and I'll find your cousin. We'll help you-"
"No one can help me," Seyashen smiled sadly.
By that time, the first guard recovered himself and returned to pick me up and take me a few paces away. Strangely, I wanted to resist, and stay near Seyashen; I didn't, but wondered at myself for feeling that way.
Seyashen sensed my absence, turned and spoke quietly to whatever spirit had tugged on him until two more guards clanked their way up and attempted to bodily pick the golden-eyed Tiefling up. When they did, the cracks in the ground widened, and the guards, clearly concerned for their own safety, spent some time figuring out how to gingerly pick him up.
Aric himself had been convinced to leave the depths of the catacombs and had surfaced with a few followers. The cracks in the ground widened some more, and the leaves on a few of the nearby trees began falling as though the seasons had changed. Seyashen turned his sightless gaze toward him and spoke with a thin, honey alto feminine voice, sending both shaken guards back a few paces.
"Draw near, Shepherd, that I may speak with you," the spirit that had taken residence in Seyashen commanded.
"What are you, my lady, that I may address you properly?" Aric replied, stepping away from the followers that had come with him. He stopped their concerned advance with a simple upraised finger.
"I understand your disinclination to hear me in this manner," the spirit replied. "Were it not that this tortured soul would tear this graveyard apart in his defense, I would have remained in quiet rest. I am Sulyic, and I am as you remember me. I find my abilities challenged in this child- he means well, but is vastly gifted with such arts as are abhorrent to this ground."
"Which could be dangerous to him as well as to us, Shepherd," Aric replied, moving slowly toward Seyashen. "How shall I lead him?"
"Carefully. And away from the fell point of madness, I should hope," the spirit replied seriously. "He is compelled to put to rest the spirit of a child- a young girl whose name was never called. You must help him to be her shepherd instead of her avenger, or much harm will be done."
"Whatever happened to 'No man comes late to his demise'?" one of the guards asked flippantly.
"Hush, son," Aric said solemnly. "There is such a thing as meeting it too early, or unjustly, as I must imagine this child has done. Shepherd Sulyic, would it not be best for us to find this child's resting place and perform the proper rites? Must an obvious necromancer be involved?"
Seyashen chuckled with Sulyic's voice and shook his head. "She will not be pacified with us, Aric; we are too late. While death itself belongs to the Raven Queen, the spirits that have passed through that veil do not. The child craves justice, and has torn this male's forbearance to rags in the effort to get it. Spirits speak more clearly to him than any living creature- a fact of which he is mournfully aware- yet, he cannot cover up or block out his natural talent. He slides ever closer to the temptation of undeath, hoping not for longevity, but for peace. In a few very short years, in some dank cave, someone will have the unenviable task of facing a formidable lich."
My eyes widened, at once thinking of the temple of Tiamat in which I'd nailed Mikhail to the floor with a spike-like horn.
"May this fate be changed, I pray," Aric rumbled instantly. Turning to a follower, he asked, "Please, daughter, go down to the Great Pool and say aloud 'Will you hear my question?' When you turn to come back to me, you will find a follower of Afflux with you. No matter what he or she looks like- for it may surprise or shock you- bring them here. Do not ask any questions until you come back, even the most banal, for once you ask and they answer, they will turn back. The rest of you- especially you, Quilafae- return below. I will return, whether I be warm or cold."
"Shepherd," the followers chorused, moving off.
"I must presently take my leave, and return to my rest," Sulyic sighed. "Moment by moment, this Tiefling grows more interested in my control. He is studying it, having never before been dominated by a spirit. He is no longer upset- I believe he understands that I did not wish him to truly desecrate this ground. But I am afraid that I've taught him how to do what it is that I now do to him- be wary."
"Not so," I replied, still held by the guard a few paces away. "There was one called Mikhail who did something similar quite often to anyone he pleased, but Seyashen used his spells to control himself- like his blindness."
"I had wondered about that," Sulyic mused.
"Yes, that is a most interesting- and telling- use of his talent," Aric mused. After a few moments of thought, he waved his hands at the guards dismissively. "Thank you for coming, but we shall be able to handle him from here."
"Not a chance," one of the guards replied, motioning to the other guard to grab Seyashen's arms. "No matter what happens, either he goes into the care of a documented coven or he goes to jail. I know it's been a while since you've been topside, ser, but that's the way it is, these days. I s'pose nobody bothered you with it, seeing as you'd left all that behind."
"At least allow this young female to stand on her own in peace. She is not likely to hurt you," Aric suggested.
"She gets around," the third guard sneered. "Ulwen said he would've nabbed her with the Tiefling female he just brought in, except the creature convinced him that she was just a bit of fluff for the night. Seems you've got a thing for the Demon-kin, eh, darlin'?"
"Urmlaspyr's men-at-arms, spewing slurs like that?" Aric clucked, shaking his head. "I really have been in the sacred halls for quite a while. I wouldn't have imagined that I'd hear such talk from you."
The follower returned shortly with a wild eyed young Halfling who was clothed only in ratty cloth bandages, as though he'd just sat up from an old tomb. The follower nodded to Aric, who turned himself into the Halfling's path immediately, stopping his forward motion. The short male, who had a brilliant red mohawk and pale skin with small dark eyes, looked up at him quizzically at first, then smiled expectantly. Out of the catacombs flew Betzal, who alighted on Aric's shoulder, but turned his head so that one eye was on me.
"Aric," the Halfling said in a tone that somehow embodied both open friendliness and mad hysteria. "Yours is the question, I trust. Yes- yes, of course- ask, ask, old friend, ask away."
"Do you know what this Tiefling male is capable of?" Aric asked, stepping to the side to indicate Seyashen.
The Halfling briskly walked past Aric and circled Seyashen. He batted at the guards, who let Seyashen go in spite of what they'd said earlier. Unsupported by the guards, Seyashen crashed ungracefully to the ground. The Halfling took the opportunity to grab Seyashen's face and stare into his eyes for a few moments, then turned back to Aric.
"Ah, Sulyic. An uncomfortable situation, I'm sure. Never mind; don't get up. The male is a strong reader- devours books- writes well, too. Sewing. Minor alchemy. Religious study- fascinated by various faiths. A poor liar and a worse thief, contrary to those who'd peg all of his kind as bandits and con-artists. Dripping with necromancy. Yet- not in complete control of his mind or body- prevents me from getting a precise read- there is more- something more- no, you have me, Aric. I do not know all of what this Tiefling male is capable of. But give me a week, Aric, just a week, and I will know him better than his mother."
"Good," Aric beamed. "That is what I had hoped for. Will you hear another question?"
"Ask, Aric, and I will answer," the Halfling replied speedily, as though he were in a great hurry to get somewhere. But curiously enough, he stood absolutely still, his bandaged hands now on his well-wrapped hips. What sounded to me like impatience was instead clearly his normal manner of communicating.
"Will you teach this Tiefling male what you find out about him, that he may be enlightened?" Aric requested slyly, as though he were openly cheating at a game with which the Halfling would be completely familiar.
"A well-asked question," the Halfling laughed. "I will teach the Tiefling to see himself, but whether he is enlightened by what he finds- well- that's not a question I can answer. You should know."
"I do know," Aric replied, an eyebrow raised. "But mine is not the only path- and it does not seem the right path for him at all. Hopefully, he will prove an interesting subject for you."
"Indeed- indeed, indeed he is," the Halfling mused, his smile almost hiding his eyes completely. "I should very much like to know just how much he knows about the study of death- and how much he would like to know."
"Careful, now," Aric smirked.
"Always," came the immensely amused reply. "I'll take it from here, madam."
Seyashen's body sprawled forward for a few moments. Just when I became worried that harm had come to him, he sat up again, gasping for air as though he had been underwater for a long time.
"Excellent!" the Halfling enthused. "And I do thank you, Sulyic. Now, you come with me, young creature."
"To do what?" Seyashen heaved, now on his hands and knees.
With a laugh, the Halfling turned his back. "To get an answer, give one; that's the deal. You have both a question and an answer, but have given me only a question- that's no fair. Give me an answer, and we'll be square."
Seyashen stared at the Halfling, utterly confused. "I cannot answer your question if I don't know what it is," he replied simply.
"Oh, but you can, and you have! Wonderful- wonderful! Now we're even. We both have a question and an answer, now come along."
The Halfling started off at a speedy pace, and by the time Seyashen decided to get up and follow him, he was already too distant for me to hear his quick footsteps on the street.
"We ought to throw this female in the lockup for prostitution, at the very least," the guard holding me began, deciding to get back to the business of making everyone's life more complicated than necessary.
"I'm not a prostitute," I said, albeit weakly.
"Oh no?" the guard asked, feigning kindness. "Well then, what do you do?"
After a few moments of silence during which I actually pondered the things that I could do, I replied, "I clean well. And I cook, and I serve food. And I entertain- usually with dance."
"But no one has paid you to do any of that- entertainment?" the guard pushed, tightly squeezing my arms.
"No," I replied, shaking my head. "But if you want me to, then I'll take it. I don't have enough gold for a room in the tavern, and so had to spend the night in the catacombs."
"Tell you what," one of the guards offered, waving the guard that was holding me away. "You come back to the cells and give us your word on a few things. We'll maybe do a little questioning. Then we let you go, and stop looking in your direction."
I thought about how Mi'ishaen had been taken, and wondered about what could have possibly happened to Aleksei.
"What if I do not do those things?" I found myself asking.
The guards were just as surprised to hear me say it as I was, but Aric crossed his arms and nodded with a smile.
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