"Perhaps you had better explain what this insolent male is talking about," Quilafae demanded stonily. I found that I did not have the words to answer her, and could not even stutter. I stood, wide eyed and silent, my mind whirling with the fragments of attempts at explanation, staring at Bahlzair's prestidigitation on the floor as though it would soon produce a hole in which I could conveniently hide.
"Or perhaps we had better let the Shepherd speak to them both, before we fall into bad habits," Svaentok warned. "The thief might have been to you what this young female might have been to me, and our pasts will reach forward in time to choke us in the now, if we do not consciously stop them."
Quilafae turned away suddenly, causing her raven to become unsettled, flapping a bit to keep its balance. "Pass, then. Escort them both- and if that male pulls any such pranks-"
"The writing isn't a prank, Quila, this male is mute," Svaentok urged. "I had doubted him, but the female- Jyklihaimra- would not lie to me. I will keep an eye on him; please let us go."
And with a waved hand, the three of us were allowed to pass. Bahlzair hissed at Quilafae as he passed, allowing the ugly, glistening black poison ducts under his long tongue to show. She glared at him, but started when she saw that, her eyes suddenly darting away and to the floor. It had been extremely painful for him, I knew, to raise his tongue enough for the glands to be visible. But I suppose he believed the agony worth it, for those few seconds of strange revenge against a female of his kind that he'd never before seen.
The way to the Shepherd was not marked at all. We passed by many small cloisters, some whose cloth had been dropped for privacy, and some whose cloths had been left open to show the small living quarters. When we turned into one, only slightly larger than the others that had come before, there was absolutely no other sign that we had entered the living quarters of the man who led this gathering of believers. A single black candle, well made and nearly smoke-less, sat upon a simple stone desk. There were no rugs or cloths other than that which was supposed to cover the door, which had been open. There was a small hearth of sorts, though it sported more embers than flame at the moment. A black robed figure tended it for a few moments, but turned away from it when we entered his room. He slowly lowered his hood, revealing a heavily scarred but still identifiably human face. Grey eyes, well-creased by some force other than time, beamed with genuine peace, and he moved with such strange serenity that it took me a few moments to notice that he had a pronounced limp.
"Welcome, children," he rumbled in a worn low voice. It did not speak to weariness, but instead of hard or constant use. "Stand on the other side of the entrance, please, Brother Svaentok. This daughter is very- reserved , yes, very quiet, and this son is- perhaps a bit defiant? I should have Sister Quilafae apologize to you for her behavior."
Bahlzair turned over his right shoulder toward the door, and "She would not mean a word of it," appeared on the wall.
"You have good reason to say so, son," the Human replied thoughtfully, "although I trust you forgive my hope that you are wrong. Please, sit with me."
"Ready to join another cult?" Bahlzair signed with one hand. I was lucky to have understood two of the signs and inferred the meaning from them, but the Human did one better.
"I would never force anyone to remain where they did not feel welcome, or to believe that which they would not naturally believe of their own free will," he signed back in slow, but perfect signed Undercommon. For a few fleeting seconds, even Bahlzair was impressed. With a nod that seemed to admit that he had lost this battle, he sat down in his customary crosslegged position, resting his ebony hands on his knees with his palms down.
The Human also sat, with some difficulty, in front of his desk on the floor. While it was rather obvious that this was not a common position for him, and could possibly even be painful, he made no mention of it. Conscious of the fact that I was the only one still standing, I knelt down, resting on my knees and the balls of my feet, as I had been taught for years. Finding that this position left me sitting taller than both males, I flattened my feet beneath me so that I was sitting directly on the front of my ankles.
"I am told your name is Jyklahaimra, or Silverhag, or Silveredge," the Human began affably. "But tell me, daughter, which one of these do you call yourself?"
I blinked, not having ever before considered this.
"Jyklahaimra," I answered after a long pause.
"This is very important, daughter, perhaps much more than you think. Why do you call yourself this? You seem to relate to the name somewhat negatively," the Human suggested. "Think as long as you must; I will wait."
"I liked it, before I knew what it meant," I replied simply. "I thought it sounded lovely- exotic, I guess- and did not realize its meaning until others used it to call me instead of using the name itself." Beside me, Bahlzair nodded slowly and sadly, as though he himself had something to do with the meaning of my name. His own, a daringly feminine rendering of "shadow fire" that sounded as though his matron was in a drunken rage at his birth or under the influence of some mind-bending hallucinogen, was hardly better. Drow names were known in the Shadowfell for being as bleak as our own, but his seemed a predestined punishment of some sort, as though whoever gave it to him had framed his current temperament before he had even seen an hour outside of the womb.
"I was called Owain, when I was born," the Human nodded slowly. "And in that youth for which I was named, I pursued my passions. I learned all I could of magic, and was drawn slowly, but surely down the path that I thought would lead me toward greater power. I did many things to gain that power that I now struggle to admit. When I was struck down, being led to the grave and struggling all the way, it was then that a priestess of the Raven Queen told me to call myself by name. And I, my mouth bleeding, my vision fading, said to her, 'Aric,' for I was just that. 'Alone.' This is still what I call myself, to this day, though others have called me many things since, including that Shepherdess herself, who would still call me Owain, if she were yet living. Meditate on this, daughter."
I nodded silently, taking in the details of his story. Bahlzair was not so contemplative.
"What stopped you from achieving the power that you sought?" he signed with a bemused look on his face. "The threat of punishment? Of exclusion from society? Of death?"
"Nothing has stopped me, son," Aric replied aloud in Common. "I still seek greater understanding of the workings of magic to this day. But the reasons- my reasons are different now. My outlook has changed."
"Your resolve turned into complacency," Bahlzair signed back simply. "You traded ambition for religion; free thought for control."
"You thought me the leader of a cult just a few moments ago," Aric said with an eyebrow arched. "I could easily be such a manipulative creature. I could with just a few thoughts turn this entire temple into a nightmare, into an ugly monument to my own ego. Do not mistake my change of vocation for weakness; I am well able to recognize the path I once chose in you. Perhaps you seem a petty thief or a simple trouble maker to others, but I see you for who you are- for who you always have been, since the day your mother cursed you."
And Bahlzair just stared at him, arms crossed, brilliant red eyes so narrow that breath could have hardly gotten past the lids.
"Son- and I do not call you 'my son,' for I do not wish to further offend you- I only speak of that which I see. It is your open mind that has revealed these things to me. For even though you speak poorly of religion, and you kick against anything that may again enslave you, you cry out for something to respect, for the affection of a person stronger than yourself- for that pain-streaked love that once caressed you. If I could, for one moment, bring back that one person who had brought you closer to the light of that which is good, then I would instantly do that, that you may come out of this darkness that smothers you. But I cannot. For it is as the Queen dictates- 'The sun will rise; the sun will set-' "
And Bahlzair got up suddenly, spitting into the embers, which suddenly roared into flame. His poison hissed and burned, causing a terrible, irritating smoke- my eyes teared up almost instantly, and it quickly became painful to breathe. Someone took my arm to lead me out of the room, and I was pushed in various directions- I was not sure whether I was being taken out or farther into the catacombs. I heard Quilafae's voice demanding that Bahlzair be dealt with, but Svaentok- among other choked voices- claimed that he could not be found. Many tried to fan the poisonous smoke out, which took a considerable amount of time. Sure enough, by the time I could actually see clearly again, there was no trace of Bahlzair. After a few moments of wandering around, brushing past other busy hooded figures, I found myself grabbed by Quilafae, whose raven had gone from her shoulder for some reason.
"Do you know where he's gone?" she asked harshly, pressing my arms to my sides. "If you do, you tell me right this instant. Don't try to hide him- he almost killed us. And you too. He'd kill you in an instant, probably just for fun. So don't feel any loyalty-"
"Daughter, enough," Aric breathed, his raspy voice even closer to a ragged low whisper than before. "Go back into the sacred area and meditate. You have much to consider. Leave this child alone. She also must consider some things."
Quilafae didn't question him at all- she simply gave a short, sharp nod, dropped my arms and moved away from me. I looked after her, wondering what she would do to Bahlzair if she should find him.
"His is a tortured soul," Aric counseled as though he saw into my thoughts. "There is no stone left for him to stand on, I'm afraid, and unless he finds something or someone, his bitterness will be a poison more deadly than any concoction he can make."
"He has his own ways," I said, knowing that it was a poor explanation.
"That he does," Aric smiled grimly, a sigh not far behind. "I bet Lolth enjoys the discord that he sows. Though he despises her, the farther he runs, the closer to her he gets. But, to the purpose, daughter. It is you I must focus on, for the time being. You came to us for a place to sleep in peace, did you not? I will find you such a place. Come with me."
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