NaNoWriMo, part 20
Nov. 29th, 2006 04:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bookish_dragonHe stepped after her. “Mira, get back here.” She stopped. “That is better. Do not walk away from me when we are talking, understood?” He looked sternly at her.
She dropped her eyes to the ground. “Yes, husband.”
“Good. And call me by my name.” He put his arm around her. “I am sorry I called your father insane. But he is not the most stable person around, you must admit that.”
“I know, Otta. He is Father, I can not go around and claim he is insane. It is not done.” She remained rigid.
“It is not, no.” Otta stood close to her. He was displeased with her not paying attention to his gesture, but put it down to her not feeling at ease with her father being called crazy and the newness of the situation. “But facing the facts is a good idea. You will need to.” He pulled her close to him and put both arms around her. She had been looking forlorn and he could not resist that. Mira hesitated, and then leaned into him. She had wanted to be held by him since she had seen him. They were married, after all. This was part of that.
“Husband, can we go now and get clothes?” she asked, shyly. She put her head on his shoulder.
“Not now. We will go later.” They stood like this for a while.
Everything hurt. Her body hurt in places she did not know she had. Emmar groaned and reared her head. Above her she was the halfling she was sharing her cell with, peering worriedly at her. “How badly are you hurting?” he asked.
She rolled over and coughed. “Very badly,” she managed to bring out.
“You look like you got run over by a full cart.” He helped to get up.
“That is how I feel.” She leaned against the wall, and managed a small smile at him. “Thank you.”
“They were very thorough with you. Either they did not like you, or you did not do what they wanted.”
“Both, probably. And the murder they are trying to pin on me is the one on chief constable Schaffer’s personal secretary.” She shifted position.
“I see. That is bad news.” He sat down next to her. “Did you talk?”
“I do not know,” she said, looking at the ceiling. The whole happening was a big blank in her mind. All she had known was pain, nothing beyond that. She put her arms around her knees, which she pulled up with a lot of grunting. “Everything hurts.”
Kilak nodded. “Will your friends be here soon?”
“I hope so. Are you afraid that they will not come?” She looked sideways at him.
“Me? No, I am not afraid. I just do not believe you.” He looked back.
“You can still come with when they get here. I do not want to leave you here.”
He shrugged. “That is all right. I will survive.”
“Better to do so outside than here. And outside I can treat you better.”
“Lady, you are hurting yourself. Take care of yourself and stop being so crazy.” He got up and walked away from her.
“Who says I am not thinking of myself too?” She rested her head on her knees.
Kilak raised an eyebrow at her. “You are not, lady. You are worrying about me, and you are far worse off than me.”
“Maybe,” Emmar said. “Please stop it with the ‘lady’. I am not one, and I do have a name.” She leaned her head on her knees. “Or whatever, I do not care right now.” Everything hurt. She felt alone, despite the Halfling sitting next to her. She wanted Olgyu to be here and hold her. The warrior was supposed to keep her safe. Emmar closed her eyes to keep herself from crying. It was not Olgyu’s fault. She could not blame her. Emmar still wished she were with her. A hand was placed carefully, tentatively, on her back. She looked up to see Kilak watching her, a worried look on his face.
“Are you feeling all right? Emmar?” he asked. He sat back next to her. She was looking so small and pitiful; he could not help but try and comfort her. It was the first time that he could remember that he had ever tried to do this. She nodded in response, her legs still clutched tightly against her chest. “Are you sure?”
“I am. It is just, I do not know.” She stared at her legs.
“First time?”
“Yes. I have never been treated like this before. I spent most of my life in a monastery. Life was easy there. This… is different from life there. How do you do this? You are so young.”
“It is the way it is. What is the use of getting worked up over it? It happens.” She surprised him by putting her arm around him. It was a slow and laborious movement, but she managed it. “Lady! What are you doing? You should rest.”
“So should you,” she said. “We are both pretty beaten up.”
“You rest, lady. I am used to this,” Kilak protested.
“So young and so mature. I am sorry,” she mumbled. Now she had gotten used to the pain, in a matter of speaking, she was getting tired. She closed her eyes and fell into an uneasy sleep. Kilak sat next to her, watching her sleep and hoping that her friends would come for her. The hope was what seemed to keep her going for now, and he found he admired that. He did not have any hope himself. He had lost that a long time ago. His life pretty much beat it out of you.
Alathièn Merur met Ceorl Esgal at the bar he worked at as a bartender. They fell in love and got married, much against the wishes of her family. Alathièn got disinherited, but after a period of getting used to her new situation of not having much money, she did not care. Elissa Merur, her mother, merchant’s daughter, had had problems of her own when she married Barathor, but she insisted that Alathièn was marrying beneath her station.
Alathièn kept in sporadic contact with her parents her sister Midreth and her brother Ymere, but otherwise was content in her life and did not go back to her family to beg for money or forgiveness. Annael was born in one of the poorer sections of Dalwish. Money was tight, both parents were working hard, but they cared about each other and their son.
When Annael was thirty years of age, Elissa died. Mad with grief and unstopped by his wife’s hand in all things financial, Barathor spent most of the family-fortune before being stopped by Midreth and Ymere, his two other children. Neither wanted to take the old man in, and dementia was fast approaching him. Eventually Barathor ended up on the doorstep of the one person who didn’t expect to see him… Alathièn. She took him in, even though it meant a mouth more to feed.
Annael spent a lot of time with his previous unknown to him grandfather, as both parents had to work harder to keep everybody fed. The old elf’s mind quickly followed his never strong body into decay, and he retreated further and further into his past, Annael the sole audience to his ramblings. There, in the living room made more cramped with the last of Barathor’s possession stacked into it, he learned more about his family’s past.
Barathor had not always lived in Dalwish. Before, he had lived as a domestic slave at the Nurn-household, in a small city near the capital city. With random thieving going on in the house, tension mounted, and eventually Barathor got blamed, while he had not done anything. Adamant on not being convicted, he managed to escape before ‘justice’ could be meted out. More due to luck and some sloppy organisation on the part of his pursuers than his own cunning, Barathor stayed free and in the end reached the city of Dalwish. There were measures taken by the elf himself to let his pursuers think he was dead, but even so he was on his guard and took care to change his appearance enough as to not be recognisable. In Dalwish, he found work in a warehouse, and after applying himself to the job at hand got promotion and caught Elissa’s eye.
He never told her about his past, but she had a pretty good idea to it, due to the faded markings, indicating he was Nurn’s property, on his shoulder, which he could never entirely get rid off. Elissa did not care. She married him, with her parents’ grudging permission. Alathièn was their first daughter, a wild one, and a dilettante. That was how she met Ceorl. Midreth and Ymere came thirty and fifty years after her, respectively, and kept themselves more in line with the family’s expectations, marrying into other merchant’s families.
The history was garbled, and it took Annael a long time to make sense of it, aided by questioning his mother whenever she felt in the mood to ‘drag up old stories’, as she put it. The information made Annael quite glad he was a free elf, and he resolved that he would never ever become a slave to humans, ever. Barathor stayed with the Esgals for twenty years, being around for the birth of Dennakiol, Annael’s sister. Annael extended his promise to stay free elves to his baby-sister, Denna. By that time, there was not much left of the elf, and he died shortly after. Much to her surprise, Alathièn found out that the family still had some money left, enough to bury Barathor, and then some left over. They set that aside for their children’s future. Midreth and Ymere were quite outraged that they did not get any of the money, and broke off all contact, such as it was, with the Esgals.
Around hundred years, Annael fell in with a local gang led by the elf Thordun. He was big and strong, had a way with his fists and words, but was not much good at thinking. Annael was, and he became the ideas-man of the gang, taking a backseat from the leader and the yes-men. Thordun had the habit of setting up one of the yes-men as a patsy, to take the fall if one of their endeavours went wrong. It was a pattern Annael saw quickly, but seemingly the yes-men never caught on to it. It got him a cynical streak, as he wondered how people could be so blind. Then Thordun found himself a new ideas-man. He had never liked Annael that much, since the latter never seemed to hold him in the same respect as the rest of the gang. They staged a break-in in a warehouse, and Annael got pointed out as lookout, Thordun’s standard way of setting up of yes-men. Annael nodded, smiled, and went to the guard after the gang meeting was over, ratting them out and then making himself scarce the night the bust went down. Replacing him, like that? He would walk out on his own terms.
The break-in went well, the bust even better: the entire gang got caught. Annael made himself scarce for a while, to avoid repercussions. While he had a good excuse, he did not want to risk it. He used the time to figure out what to do now.
Then… Alathièn died when Annael was hundred twenty years and Denna was one hundred. Ceorl could not handle being without his wife, and started to fritter away the money they had put away for Annael and Denna. Annael moved out of the house, he and his father started fighting too much. Denna stayed, taking care of Ceorl and keeping Annael informed of how his father was doing.
A minor epidemic broke out in Dalwish. It was not much, a small infectious virus going around, but it scared people and miracle-workers sprang up as out of nowhere. This gave Annael the idea he needed, and he set up his own small stall of ‘Cure-it-all’ (coloured water). At home he laughed at the people lining up to buy his cures, and then coming back claiming it worked wonders and did he have some more? After the epidemic was over, he stayed in the business, ranging from ‘Cure-it-all’s to ‘Universal cleaner’ to whatever the latest fad was. He got Denna’s help in making his brews, which, while not hazardous to people’s health, were about as effective as a paper boat while wild-water-rafting.
Denna did not mind helping, knowing what they were doing. Annael did make sure she never went out with him on the streets: the promise he had made to keep her safe he would not break.
To avoid problems with potentially outraged customers, Annael learned to disguise himself, talk even better to head off trouble and to never take the same route home twice in a row.
Emmar stirred in her sleep, frowning at the dream. Where was Dalwish anyway? She had never heard of it, her brain told her before she sank into dreams again.
The streets surrounding the prison were rather empty. The only people here were merchants, who mainly peddled food and drink. There were some houses for the guards, but any real houses had stopped a distance back. No one wanted to live close to a prison. Bjernu felt conspicuous. Dressed in white and walking around surrounded by merchants. They had bound his hair under a scarf, leaving only his face free. He touched his cheek. Before he had left Ameena had reached up and kissed him there. “For luck,” she had said, blushing. Bjernu had mumbled something before he hurriedly left the room. Now he was here. He looked around. It would not be easy, getting her away unnoticed after they had gotten her out of there. He wandered closer, buoyed by the merchants who were everywhere. He noticed that one of the guards on duty notified his partner, and then waved him over. “You, priest! Come over here, please?” The second guard stayed where he was.
Well, at least they did not threaten him. Bjernu walked over to them. “May the sun warm your life,” he said smoothly. “How can I help you today?”
“We-e-e-ell…,” the first guard said. He was short and dark. “The thing is, Brother, we are having some small difficulties. I am not supposed to tell anyone this, of course, but the thing is, we have someone who is not willing to talk, even when we try various methods of persuasion. She seems to clam up. So my question is, can you try and get her to confess? Maybe talking to a priest will help with her.” The guard shuffled his feet, nervously. “It is not my place, but I knew the deceased.” He looked away, his face flushed.
“I see,” Bjernu said. “Please tell me more about what the prisoner is accused of. That will help me when I talk to her.” He smiled, a benevolent smile he hoped.
“She killed Julia. Poor pretty Julia,” the guard said. “She was chief constable Schaffer’s personal secretary. She was a kind and pretty woman, and then this rag came along and killed her.” The guard’s hands tightened on the halberd he was holding.
‘And you loved her,’ Bjernu thought. “I will talk to her. Take me to her,” he said.
“Yes, Brother.” The guard motioned to his partner. “I will be right back. This way, Brother.” They entered the prison. Bjernu looked around, marking the way from the entrance to the cells. “This is it,” the guard said. He looked around. “I will be back in about half an hour.” He opened the spy hole and looked inside, then opened the door. “Get in, Brother. I will be back soon.” Bjernu stepped inside and felt a momentary surge of panic as the guard closed the door behind him. He was locked in! He felt trapped. The walls were too close. He screwed his eyes shut tight, and forced himself to breathe. Then he opened his eyes again. At the side he saw something leaning against the wall and he walked over to there.
“Stay away from her!” A small shape kicked him in the shin.
Bjernu picked up the shape and found himself holding a struggling Halfling. “I am not going to hurt anyone. I just want to talk to her.”
“Let me go, you bully. I will not let you hurt her.” Kilak tried to get away. He wanted to keep Emmar safe. She was nice to him.
“I am not going to hurt anyone. Now please be quiet before any of the guards hears and comes over,” Bjernu said.
Emmar sighed as she put on her cloak and heavy outdoor boots. Silly Berie, slipping away like that. Knotting her scarf against the cold wind, Emmar made her way to the gates of the dwarven-town, placed at the edge of the mountains in Votaine, and left the relative warmth in search for her younger sister. Beryl was always reckless, not seeming to grasp the very real dangers that lay waiting in the eternal winter.
Emmar muttered under her breath as the cold hit her, trying to get through her clothes, mutters at her sister and at her parents for sending her to find Berie. She had a good idea where to find Berie, and she walked off in the direction of the low hill range west of the mountain-range. What Berie foundso interesting there, Emmar did not know. Berie always muttered something about the stone-structure when asked, but not much more.
Most creatures did not come close to the city anymore, having learned that it would result in either being chased off or getting killed. All the times Emma had gone after Berie she had never met anything she could not handle, and she walked off quite unconcernedly, pulling her cloak tighter against the wind.
***
Berie sat, shaded by the hills, and looked out over the lower grounds between her and the city. A small figure was walking closer, and she did not need to see the red of the hair to know it was Emmar, being sent out to get her. Frost! Why could they not leave her alone in the cold? The comforting cold, the freezing beauty, the stark clarity. The Flame was for those too weak, a lie.
She watched her sister come closer, sent to get her for a mundane task, not for the first time idly toying with the idea of dispensing of Emmar. There were still a few creatures here, despite the town’s efforts, and they were far away from the city… No! It would be better to teach them the truth all at the same time. The disappearance of her who was to be the next Firepriestess of the city would arouse too many suspicions too.
They had told patience was a virtue, and that she would have to bide her time. She kicked. Ice! She did not want to wait anymore.
As Emmar walked past, Berie jumped out of her hiding-place, slipping into her fire-addled routine.
‘Emmar!’
‘Berie, there you are. Come on, dad needs our help at the forge, there’s been a lot of orders.’
‘Sure as the Flame, Emmar.’
Emmar laughed and they walked back to the city.
***
The day for Emerald Lokya’s departure to the temple at Shevat drew closer. She had had some training at temples nearby already, but Shevat held the final say in whether Emmar would become a Priestess. Add to that the benefits of having a Priestess who had seen more of the world than just the city, and who had done her duty in the Wastes, and it was not a difficult decision to make.
Over the course of a few weeks, materials started missing. Small things first, like simple tools, but later on the damage done by the thefts got worse. Incendiaries vanished, firestones waiting to be recharged. Given the places some of the goods were stolen from, travellers in the city were quickly ruled out, and suspicion arose within the community. Guards were posted, and one of the perpetrators got caught in the act. There was a wave of disbelief as the thief turned out to be Beryl Lokya. Apart from Berie’s embrace of the Cold, the questioning did not get much out of the girl, and she refused to name the others involved.
The Lokyas were shattered by these events. Berie had spent a lot of time on her own outside and inside of the city, yes. They had never seen much wrong with it, there had been no indications that Beryl was becoming an Icicle. Careful questioning showed Emmar to be not a follower of the Cold like her sister, and the decision to send her to Shevat did not get withdrawn.
For endangering the city, its inhabitants and for refusing to repent for following the Cold, Beryl got sentenced to death. Emmar wept for her sister during the execution of the sentence, praying she would make peace with the Flame, and thinking about the conversation she had managed to sneak while Berie was locked up. In answer to the question Why, Berie had become hostile. She had hated Emmar, for being there first, for being able to get out of the city, for everything. She had wanted to take her down, along with the rest of the freezing city. Emmar had recoiled from the fierceness of Berie’s words, fearful and puzzled. How come she had not noticed this before? Thinking back on the time they had spent together, there were some instances where Berie had not been as cheerful as usual, but those were easy to explain away then. Angered enough by Emmar’s presence, Beryl had also let slip some names of people in town who had helped her with her actions. After Emmar got away, she reported those names, the people taking in for questioning. Some of them held positions on the council.
***
At Shevat, Emmar spent as much time training as she did getting over her sister’s hate, treachery and death. Flame be praised, her soul was safe now, but she still did not understand why she chose to embrace the Cold. It was not a topic she discusses much, ashamed to not being able to have helped her sister.
She graduated, and got sent out with caravans, seeing this as a way to repent for her failing. One day, she knew, when the church decided she was ready for the responsibility, she would have to go home, to take up her duties there. Not something she was looking forward to, but she would when she had to.
Through the fog in her head she heard shouting. Emmar opened her eyes, disoriented by the fact that her surroundings did not resemble something snow-covered lands, but instead was made up of stone walls and a cold floor. “Put him down!” she said to the white-robed figure she saw holding Kilak. “He is just a child.”
“Believe me, Emmar, I have no desire to hurt him. I just wanted him to calm down so I could talk to you. Besides, he kicked me in the shin.”
“Bjernu?” She blinked to see his face better. “Please put him down. He means well.” She turned to Kilak. “It is all right. He is one of my friends. I told you they would come.” She smiled.
The halfling stopped struggling, but he still glared at Bjernu. “You heard the lady. Put me down.”
“A ‘please’ would be nice,” Bjernu said. He put the halfling carefully down on the ground, hiked up his robes and knelt down next to Emmar. “Are you all right?”
“I have had better days,” she said. “What are you doing here?”
“I was in the neighbourhood and decided to drop by. You look like you got walked over by a platoon of dwarves. In full armour.” He smiled. “I was looking around. One of the guards asked me in to talk you into confessing. These robes worked better than expected. Are you accused of murder?”
“So they tell me. I did not do it. They claim they have all these people who saw me do it. I did not do it. I have never killed anyone.”
“I know. You were with us all the time.” While he was talking he tried to see what the full extent of her hurts was.
She shied away from him. “I am all right, honest.”
“No, you are not. If Olgyu knew, she would break down the prison down stone by stone.”
“Listen to him, lady. He is right. You need help,” Kilak said.
“See, two against one. Let me have a look. I am not a healer, but I do know something about field-dressings.” Bjernu tried again to see what she looked like.
“She would at that,” Emmar said. Reluctantly she let the scout take a look.
He whistled through his teeth. “That does not look good. What did they do to you?” Anger rose in his voice.
“I do not know, and I do not care to remember. It was bad enough when it happened. I just want to get out of here and forget that it ever happened,” she said. She covered up and curled into a ball again. She winced. “Everything hurts.”
“We will get you out of here. You know that,” Bjernu said.
“The halfling too. I promised him that we would,” she said.
Bjernu looked at Kilak. “We will get you out of here too. What is your name?”
“Kilak,” the halfling answered.
“Good to meet you, Kilak. Nice that you are taking such good care of our friend here. Hang in there, Emmar, we will be back soon.” Bjernu got up as the door got opened. “That is the guard. I have to go.” He walked to the door.
“Has she said anything?” the guard asked as he had opened the door.
Bjernu shook his head. “I am afraid not. She was barely lucid.” He walked out of the cell. The pair inside the cell could hear their talk die away as they walked to the exit.
“That was your friend?” Kilak asked.
“One of them, yes.” Emmar closed her eyes again.
“He does not look like much of a warrior,” Kilak doubted.
“That is because he is not. He is a scout. Olgyu is a warrior, and a very good one.” She smiled. “They are good people, if odd and crazy. I would have expected Marnak to have come dressed like that, though.”
“Why him, lady?”
“He is a priest of Kord.” Her voice got softer.
“He is not too bad a god,” Kilak said. “Rest, lady. If they are coming back for you, then you will need your rest.”
“As do you. Tell me, have you ever had any weird side-effects from this?” she asked.
“Side-effects, lady?”
“Like dreams.” She hesitated. “I have had dreams, weird ones. Lives of people in places I have never heard of. I do not know these people. Why am I dreaming about them?”
“I do not know, lady. I have never had them.” Kilak shrugged.
Emmar did not reply. She had dozed off again. Kilak sat next to her and kept watch over her, wondering about the dreams she had mentioned.
Chief constable Schaffer sat back in his chair and grumped. He had lost his pipe, and his groin still vaguely hurt. This day was not going well. Hr felt vindicated that the person responsible for the day going wrong was locked up. It was a shame that he had lost his personal secretary today as well, but there were enough women who were eager to take her place. Schaffer put his feet up on his desk. In the meantime he would be very inconvenienced. It was her own fault, anyway. He was not a man for commitments, but she had insisted on one. So it was fortuitous that the other woman had come along. In taking revenge on her he had rid himself of an irritating woman. Now he only wanted his pipe back. The door opened. A young woman walked in with a tray. “Your tea, sir chief constable.”
He smiled appreciatively at her. “Thank you, dear. Who are you?”
“Yattara, sir chief constable. I am new here.” She set the tray down, and poured out his tea. “Here you are, sir chief constable.”
“Thank you, dear.” He picked up the cup and took a healthy draught. “When do you get off work?”
“Right about now, sir chief constable.” She watched as he started to choke.
“Whuh, whuh, whuh?” He struggled to talk, but nothing came out but uncoordinated sounds.
“Just poison. Enjoy.” She sat on the desk and watched him die. It took him a long time. He was strong, for a human. Yattara shrugged. In the end they all died. She picked up the teapot and the cup, and vanished out of the room. Schaffer was not discovered until a couple of hours later.
She dropped her eyes to the ground. “Yes, husband.”
“Good. And call me by my name.” He put his arm around her. “I am sorry I called your father insane. But he is not the most stable person around, you must admit that.”
“I know, Otta. He is Father, I can not go around and claim he is insane. It is not done.” She remained rigid.
“It is not, no.” Otta stood close to her. He was displeased with her not paying attention to his gesture, but put it down to her not feeling at ease with her father being called crazy and the newness of the situation. “But facing the facts is a good idea. You will need to.” He pulled her close to him and put both arms around her. She had been looking forlorn and he could not resist that. Mira hesitated, and then leaned into him. She had wanted to be held by him since she had seen him. They were married, after all. This was part of that.
“Husband, can we go now and get clothes?” she asked, shyly. She put her head on his shoulder.
“Not now. We will go later.” They stood like this for a while.
Everything hurt. Her body hurt in places she did not know she had. Emmar groaned and reared her head. Above her she was the halfling she was sharing her cell with, peering worriedly at her. “How badly are you hurting?” he asked.
She rolled over and coughed. “Very badly,” she managed to bring out.
“You look like you got run over by a full cart.” He helped to get up.
“That is how I feel.” She leaned against the wall, and managed a small smile at him. “Thank you.”
“They were very thorough with you. Either they did not like you, or you did not do what they wanted.”
“Both, probably. And the murder they are trying to pin on me is the one on chief constable Schaffer’s personal secretary.” She shifted position.
“I see. That is bad news.” He sat down next to her. “Did you talk?”
“I do not know,” she said, looking at the ceiling. The whole happening was a big blank in her mind. All she had known was pain, nothing beyond that. She put her arms around her knees, which she pulled up with a lot of grunting. “Everything hurts.”
Kilak nodded. “Will your friends be here soon?”
“I hope so. Are you afraid that they will not come?” She looked sideways at him.
“Me? No, I am not afraid. I just do not believe you.” He looked back.
“You can still come with when they get here. I do not want to leave you here.”
He shrugged. “That is all right. I will survive.”
“Better to do so outside than here. And outside I can treat you better.”
“Lady, you are hurting yourself. Take care of yourself and stop being so crazy.” He got up and walked away from her.
“Who says I am not thinking of myself too?” She rested her head on her knees.
Kilak raised an eyebrow at her. “You are not, lady. You are worrying about me, and you are far worse off than me.”
“Maybe,” Emmar said. “Please stop it with the ‘lady’. I am not one, and I do have a name.” She leaned her head on her knees. “Or whatever, I do not care right now.” Everything hurt. She felt alone, despite the Halfling sitting next to her. She wanted Olgyu to be here and hold her. The warrior was supposed to keep her safe. Emmar closed her eyes to keep herself from crying. It was not Olgyu’s fault. She could not blame her. Emmar still wished she were with her. A hand was placed carefully, tentatively, on her back. She looked up to see Kilak watching her, a worried look on his face.
“Are you feeling all right? Emmar?” he asked. He sat back next to her. She was looking so small and pitiful; he could not help but try and comfort her. It was the first time that he could remember that he had ever tried to do this. She nodded in response, her legs still clutched tightly against her chest. “Are you sure?”
“I am. It is just, I do not know.” She stared at her legs.
“First time?”
“Yes. I have never been treated like this before. I spent most of my life in a monastery. Life was easy there. This… is different from life there. How do you do this? You are so young.”
“It is the way it is. What is the use of getting worked up over it? It happens.” She surprised him by putting her arm around him. It was a slow and laborious movement, but she managed it. “Lady! What are you doing? You should rest.”
“So should you,” she said. “We are both pretty beaten up.”
“You rest, lady. I am used to this,” Kilak protested.
“So young and so mature. I am sorry,” she mumbled. Now she had gotten used to the pain, in a matter of speaking, she was getting tired. She closed her eyes and fell into an uneasy sleep. Kilak sat next to her, watching her sleep and hoping that her friends would come for her. The hope was what seemed to keep her going for now, and he found he admired that. He did not have any hope himself. He had lost that a long time ago. His life pretty much beat it out of you.
Alathièn Merur met Ceorl Esgal at the bar he worked at as a bartender. They fell in love and got married, much against the wishes of her family. Alathièn got disinherited, but after a period of getting used to her new situation of not having much money, she did not care. Elissa Merur, her mother, merchant’s daughter, had had problems of her own when she married Barathor, but she insisted that Alathièn was marrying beneath her station.
Alathièn kept in sporadic contact with her parents her sister Midreth and her brother Ymere, but otherwise was content in her life and did not go back to her family to beg for money or forgiveness. Annael was born in one of the poorer sections of Dalwish. Money was tight, both parents were working hard, but they cared about each other and their son.
When Annael was thirty years of age, Elissa died. Mad with grief and unstopped by his wife’s hand in all things financial, Barathor spent most of the family-fortune before being stopped by Midreth and Ymere, his two other children. Neither wanted to take the old man in, and dementia was fast approaching him. Eventually Barathor ended up on the doorstep of the one person who didn’t expect to see him… Alathièn. She took him in, even though it meant a mouth more to feed.
Annael spent a lot of time with his previous unknown to him grandfather, as both parents had to work harder to keep everybody fed. The old elf’s mind quickly followed his never strong body into decay, and he retreated further and further into his past, Annael the sole audience to his ramblings. There, in the living room made more cramped with the last of Barathor’s possession stacked into it, he learned more about his family’s past.
Barathor had not always lived in Dalwish. Before, he had lived as a domestic slave at the Nurn-household, in a small city near the capital city. With random thieving going on in the house, tension mounted, and eventually Barathor got blamed, while he had not done anything. Adamant on not being convicted, he managed to escape before ‘justice’ could be meted out. More due to luck and some sloppy organisation on the part of his pursuers than his own cunning, Barathor stayed free and in the end reached the city of Dalwish. There were measures taken by the elf himself to let his pursuers think he was dead, but even so he was on his guard and took care to change his appearance enough as to not be recognisable. In Dalwish, he found work in a warehouse, and after applying himself to the job at hand got promotion and caught Elissa’s eye.
He never told her about his past, but she had a pretty good idea to it, due to the faded markings, indicating he was Nurn’s property, on his shoulder, which he could never entirely get rid off. Elissa did not care. She married him, with her parents’ grudging permission. Alathièn was their first daughter, a wild one, and a dilettante. That was how she met Ceorl. Midreth and Ymere came thirty and fifty years after her, respectively, and kept themselves more in line with the family’s expectations, marrying into other merchant’s families.
The history was garbled, and it took Annael a long time to make sense of it, aided by questioning his mother whenever she felt in the mood to ‘drag up old stories’, as she put it. The information made Annael quite glad he was a free elf, and he resolved that he would never ever become a slave to humans, ever. Barathor stayed with the Esgals for twenty years, being around for the birth of Dennakiol, Annael’s sister. Annael extended his promise to stay free elves to his baby-sister, Denna. By that time, there was not much left of the elf, and he died shortly after. Much to her surprise, Alathièn found out that the family still had some money left, enough to bury Barathor, and then some left over. They set that aside for their children’s future. Midreth and Ymere were quite outraged that they did not get any of the money, and broke off all contact, such as it was, with the Esgals.
Around hundred years, Annael fell in with a local gang led by the elf Thordun. He was big and strong, had a way with his fists and words, but was not much good at thinking. Annael was, and he became the ideas-man of the gang, taking a backseat from the leader and the yes-men. Thordun had the habit of setting up one of the yes-men as a patsy, to take the fall if one of their endeavours went wrong. It was a pattern Annael saw quickly, but seemingly the yes-men never caught on to it. It got him a cynical streak, as he wondered how people could be so blind. Then Thordun found himself a new ideas-man. He had never liked Annael that much, since the latter never seemed to hold him in the same respect as the rest of the gang. They staged a break-in in a warehouse, and Annael got pointed out as lookout, Thordun’s standard way of setting up of yes-men. Annael nodded, smiled, and went to the guard after the gang meeting was over, ratting them out and then making himself scarce the night the bust went down. Replacing him, like that? He would walk out on his own terms.
The break-in went well, the bust even better: the entire gang got caught. Annael made himself scarce for a while, to avoid repercussions. While he had a good excuse, he did not want to risk it. He used the time to figure out what to do now.
Then… Alathièn died when Annael was hundred twenty years and Denna was one hundred. Ceorl could not handle being without his wife, and started to fritter away the money they had put away for Annael and Denna. Annael moved out of the house, he and his father started fighting too much. Denna stayed, taking care of Ceorl and keeping Annael informed of how his father was doing.
A minor epidemic broke out in Dalwish. It was not much, a small infectious virus going around, but it scared people and miracle-workers sprang up as out of nowhere. This gave Annael the idea he needed, and he set up his own small stall of ‘Cure-it-all’ (coloured water). At home he laughed at the people lining up to buy his cures, and then coming back claiming it worked wonders and did he have some more? After the epidemic was over, he stayed in the business, ranging from ‘Cure-it-all’s to ‘Universal cleaner’ to whatever the latest fad was. He got Denna’s help in making his brews, which, while not hazardous to people’s health, were about as effective as a paper boat while wild-water-rafting.
Denna did not mind helping, knowing what they were doing. Annael did make sure she never went out with him on the streets: the promise he had made to keep her safe he would not break.
To avoid problems with potentially outraged customers, Annael learned to disguise himself, talk even better to head off trouble and to never take the same route home twice in a row.
Emmar stirred in her sleep, frowning at the dream. Where was Dalwish anyway? She had never heard of it, her brain told her before she sank into dreams again.
The streets surrounding the prison were rather empty. The only people here were merchants, who mainly peddled food and drink. There were some houses for the guards, but any real houses had stopped a distance back. No one wanted to live close to a prison. Bjernu felt conspicuous. Dressed in white and walking around surrounded by merchants. They had bound his hair under a scarf, leaving only his face free. He touched his cheek. Before he had left Ameena had reached up and kissed him there. “For luck,” she had said, blushing. Bjernu had mumbled something before he hurriedly left the room. Now he was here. He looked around. It would not be easy, getting her away unnoticed after they had gotten her out of there. He wandered closer, buoyed by the merchants who were everywhere. He noticed that one of the guards on duty notified his partner, and then waved him over. “You, priest! Come over here, please?” The second guard stayed where he was.
Well, at least they did not threaten him. Bjernu walked over to them. “May the sun warm your life,” he said smoothly. “How can I help you today?”
“We-e-e-ell…,” the first guard said. He was short and dark. “The thing is, Brother, we are having some small difficulties. I am not supposed to tell anyone this, of course, but the thing is, we have someone who is not willing to talk, even when we try various methods of persuasion. She seems to clam up. So my question is, can you try and get her to confess? Maybe talking to a priest will help with her.” The guard shuffled his feet, nervously. “It is not my place, but I knew the deceased.” He looked away, his face flushed.
“I see,” Bjernu said. “Please tell me more about what the prisoner is accused of. That will help me when I talk to her.” He smiled, a benevolent smile he hoped.
“She killed Julia. Poor pretty Julia,” the guard said. “She was chief constable Schaffer’s personal secretary. She was a kind and pretty woman, and then this rag came along and killed her.” The guard’s hands tightened on the halberd he was holding.
‘And you loved her,’ Bjernu thought. “I will talk to her. Take me to her,” he said.
“Yes, Brother.” The guard motioned to his partner. “I will be right back. This way, Brother.” They entered the prison. Bjernu looked around, marking the way from the entrance to the cells. “This is it,” the guard said. He looked around. “I will be back in about half an hour.” He opened the spy hole and looked inside, then opened the door. “Get in, Brother. I will be back soon.” Bjernu stepped inside and felt a momentary surge of panic as the guard closed the door behind him. He was locked in! He felt trapped. The walls were too close. He screwed his eyes shut tight, and forced himself to breathe. Then he opened his eyes again. At the side he saw something leaning against the wall and he walked over to there.
“Stay away from her!” A small shape kicked him in the shin.
Bjernu picked up the shape and found himself holding a struggling Halfling. “I am not going to hurt anyone. I just want to talk to her.”
“Let me go, you bully. I will not let you hurt her.” Kilak tried to get away. He wanted to keep Emmar safe. She was nice to him.
“I am not going to hurt anyone. Now please be quiet before any of the guards hears and comes over,” Bjernu said.
Emmar sighed as she put on her cloak and heavy outdoor boots. Silly Berie, slipping away like that. Knotting her scarf against the cold wind, Emmar made her way to the gates of the dwarven-town, placed at the edge of the mountains in Votaine, and left the relative warmth in search for her younger sister. Beryl was always reckless, not seeming to grasp the very real dangers that lay waiting in the eternal winter.
Emmar muttered under her breath as the cold hit her, trying to get through her clothes, mutters at her sister and at her parents for sending her to find Berie. She had a good idea where to find Berie, and she walked off in the direction of the low hill range west of the mountain-range. What Berie foundso interesting there, Emmar did not know. Berie always muttered something about the stone-structure when asked, but not much more.
Most creatures did not come close to the city anymore, having learned that it would result in either being chased off or getting killed. All the times Emma had gone after Berie she had never met anything she could not handle, and she walked off quite unconcernedly, pulling her cloak tighter against the wind.
***
Berie sat, shaded by the hills, and looked out over the lower grounds between her and the city. A small figure was walking closer, and she did not need to see the red of the hair to know it was Emmar, being sent out to get her. Frost! Why could they not leave her alone in the cold? The comforting cold, the freezing beauty, the stark clarity. The Flame was for those too weak, a lie.
She watched her sister come closer, sent to get her for a mundane task, not for the first time idly toying with the idea of dispensing of Emmar. There were still a few creatures here, despite the town’s efforts, and they were far away from the city… No! It would be better to teach them the truth all at the same time. The disappearance of her who was to be the next Firepriestess of the city would arouse too many suspicions too.
They had told patience was a virtue, and that she would have to bide her time. She kicked. Ice! She did not want to wait anymore.
As Emmar walked past, Berie jumped out of her hiding-place, slipping into her fire-addled routine.
‘Emmar!’
‘Berie, there you are. Come on, dad needs our help at the forge, there’s been a lot of orders.’
‘Sure as the Flame, Emmar.’
Emmar laughed and they walked back to the city.
***
The day for Emerald Lokya’s departure to the temple at Shevat drew closer. She had had some training at temples nearby already, but Shevat held the final say in whether Emmar would become a Priestess. Add to that the benefits of having a Priestess who had seen more of the world than just the city, and who had done her duty in the Wastes, and it was not a difficult decision to make.
Over the course of a few weeks, materials started missing. Small things first, like simple tools, but later on the damage done by the thefts got worse. Incendiaries vanished, firestones waiting to be recharged. Given the places some of the goods were stolen from, travellers in the city were quickly ruled out, and suspicion arose within the community. Guards were posted, and one of the perpetrators got caught in the act. There was a wave of disbelief as the thief turned out to be Beryl Lokya. Apart from Berie’s embrace of the Cold, the questioning did not get much out of the girl, and she refused to name the others involved.
The Lokyas were shattered by these events. Berie had spent a lot of time on her own outside and inside of the city, yes. They had never seen much wrong with it, there had been no indications that Beryl was becoming an Icicle. Careful questioning showed Emmar to be not a follower of the Cold like her sister, and the decision to send her to Shevat did not get withdrawn.
For endangering the city, its inhabitants and for refusing to repent for following the Cold, Beryl got sentenced to death. Emmar wept for her sister during the execution of the sentence, praying she would make peace with the Flame, and thinking about the conversation she had managed to sneak while Berie was locked up. In answer to the question Why, Berie had become hostile. She had hated Emmar, for being there first, for being able to get out of the city, for everything. She had wanted to take her down, along with the rest of the freezing city. Emmar had recoiled from the fierceness of Berie’s words, fearful and puzzled. How come she had not noticed this before? Thinking back on the time they had spent together, there were some instances where Berie had not been as cheerful as usual, but those were easy to explain away then. Angered enough by Emmar’s presence, Beryl had also let slip some names of people in town who had helped her with her actions. After Emmar got away, she reported those names, the people taking in for questioning. Some of them held positions on the council.
***
At Shevat, Emmar spent as much time training as she did getting over her sister’s hate, treachery and death. Flame be praised, her soul was safe now, but she still did not understand why she chose to embrace the Cold. It was not a topic she discusses much, ashamed to not being able to have helped her sister.
She graduated, and got sent out with caravans, seeing this as a way to repent for her failing. One day, she knew, when the church decided she was ready for the responsibility, she would have to go home, to take up her duties there. Not something she was looking forward to, but she would when she had to.
Through the fog in her head she heard shouting. Emmar opened her eyes, disoriented by the fact that her surroundings did not resemble something snow-covered lands, but instead was made up of stone walls and a cold floor. “Put him down!” she said to the white-robed figure she saw holding Kilak. “He is just a child.”
“Believe me, Emmar, I have no desire to hurt him. I just wanted him to calm down so I could talk to you. Besides, he kicked me in the shin.”
“Bjernu?” She blinked to see his face better. “Please put him down. He means well.” She turned to Kilak. “It is all right. He is one of my friends. I told you they would come.” She smiled.
The halfling stopped struggling, but he still glared at Bjernu. “You heard the lady. Put me down.”
“A ‘please’ would be nice,” Bjernu said. He put the halfling carefully down on the ground, hiked up his robes and knelt down next to Emmar. “Are you all right?”
“I have had better days,” she said. “What are you doing here?”
“I was in the neighbourhood and decided to drop by. You look like you got walked over by a platoon of dwarves. In full armour.” He smiled. “I was looking around. One of the guards asked me in to talk you into confessing. These robes worked better than expected. Are you accused of murder?”
“So they tell me. I did not do it. They claim they have all these people who saw me do it. I did not do it. I have never killed anyone.”
“I know. You were with us all the time.” While he was talking he tried to see what the full extent of her hurts was.
She shied away from him. “I am all right, honest.”
“No, you are not. If Olgyu knew, she would break down the prison down stone by stone.”
“Listen to him, lady. He is right. You need help,” Kilak said.
“See, two against one. Let me have a look. I am not a healer, but I do know something about field-dressings.” Bjernu tried again to see what she looked like.
“She would at that,” Emmar said. Reluctantly she let the scout take a look.
He whistled through his teeth. “That does not look good. What did they do to you?” Anger rose in his voice.
“I do not know, and I do not care to remember. It was bad enough when it happened. I just want to get out of here and forget that it ever happened,” she said. She covered up and curled into a ball again. She winced. “Everything hurts.”
“We will get you out of here. You know that,” Bjernu said.
“The halfling too. I promised him that we would,” she said.
Bjernu looked at Kilak. “We will get you out of here too. What is your name?”
“Kilak,” the halfling answered.
“Good to meet you, Kilak. Nice that you are taking such good care of our friend here. Hang in there, Emmar, we will be back soon.” Bjernu got up as the door got opened. “That is the guard. I have to go.” He walked to the door.
“Has she said anything?” the guard asked as he had opened the door.
Bjernu shook his head. “I am afraid not. She was barely lucid.” He walked out of the cell. The pair inside the cell could hear their talk die away as they walked to the exit.
“That was your friend?” Kilak asked.
“One of them, yes.” Emmar closed her eyes again.
“He does not look like much of a warrior,” Kilak doubted.
“That is because he is not. He is a scout. Olgyu is a warrior, and a very good one.” She smiled. “They are good people, if odd and crazy. I would have expected Marnak to have come dressed like that, though.”
“Why him, lady?”
“He is a priest of Kord.” Her voice got softer.
“He is not too bad a god,” Kilak said. “Rest, lady. If they are coming back for you, then you will need your rest.”
“As do you. Tell me, have you ever had any weird side-effects from this?” she asked.
“Side-effects, lady?”
“Like dreams.” She hesitated. “I have had dreams, weird ones. Lives of people in places I have never heard of. I do not know these people. Why am I dreaming about them?”
“I do not know, lady. I have never had them.” Kilak shrugged.
Emmar did not reply. She had dozed off again. Kilak sat next to her and kept watch over her, wondering about the dreams she had mentioned.
Chief constable Schaffer sat back in his chair and grumped. He had lost his pipe, and his groin still vaguely hurt. This day was not going well. Hr felt vindicated that the person responsible for the day going wrong was locked up. It was a shame that he had lost his personal secretary today as well, but there were enough women who were eager to take her place. Schaffer put his feet up on his desk. In the meantime he would be very inconvenienced. It was her own fault, anyway. He was not a man for commitments, but she had insisted on one. So it was fortuitous that the other woman had come along. In taking revenge on her he had rid himself of an irritating woman. Now he only wanted his pipe back. The door opened. A young woman walked in with a tray. “Your tea, sir chief constable.”
He smiled appreciatively at her. “Thank you, dear. Who are you?”
“Yattara, sir chief constable. I am new here.” She set the tray down, and poured out his tea. “Here you are, sir chief constable.”
“Thank you, dear.” He picked up the cup and took a healthy draught. “When do you get off work?”
“Right about now, sir chief constable.” She watched as he started to choke.
“Whuh, whuh, whuh?” He struggled to talk, but nothing came out but uncoordinated sounds.
“Just poison. Enjoy.” She sat on the desk and watched him die. It took him a long time. He was strong, for a human. Yattara shrugged. In the end they all died. She picked up the teapot and the cup, and vanished out of the room. Schaffer was not discovered until a couple of hours later.
