(Backdated entry)
“Jiulan!” She cried out, louder this second time, though it seemed to Ourna that the thick fog muffled her voice. He was ahead, just on the edge of vision, and she quickened her pace. She had no idea what she would say to him when she caught up to him. Thousands of conversations had passed through her brain on the road since he left, but nothing even remotely seemed appropriate.
Something touched her shoulder, and Ourna turned her head slightly, thinking to see Tremaen behind her. Surely he would follow. Wasn't that his voice she heard calling her name? But behind, there was nothing but gray, a solid wall that might as well have been stone for all she could see. Briefly, the ugly thoughts that Tremaen had now abandoned her as well crossed her mind, a momentary straight razor to her heart. Ourna shook her head. No, not him. There had to be something else going on, something keeping him from her. He was not Jiulan. Tremaen would never leave her willingly, though she couldn't have said why she was certain of that. She seemed to hear a low, dusky, female voice say, as in answer, “He is your Aniam.” Not certain if it was aloud or in her mind,
Ourna could make no sense of the answer anyway. Casting her gaze forward again, the vision of her brother was gone, though the chilly gray was thinning ahead. Almost by instinct, she reached for an arrow, but her hand met only fog, and she realized she had no bow. The idea that she was unarmed was only marginally less troubling than the idea that she had dropped one of the last things her father had given her. “Nakane is lost,” that woman's voice spoke again, sounding like an echo of thought, but again, Ourna didn't understand. Letting out a breath, she muttered about being a fool.
Images flickered in the gray. Everyone she knew and cared about danced through like smoke. Mother, Father, brother again, the militia, Tremaen. Xylanthe, Albrecht, Develan, Tonanti. A small, boyish dark haired man in black. A large bear of a man with claws for fingernails that she knew did pierce skin accidentally in throes of lust. A fog mirror showed not the gold-shot raven and dark eyes of her own body, but lovely woman with hair like spun sunlight and eyes of twilight sky. Yes, she knew this woman. From dreams.
With that, she stepped into a clearing, both in woods and fog, though both still framed the spot all around. There was even a dome of branches and fog overhead, though there was light as if full day shone here. Though these things aren't what she noticed first. It was the girl, a gleefully grinning woman.
“Oooooooh, you're here, you're here!” The strange woman was all in shades of purple, matching her long hair bound up by a giant ribbon. Tilted eyes of teal sparkled, pale-skinned ears drew up to sharp points. Even as the woman clapped her hands like a child with a new toy, Ourna couldn't help but note the strange, ethereal beauty of her. In a way, it reminded her a little of Tremaen. Fey touched. As Ourna's stomach fell with realization of what happened, something else boiled up. “I thought you'd never get here. Come, come!”
Ourna stalked forward trying to recall if she'd ever read anything that would support the idea that one of the Fair Folk could be throttled. She had a mind to try one way or another. “Return me, now!”
Teal eyes blinked rapidly. “Why?”
A couple more steps brought Ourna nearly face to face with the creature. “Because my friends are out there.”
The faerie woman took a step back and blinked even more rapidly. “But I can't. And the trees are on fire and the Hunt is there and he will be so happy you're here. Aren't you happy you're here? Everyone should be happy.”
Ourna simply closed the distance with a step, “No, I can't say I am.” She reached up her hands to grab the woman by the front of her purple cloak, and was staggered back by a face full of…butterflies? She waved them away from her face, but only succeeded after they began to disintegrate into little colored bits of paper, and those vanished entirely.
Now, the fey girl was off to her right, and Ourna turned and started toward her again, determined to get her hands on her captor. She heard the woman let out a squeak, and for a moment Ourna thought she might be getting through to her. Suddenly, however, Ourna found herself on the ground with the air knocked out of her, and something growling in her ear.
Twisting, Ourna tried to get some leverage to counter her attacker, and got a look at him. He was a beast man, a lion man, but softly purple. Somehow, she knew that this was no illusion and pulled her leg to execute a hard kick to his middle, scrambling back. In getting back from him, she felt claws rip along her side. Heart thumping, Ourna really started wishing she knew more of hand to hand fighting.
Growling, the man-beast lunged again, and the fight went in earnest. Ourna surprised herself by managing well more than just defending, though earning a few more scratches for her efforts.
Both of them found their feet, and the man-beast grappled Ourna from behind, one furry arm across her stomach. She was about to twist and do something rather painful to him when a voice rang out “Stop, stop it.” For a long moment, Ourna could almost feel the fey woman's words rattle in her skull, and they had the intended effect, for the attacker had frozen in place as well.
Turning her head, Ourna regarded again the woman, who was chewing on her lip. After a moment, she spoke again, in a less ringing voice, “She's not an intruder, Kierhan. I brought her here. For you.”
Ourna could feel the one called Kierhan change, at the same moment she spoke in unison with him, “What?”
“You saw her, you said you thought she'd be a good mate. It took me a while to figure out which one she was, you know. I had to wait until she shot the bow.” The girl beamed with uncertain pride. “You both can now be happy.”
Turning her head, Ourna saw her own bafflement reflected in a now very human face (though one with amber cat eyes and light purple beard and hair), and tried to dredge up an ounce of patience. Swinging her head back to the girl, Ourna spoke, slowly, “Did it ever occur to you that I might not want to come here and be his mate?”
Teal eyes blinked once, twice, three times. “Oops.” It was clear that the faerie matchmaker had not, in fact, considered that. “Um, do you already have one? The fey boy? I thought I saw a connection with him, so I gave him your things, but…”
“No…no…” Ourna irritated herself further by speaking just a touch too quickly. “I just have friends in trouble, and a thousand other things.” She could feel blood running from the scratches, and they burned like fire, neither of which served to improve Ourna's mood. “I cannot stay here. You must release me.” She was starting to glow a bit, knowing the mark on her brow was now shining, and was vaguely aware that others were now in the room.
“Double oops,” the faerie girl spoke, very softly.
The arm around Ourna finally disappeared with another growl. Craning her neck warily, she saw Kierhan backing away. “What have you brought on us, Keriam?”
“Look, just let me out and we'll all forget this happened.” She twisted her head the other way and caught glimpse of a purple maned lion and the disconcerting figure of a lioness on two legs leaning on a tree in very human fashion. “No trouble.”
“But I can't,” wailed Keriam. “None of us can! It's hard enough when we're not moving, and we're moving.”
“Moving? But I have to…”
She didn't get to finish her sentence as the lioness broke in, voice oddly lispy and raspy, “We should find her a room.”
Keriam started to speak again, but Kierhan snapped, “I don't care what you do with her, just keep that slaving Sunchild away from me.” He stalked out on powerful legs.
“Slaving?” Ourna blinked.
“Melichor never thought so.” A dusky voice answered in her head. Perhaps this is the way fey madness lie.
She shook her head a bit and noted that the lioness was now beside her, holding out a clawed hand. “I am Teleri. I will not ask you to excuse my family, but I suppose it's up to me to offer the excuses anyway.”
Ourna managed a quirk of a smile at the dry tone, despite it all. “Torves Ourna. Call me Ourna. Family?” She placed her hand on Teleri's, unsure if it was supposed to be a handshake or not, and despite finding it most disconcerting. Either way, it seemed to please the lioness.
“I will take you to a room and see to your wounds as we talk.” Teleri kept the hand and led Ourna through a space in the tree/fog dome. “Yes, we are all brothers and sisters. A litter, to be precise.” She must have seen the surprise on Ourna's face. “Our father was of the Fair Folk, our mother a chosen of Luna. Each of us is different though born within an hour of each other. Each of us different, as is the way of the Wyld.”
With a left turn, a little 'room' appeared. It was more of a small cave, really, with crystal stalactites reflecting light. Teleri motioned for Ourna to sit, and she was glad to do so. The lioness woman turned to a hole in the wall and seemed to pull a basin of water and bandages from it. Ourna cleared her throat. “How does that explain why I am here?”
Ourna never thought a lioness head could smirk, but this one made a fair attempt. “Keriam is closest to our father. She doesn't always remember that actions have consequence, or consider others outside of what she wants to do. Though, for the moment she does, and is quite upset.”
“Not enough to let me go, apparently.”
“She can't, she spoke true about that. None of us can.”
Ourna let it go for now. She could see that a different approach was needed. So, she found another topic, to gain information about her captors. “What of Kierhan?”
“Ah, he is our mother's child, chosen like her.”
“And you?”
“I am what you see. As is Cathair, the lion, for the most part. You probably will not see Annwyrn, not for a while anyway.”
“Five of you then?” Teleri nodded in answer while tying the last bandage. “Well, you seem more…” Ourna searched for an inoffensive word.
“Level?” There was that smirk again. “One of us has to be. I'm all done, so I'll leave you now. One of us will bring you food and clothing later. You are free to wander, but take a care not to get lost.”
She didn't wander. Stretched out on a long slab she supposed was a bed, Ourna tried to forget the sting of her wounds. The soft and dusky voice spoke things, much not understood, but she did finally put the names to the faces seen in the mists. Aniam, the small man in black. Melichor, the bear. She reasoned the men were important to the sun-haired woman. Rozacia. Her name was Rozacia. She was a queen, a general, a priest. Fallen. “The worst thing to be is forsaken, and the clarity to know why.”
Ourna shook her head violently. “Leave me be!”
“Be glad to, but I brought food and dress from Keriam. She is afraid to approach.”
Ourna sat straight up and blinked at the one named Kierhan, who stood cautiously at the door. “I wasn't speaking to you.”
Grunting with a slow blink of amber eyes, Kierhan tossed a mound of blue-green cloth into the center of the room. Ourna didn't take her eyes off him as she slipped over to retrieve it, watching him look at the tray in his hand as if trying to decide how to toss that as well without losing the contents. Finally, as Ourna backed to her position on the slab, clothing retrieved, Kierhan made his way over, setting the tray nearby. “I'm…sorry.” He muttered.
“That sounds like it cost you.” Ourna snorted. “Not something you're accustomed to?”
Kierhan looked for a moment like he was going to strike at her, and she prepared to defend herself, but he didn't. He just dropped a meaty hand back to his side. “I said I was sorry. For you being here.”
In return, she made a non-committal noise in her throat. “So, how long am I a prisoner for?”
“You're not a prisoner. You just … um … can't leave.”
Ourna spread her arms as if trying to encompass the cave-room. “And just what is your definition of prisoner, Kierhan? And look at my room.”
He did, and responded, “I will see that you are made more comfortable.”
Both fell to silence, regarding each other for a long moment, before he turned and stalked out.
(Backdated entry)
Ourna tried to mark the passage of time by how many times she slept. After a few, she lost count. She used her time to study her captors. Keriam was fleeting, too afraid to show herself, but Ourna did find her room changed to include a fluffy bed with trees for posts and a living canopy of butterflies. It was clear who had the ability to do that.
She found herself liking Teleri the lioness, despite captivity, and spent long hours talking to her, always having a care of what was said, though the lioness seemed very open herself. Ourna was told of two others in the litter, one dead already of age, having only a lion's life, and the other far too changed to exist this far away from the Wyld places. She was told how the place was made for them, who called themselves Na Teaghlach from a language of the far East. Their fey Father had made it for them after the untimely death of their Mother, and had not seen him since. But for all that, Teleri was closed mouthed about a way out, save that it was through the still unseen Annwyrn, who protected and moved the place.
Ourna even tried to find ways of communicating with Cathair, the lion with intelligence of a man, but both often became frustrated before anything came across.
And always there was the hulking presence of Kierhan, who watched her from the shadows and brought her dinner. Sometimes, he would eat with her, and they would pass a few words. She tried not to feel guilty when she got harsh with him, for though he did try to show some kindness, he was still a captor, and it was still clear he didn't care for what she was.
And then there was the ghost of the past, Rozacia, who Ourna could not shove away.
For a time, the ghost stood quietly next to Ourna, when it seemed the walls of her room had gone to fog. There was a sharp taste to the air, as if someone had salted her very breath. Licking her lips, Ourna was almost surprised to find no salt there. She took another deep breath, and the faint smell of organic rot filtered in. Almost at the same moment, the fog thinned just a bit, and she could see water as far as sight would allow. No river this, it was a power, deep and blue topped with white foam. “It is the ocean,” said the dusky voice. And Ourna could remember the ocean, though she had never seen it.
Ocean. Ourna's heart wrenched in her chest. For all she knew, she was on the other side of Creation from her world. Running her tongue along her lips again, she found salt there, from her own tears. She sat hard down on the floor and wept, long after the fog had thickened to obscure the outside again.
After a time, she felt a hand on her shoulder, and she looked up with her tear-streaked face, expecting oddly to see the ghost. But, the hand was thick and callused, and belonged to Kierhan.
“I'm sorry,” he whispered, and this time, she believed it. Though she had had a care not to say anything of herself, suddenly it came out like a sudden downpour of rain. The loss of her home, the betrayals, all of it.
He growled angrily when she was done, but not at her. For her. And then, he spoke softly, “Come away. Leave your cares for now. Come dine with us tonight, will you? Feast and games will clear the head.”
What could it harm? “Can I have a moment?”
Kierhan nodded. “I will wait outside the door.”
Ourna waited until he stepped out to start cleaning up, smoothing yet a new set of clothes in deep purple and forest green, and tried to ignore the accusatory looks from the ghost in the corner.
Ourna woke slowly, languidly stretching before opening her eyes. The first thing that was clear to her was that she was naked, some sort of soft fur serving as a blanket caressing her skin. Fluttering her eyes open, she sat up and confirmed that, unless Keriam had changed it in the middle of her sleep, she was not in her own room. The bed was soft grass and fur. Chairs seemingly grown right out of the forest walls lined it with a great armoire the same. Instead of living butterflies, there were bones and furs and skins all over. And the past few hours came rushing back, feasting and dancing and wrestling and….
Springing up, Ourna threw back the blanket from the bed. Spots of blood on the soft brown grass confirmed memory.
She had given herself to Kierhan.
No, he had taken her. It was the plan all along. Ourna could see that now. She backed away from the scene of the crime, wrapping her well-muscled arms around herself. Tricks and lies, everything here was tricks and lies, built around getting her into bed with him. Isn't that why she was brought here in the first place? They must have slipped something into her food. All the kindness from everyone, especially him. He hated her, so it must be all against her. He must be away now, planning now how to get rid of her now that he's gotten what he wanted from her. The ghost nodded nearby. Of course, of course, because she wouldn't have done this of her own free will, despite what memory said. Yes, something in the drink maybe. She wouldn't have betrayed Aniam again…no…the green haired boy. She kept confusing them. She wouldn't have given something to someone else first, not again.
Maybe they were in league with her enemies, despite the pity in their eyes when they all knew the tale. It was all on purpose. Ourna pulled herself out of the chair. Surely Kierhan had a weapon around here. She would need it. She couldn't send her hand out to get them. These she'd have to do herself. If she killed them all, maybe the place would fade and their plan to keep her from freeing her people would go on if not too late.
She had found nothing when he returned with a tray, wearing only a pair of pants. Anger fueled, she flung herself at him with a whirlwind of punches and every ounce of strength. “Lying bastard! It was on purpose, all on purpose!”
Kierhan fought back, some sort of false confusion etched into his face. “What…?!”
Ourna babbled and screamed the truth into his face. He must see she knows now. She let herself glow a bit with the light of the sun. If she was going to die for this, then she'd give as much of a fight as she could.
Finally, he backed her into a corner, pinned her on the wall. “I don't know what you're talking about, and I'll be damned to a thousand hells if I'm going to apologize every day you're here, especially when I…”
“Pretty lies.” She kicked him, and he howled, throwing a backhand at her face. Licking the blood from a split lip, she screamed wordlessly and flung herself at him again, pummeling. He had to die, die for her to be free. That's why none of them spoke of the way out. They all had to die.
A sharp prick in the side of her neck made her turn her head, and their complicity was confirmed. The last sight she saw before blackness was Keriam and Teleri, both with tiny tubes for blowing poisoned darts.
When she opened her eyes to the light again, the rage had faded back to nothing, and for the life of her, Ourna could not understand what had made her think these things, though doubt still nagged. The cool cloth covering her forehead disappeared into a clawed, purple furred hand.
“Welcome back, Ourna.” Teleri's distinctive mashed rasp found her ears. “We kept you asleep for a while.”
“Thank you.” Somehow, Ourna knew she had been done a favor. Suddenly, a rush of heat found her cheeks. “Kierhan, is he…?”
“He's fine. Bruised, but fine.”
Pushing back any thought that he deserved it, Ourna relished a bit in the shame. Surely he'd never come near her again. “Tell him I'm sorry.”
A deep-throated wry chuckle floated to her from across the room. “Your turn, then.” Ourna turned her head groggily and saw him, right side of his face nearly the color of his hair. Amazingly, he approached, and Teleri slunk silently away.
Turning away from Kierhan, Ourna muttered, “I think…I think I was turning…” My guilt for enjoying myself on you, she finished in her mind, but did not voice it. “Going mad, maybe. All the hurt and betrayal, it's hard sometimes not to.
She heard him grunt. “Mother said the Children of the Sun were long mad, and that's why I should stay away. Keep from becoming a slave to a mad Sunchild.”
“I wouldn't blame you, for keeping away.” She turned to look at him, catching his amber with her deep brown, and she winced at his bruised face.
“Are you going to attack me again?”
“I don't think so.”
“Then there is no reason. Besides, if you do, I won't hold back next time.”
As Ourna sat up, Kierhan took her hand in his. “If it is your cares that drive you mad, then why do you want to go back to them?”
“Honestly, I don' t know anymore. For all I know, the others are long dead by now.”
“No. While you slept, Keriam and I spoke with Annwyrn. Though she insists on testing you, she has agreed to move us back to where we found you.”
Ourna blinked at Kierhan. “There is a way out? Why didn't you tell me before?”
“Because they..we..like you, and Annwyrn's tests are dangerous. Besides, it is true that we can't leave while moving.”
“I believe you.” She said it more for herself than for Kierhan.
Both sat silent for a moment, and she kept her hand in his. Finally, Kierhan spoke. “Stay. Stay here with us. With me. Don't go back to the world that hates you, that drives you to madness, that hurts you. We won't.”
Not everyone hates me, Ourna thought as an image of Tremaen floated unbidden to her mind. If nothing else, he was still a tie. “How long until we arrive back?”
Kierhan shrugged. “I don't know. Perhaps a couple of weeks or more in here.” Yes, time flowed differently in this place. Ourna found that she wasn't sorry for the extra time. She wanted to stay here for a while more, where every want could be answered. Where she wore beautiful clothes and danced with no cares. Where there was someone to help her not feel lonely, someone she was powerfully drawn to, who she wasn't afraid to touch or have touch her.
“Then, you'll have my answer then.” Scooting over closer to him, she whispered, pleadingly. “Until then, will you help me forget for a while?”
(Backdated entry)
The time passed both too quickly and too slowly for Ourna. Too quickly, for she reveled in developing unfettered friendships with all of them, especially Kierhan. She rarely slept in her own room.
Too slowly, for part of her wanted to go back to her own world, despite all the pain. She cared for her friends outside. And there was poor cursed Tremaen. She idly wondered every now and then if he cared for her weapons for her, whether he hurt himself trying to draw Nakane (as she now knew the bow was called).
And too quickly again because she couldn't make herself decide. One moment, she was lost in the carefree life of Na Teaghlach. The next, guilty for being so. The sun haired ghost was always there, but never had an answer.
Finally, the day came when Keriam told her they had arrived.
Ourna stood in the main room clearing she had first seen an age ago. Sunlight, actual sunlight filtered through the upper branches, and she turned her face to it.
“You're supposed to speak to me, aren't you? Why are you silent now? Do you even care if I stay here? Where have you been in all my crisis? Why won't you tell me what you want of me?” She barely cared that her voice had a twinge of bitterness in it.
“I've tried,” said a dusky voice. “But you keep seeing what was and not what is. Open your eyes.”
Ourna looked around for the ghost, but saw nothing. For a time, she was left with only her own confused thoughts for company.
“You have eyes to see, ears to hear, a heart to feel and a mind to think. When all are going, it's hard to sort it all through, isn't it?”
Ourna turned to face the speaker, the chiming voice belonging to Keriam. The fey woman was dressed much as she was when Ourna first saw her. “I guess so. I don't know why I'm so tied up. I've always been so certain.”
“Or acted like you were even when you weren't. Such is the apparent burden of leadership.”
“You're the leader here, aren't you?” Ourna asked, with sudden understanding. It all made sense.
Keriam smiled with the weight of wisdom, an odd look for her. “Though sometimes I forget.”
“I can't say much against that, now can I?” Ourna was answered with a giggle.
Sighing, Ourna turned to the direction she thought she originally came from. “I just don't know what to do, Keriam.” Out of the corner of her eye, Ourna saw Keriam come to stand beside her, delicate hands tucked in sleeves.
“Might I give a suggestion? You don't strike me as a silly flipskirt girl, so stop thinking like one. This isn't, nor should it be, a choice between men.”
Ourna whipped her head toward Keriam. “I'm not…” she started, but snapped her mouth closed with an audible click.
“Aren't you? Take them out, then think on it.”
“Your brother won't like that.”
Keriam shrugged. “He'll survive. I'll be back soon.” And the fey woman was gone.
Hard as it was, Ourna stood, arms crossed, and did as advised, and found she had her answers all along. For a moment, the sun haired ghost stood in front of her again, only now interposed over a familiar small boy. This time, Ourna took a step forward and embraced the vision. Ghosts and voices vanished back into her.
When she heard a footstep behind her, Ourna expected Keriam. But it was Kierhan who approached, hair wild but beard trimmed. Without saying anything, he simply put his arms around her waist, and she rested her hands comfortably on his arms. She raised up on her toes, and kissed him softly, liking the way his beard scuffed at bit on her face.
“Stay,” he whispered finally.
She backed up just a bit, only to put a little distance between her and him but not completely lose the contact. “I'm sorry, Kierhan, I can't.” She swallowed a bit of a lump in her throat.
“It's him, isn't it, that Tremaen you speak of.” His voice was a bit harsh with some kind of emotion.
“No,” she responded gently. “It has nothing at all to do with him. I wasn't meant to stay here. I wasn't Chosen to live this life. It doesn't matter what anyone else thinks of me, I have something to do, a promise to keep. I may lose sight of that from time to time, but even if I stand alone amongst enemies, I still must stand. For me, for them, and for Him.” It was clear who she was talking of, in a newfound understanding of what she was. The ghost hadn't been here to mock her, but to show her something. She took a deep breath before continuing. “No, Kierhan, I wasn't meant to stay here. And neither were you.”
His brow furrowed deeply, voice taking on the hint of suspicion, and pulled his hands back to his sides. “What do you mean?”
“Back home, there is this practice of building a small corral in the house to put children in while adults work, where they will stay safe and do not have to be watched every moment. Teleri told me your father made this place for you when you all were young, and you haven't seen him since, and given Keriam, has probably forgotten all about you. That's what the den is, Kierhan. A play corral built so your father wouldn't have to watch you.” Ourna let it all out in a rush, then waited.
Kierhan exploded, stepping back to her to try to loom. “Oh, you twist words well. A pretty lie to get me to come fight your fight with you, for you even, like the olden days. I've told you, I will not be a slave. Not to you, not to anyone.”
She swallowed back hurt and straightened her back. “After all…after everything, you still don't trust me. You sound like me in the throes of madness. ” Ourna's voice dropped to a harsh whisper. “I never said anything about coming with me. I had no intention of asking. Hoping you might, sure, but I would not ask it, and would not try to force the issue. So stay here, little boy. Stay in your corral and dance with your sisters, but know that if you do…if any of you do…you will be nothing but untried children for the rest of your days.”
Kierhan started a low growling noise in his throat, but whatever he was about to say or do was suddenly cut off by the chiming entrance of Keriam. “She's right, brother. I've known this since we were children. I should have told you, all of you, sooner, but I've been afraid. When I haven't forgotten completely.”
He squeezed his eyes shut, and said nothing.
“I forgive you, Kierhan. Goodbye. Perhaps we will meet again someday, out there.” Ourna stepped away to go wherever Keriam was about to lead her, and tried not to feel like she had a broken heart. She didn't have time for one.
The two women wove their way through mist and trees to a spot in the den Ourna had not seen. Branches wove themselves into an archway, and lying in front of it was a creature to top the rest in strangeness. It had the head of a woman, purple hair marking it part of this little family, but the body of a male lion. Ourna seemed to recall such a creature in some tale, and it liked riddles.
“Here she is, Annwyrn,” Keriam spoke coolly.
The sphinx regarded Ourna with unfeeling eyes, then spoke in a flat voice. “What is both the strongest foundation, yet can be as shifting as sand, as invisible as air, but can be as strong as steel? What is the ultimate truth that can be a lie?”
Without missing a beat, Ourna replied, “Faith.”
Annwyrn swung its head to Keriam with mouth in a hard line. “I told her nothing, as agreed, Annwyrn.”
It nodded, slowly. “Then let the test begin. Pass through the arch, and find the path that will lead you out, Torves Ourna. Keep your faith, and you will succeed. Falter and you will be lost. You may turn back now, but you will never see this place again.”
Ourna stepped resolutely through the wooden arch.
She stood in a garden, a small one, connecting a small house with a larger one. Garden was a generous description at this point, for it had only recently been planted, and the tree in the middle was but a stripling. The sun stood just above the horizon.
For a moment, Ourna was disoriented, as if something were not right here. She shook her head to clear the uncertainty and pulled her cloak closer in the morning chill. She was home. For some reason she felt as if she'd been on a long journey, but she had never left. It was well into the months of Water, not Air, and it was foaling season.
In a daze, she continued to cross the new garden to the old house. Inside, she found her mother getting the breakfast dishes out. “Good morning,” Ourna spoke absently.
“Goo…” Kayiera broke off. “Is something the matter?”
Ourna sunk into an old, familiar chair at the scuffed oak table. “I think I had a bad dream. We were attacked, and I got lost.”
Kayiera smiled knowingly. “You know, I had the worst dreams right after I Chose your father. I dreamed that he decided to run off, that soldiers came to take him away, that…”
Ourna laughed, coming back to herself. “Yes, Mother, you've told that story a hundred times.”
“I know, I know.” Kayiera sighed good-naturedly. “But I just want to remind you that change will do that. We've only just finished raising your house. Give it time.”
Looking up and down the table, Ourna asked, “Where are the boys?”
“Oh, two mares dropped last night. They've been up for hours.”
Ourna snorted. “Why did they let me sleep, then?”
Shrugging, Kayiera admitted, “Because I told them to. If you insist on doing your rounds through the Willows this week, you need extra rest.”
“Mother…” Ourna started to protest, but just then, Jiulan strode through the door.
“We got one healthy. About done with the other.” He continued over to
Ourna and tugged on her braid. “Morning, sleepy.”
Jumping up, Ourna clutched her brother to her, much to his surprise. “I had the worst dream, and you left me.”
“Don't be a goose, Ourna.” Jiulan kissed the center of her forehead. There was something about that action that troubled her, but she just squeezed him harder. “Um, you know I have to go teach, right? Have to get my days in before I go play militia with you.”
Ourna let go and sat back down, blushing. “Sorry.”
Three heads snapped around with the sound of someone bellowing. The sound got louder and clearer as the owner of the voice approached. Two men stormed into the room, both completely soaked.
“I didn't do anything, Kotari. The horse kicked over the trough…”
“You don't have to, Tremaen.” The grumbling from Ourna's father was taking on a lighter tone, but the other man sighed. Kotari turned his eye on Ourna. “You brought this on us.”
Yes, in the winter. She could remember the cords binding her hands to Tremaen's as she took him into her family. She laughed at her father. “I know. Not really sure what happened myself.”
And this was all real, more real than whatever nightmare had took her mind. She pushed herself away from the table and went to her husband, reached to trail her fingers in pine needle green hair. “I'm drenched,” Tremaen protested.
“So?”
“Ugh.” Jiulan grunted ribbingly. “It's going to be a long trip this season.”
Ourna turned and stuck her tongue out at her brother, then started to return to kiss her chosen, but her eye caught sight of a large purple butterfly at the door. She furrowed her brow. It was too early for such creatures. It fluttered madly. There was something familiar about it.
“No.” Ourna whispered. “No, it can't be real.”
Worried faces watched her.
“Keep your faith, and you will succeed.” The voice was in her head.
No, no, just one more moment to enjoy this, this what might have been. Let her hug her father, her mother. Let her embrace again the brother that never betrayed her. Let her kiss the man she may never again. The butterfly lifted off the doorframe and floated in the doorway.
Ourna disengaged herself from Tremaen. “Ourna? Where are you going?”
She said nothing, just put one foot in front of the other. Oh, that she wanted to turn back, but no matter how real it felt, it was illusion, and the butterfly was trying to show her the way. She sneaked one last glance back before stepping out the door, and tried not to think that her heart was breaking for the second time in a day.
She went to her knees in the dirt, dressed once again in gifts from Keriam and Teleri, and choked back tears. Voices came to her, though she didn't look up.
“You helped her, Keriam. That's not fair.”
“Neither are your tests, Annwyrn.”
Ourna felt a skinny arm snake around her shoulders and a chiming voice in her ear, and when she looked she saw Keriam, though she seemed…lessened somehow. “Come now. I don't think it's been that long out here. Your friends are no longer here, but neither are their corpses. Kierhan…” Ourna blinked. “Yes, he's helping, though he doesn't want you to know. He thinks they're all alive. With him, Teleri, or Cathair tracking one way, and me tracing your halfling friend another, we can find them.”
Ourna rubbed the back of her hand across her eyes and stood. “Are you…with me now?”
Keriam smiled. “We will see. At least until we find them, and I give you the gift I want to give you.”
While Xylanthe and Albrecht are researching and getting a boat in the village of Creus, Develan, Tremaen, and Tonanti are reunited with Ourna.
Start Date: 16 Resplendent Air
Develan and Tonanti share a disturbing dream about the dead moon, Umbra.
The next day, Develan has an encounter with something lurking in the shadows that leaves him a message apparently as a challenge, and then discovers that the ancient reliquary that the town keeps in a nearby temple has been stolen.
End Date: 17 Resplendent Air
The players pretty much ignored the plot that I had vaguely planned for them, so I winged something based on Tonanti's hearthstone.
Converted from old log.
(Backdated entry)
Tremaen pulled and scowled at the piece of lace on his sleeve. He didn't care that Auntie Aselma had made it, or who she was to the village of Attia, or even that she was coming. It was his naming day, eight years old and nearly grown. He should be able to decide whether he wanted to wear lace or not, and he most decidedly did not. Mother told him he could take it off right after Auntie Aselma left, but he still didn't have to like it.
Fidgeting in a ladder-back chair, he watched his mother flit about the room doing last minute dusting. He always thought that Kiratu Guenlyn was the prettiest woman in the whole world with her light brown skin, eyes, and hair, the last streaked in midnight blue. It only recently occurred to him that he must look like the father he didn't know, because he was all pale and green-haired. It didn't bother him though. A lot of children in the Willows didn't know who their fathers were.
Guenlyn came over and smiled at him, and he returned it. Until, of course, she smoothed down a bit of hair, and Tremaen was morally bound to roll his eyes at her.
The distinctive sound of a stick rapping against a door announced the dreaded arrival of Auntie Aselma. Tremaen hopped off his chair and dutifully stood next to his mother as she answered the door. Auntie warmly greeted Guenlyn, and gave her usual greeting to Tremaen, which meant she stared down her beaky nose at him and scowled, made a passing comment about the lace, then promptly forgot he existed. Mother asked him to go play in the garden. She didn't seem pleased to see Auntie today, and he certainly didn't blame her. He wanted to give his mother a hug, but decided to do what he was told, because he knew Auntie would say something if he didn't.
The tiny house garden held a thousand things, but many he could not touch. Tremaen had done so, once, and he thought he could still feel the sting in his backside. How was he supposed to know the plot under the window was for healing herbs? He just liked the yellow flowers one of them blossomed in the spring.
He pondered for a moment climbing the drooping willow, but the last time he'd tried to swing from it's branches he'd discovered the hard way that he was far too big now to be doing so. His broken arm had only just healed. Staring around for a moment, he spotted the pansies, all in shades of pink and purple. Mother had never said anything about them. Maybe a small bouquet would cheer her up.
Tremaen spent a long time, at least a long time to an eight year old boy, picking just the right pansies and arranging them just in the right way. Of course, he'd gotten dirt all over his new coat, and did his best to brush it off with an equally dirty hand. Failing, he decided that it really didn't matter because he really wanted to give his mother the flowers. With purpose in mind, he headed back in the house.
Mother was still visiting with Auntie in the sitting room, Mother sitting in a silk cushioned chair and Auntie half-leaning on her walking stick, staring out the window, white streaked red hair glimmering with a halo of dust in the sunlight. Tremaen started to burst right on in, but something stayed him right outside the door, just to the side where they did not see him. Both women wore their important discussion faces, and Mother looked most distressed.
“Mehtar Kotari, in Vesh, is looking for apprentices for stable hands,” Auntie said. “Breeding is an honorable trade.”
“For us?” Mother looked down at her hands. Tremaen pressed himself against the wall, brows furrowing. “Aselma, he's my child.”
“The two of you were in my home less than an week. My garden started flourishing, every dish in the cupboard broke exactly in the same way, and Kischy bore a litter of seven-toed kittens.”
“Isn't that what you were trying to do, with the cat?”
Tremaen started peeking fearfully around the corner, flowers forgotten in his hand.
“With no success for many years. Don't you see? It didn't pass him over. It's random in him.”
Mother thumped the table with the palm of her hand. “Why? Why does it matter? I bore the Benefactor a son. The oaths are over. Sending the boy away won't make him come back, no matter how much you wish it. Kiratu women must make their own prosperity now.”
Instead of yelling back, Auntie closed her eyes and hung her head. Tremaen didn't understand a word of what was said, save that they were talking about him. “You mistake me, my dear girl. It's for the boy's sake I come here. He is not like other boys born to us. He is a child of the Benefactor, and if he stays with us he will be lost to madness, or worse. He must learn to be a normal boy to be a normal man.”
Mother slowly sat back down again. Tremaen found his lip quivering. No, he refused to cry. “But why the Realmsman? Surely he'll reject him.”
Auntie spoke slowly and patiently, approaching the chair where Mother sat. “Master Mehtar knows nothing of what we are, not even the rumors that dog us, so he will not treat the boy strangely. He was Chosen into a good family by a level headed woman, who, I will add, I have already spoken to. They have two twin children about his age, a boy he can learn from and a girl. Perhaps at age, the girl will take our boy in. It's the best thing for him, and us, Guenlyn.”
“He will be able to come home from time to time?”
“Of course.”
The flowers fell from Tremaen's hand as he understood one thing. He was being sent away. His mother finally turned her head to see him standing there, and he scowled at her. Whoever these people were, he resolved to hate them. Especially this girl they wanted to choose him.
(Backdated entry)
Tremaen backed up against the side of the house. All he had to do was get some bread from the baker's. Easy enough, except for the group of boys that decided to take issue with his presence in town. It was the worst of luck running into them.
He wasn't really sure when he'd dropped the bundle, he'd been running so fast at the time. Of course, he didn't really care at the moment. His shirt was torn in half a dozen places and his left eye was swollen shut, and it was clear the boys weren't finished with him yet. He was certain they were going to kill him.
The biggest boy came forward and grabbed the spot of lace at the throat of Tremaen's shirt, unaffected by any struggling or resistance. “See, he thinks he's a girl.” The shirt tore again as the lace came off and Tremaen thudded hard to the ground.
“So, Grayst, what do we do with uppity freaks who think they're girls?” The big boy asked one of his gang as he reached down to grab Tremaen's foot. Trying to scramble away, Tremaen whimpered as he felt the hand vice grip on his ankle.
“Show him different?” The smaller boy answered with a gleam in his eye.
“That's right, Grayst.” The large bully pulled the tiny Tremaen into the center of the circle. All he could do was throw his arms up and await the beating that was about to commence. Dead at nine was not what he wanted.
Instead of the expected blows, something that felt like a stick hit his arm as if it had fallen softly. Slowly, Tremaen brought down his arms enough to see the head bully rubbing his head and the whole gang looking off at something to the side. “Leave him alone!”
Raising his head a bit, Tremaen got a look at the speaker. It was the girl, Ourna, from Master Mehtar's place. She was holding a little play bow with a half dozen blunted arrows in a tiny quiver on her back. He realized that that was the thing that had fallen, a little child's play arrow, and she had another fixed on the head bully. Blinking baffledly, Tremaen wondered why she would possibly help him. He hated her, and he was sure she hated him right back.
“Why should we?”
“'Cause if you don't, I'll beat you all up.” She shot off another of her little play arrows, hitting the head bully square in the nose. As the big boy wailed about his nose, hopping around, she continued. “And I'll tell my mother. And she'll tell all your mothers. I know who all of you are…cousins.” She spat the last word and dropped her little bow to put up her fists. “Who's first?”
Now, as she spoke, Tremaen watched all the boys start thinking over their actions, and each word brought them closer to their inevitable conclusion. They dispersed in the wake of the girl's undaunted fury, and none took her up on her offer. Of course, they made all sorts of excuses, but they left all the same.
After they had all disappeared down the street, Tremaen looked back to Ourna, wincing as she approached. She probably just wanted to beat him up all by herself.
But again, expected blows didn't come. She just took his face in her hands, businesslike, and looked him over. “You okay?” she asked.
“Um, sure,” he answered, uncertainly.
She straightened, dusting her pudgy hands off on her skirt. “Good. Don't pay any attention to them.”
“Kind of hard not to when they're hitting you.” Tremaen pushed himself up slowly. Why, why was she being so nice?
“Oh, we can teach you things.” She smiled a little at him and offered her hand. “Let's go home, okay?”
Hesitantly, he took the hand. “Okay.” Well, whatever just happened, she had his loyalty. Those bullies were sure scared of her. But he could still hate her, right?
(Backdated entry.)
It was an old quilt, pieced from worn silk dresses. Objectively, it was a beautiful piece, Tremaen could admit, but since his great-aunt Aselma had made it, the only good use for it was to keep the dirt and grass from clothing. Which, of course, was the intention today. He would have the ride home to get rid of incriminating evidence, but Ourna lived much closer.
He straightened his lanky sixteen-year-old frame to peer over his handy work, basket placed just so, full of fresh picked berries and the wonderfully light sweet cream his mother made. He'd picked a dozen wild roses he'd happened upon on the way and placed them in perfect arrangement next to the basket. Of course, the majority of the blanket was for sitting or lounging. The rest of his gear was placed way over to the side, covered by the camouflage of his dustcloak. No, there would be no reason to have to reach for either of his blades or the hunting bow today, and no reason to look on them. Besides, he thought as he rubbed at his right thigh, the sheaths for the long knives chafed horribly. He'd hate to have to wear them all the time.
The wind picked up a corner of the quilt, and Tremaen bent to straighten it just as he heard the snapping of twigs and the huffing of a horse nearby. Snapping his head up, he whistled out two short sounds and a long. He only breathed again when he heard the two long in response. It was Ourna.
Quickly, he dropped to the blanket and arranged himself three times before she came from around a tree. Her Realm-raven hair was bound plaited down her back and she had a quilted hunting vest over her green blouse and close fitting leathers. Tremaen had no trouble guessing what her story had been, but then he was a bit more interested in how the clothes fit over her blossoming body.
He watched her carefully put her hunting bow by a tree, then flashed her a grin as she took over the scene and broke out laughing, cheeks turning pink. “How in the world did you get all this out?”
“What, is that how you greet me now?” Tremaen patted the quilt next to him, and she came to join him, giggles trailing. He found himself rewarded with a kiss as greeting.
“Still doesn't answer my question.” She teased, twining a finger in his lengthening hair. “You don't know what I had to do to convince Jiulan that he didn't really want to come hunting with me. I think I might have hurt his feelings.”
“Good.” Tremaen snorted as he pulled away a touch. Let Ourna's twin, Tremaen's supposed heartbrother, have the same hurt feelings he did. However, not at the expense of having Ourna look at Tremaen like she now was. “I'm sorry, but Jiulan…”
“…has been defending you to our father now for a solid week. I told you it was a momentary thing. He asked you to leave only to try to put some water on the fire that day.”
Tremaen felt a little ill. “I guess so. I'm sorry.” Her kissing him again cured him very quickly.
“So,” Ourna started, poking him in the ribs with a forefinger. “How did you get this out of your house?”
“Well,” Tremaen cleared his throat slightly to stall. “Mother thinks I'm out with Kesee..er, Kelry..ah..” He scrunched his eyes trying desperately to remember the name of the girl who'd dropped the veil of anonymity at the last, his first, spring festival.
“Keleen.” Ourna sniffed. “The flipskirt's name is Keleen.”
“I'm obviously not, Ourna.” He replied, indignantly. “I shouldn't have ever….”
“I know, I know.” She snuggled up to him and he, in turn put an arm around her.
They sat like that for a while. Tremaen became aware of his heartbeat thumping steadily faster.
“It's spreading to the Council, you know.” Ourna spoke finally, softly. “Just yesterday, your Auntie actually insulted the Matriarch. I...don't know if it's going to hold for two years until I can choose you.”
He believed, as she did, that they could heal the breach between their families. As it was, it was his own fault, just being what he was. Not that he knew anything, save that he and his family were touched by the Wyld. And Master Mehtar couldn't accept that, being what he was. Tremaen sighed softly, almost wistfully for the closest thing to a father he ever had. “There's no way your father will apologize?”
“Mother's trying. In this one instance, it's too bad Father is an outlander, unused to wives having the final say. And proud. He's so terribly proud.”
Tremaen took both of Ourna's rough hands in his. “Maybe you should tell them now, show them. You already ride with the militia. Maybe they'll think you're old enough now.”
“Maybe.” She blinked at him.
He found himself kissing her harder than he ever did before. Letting go of her hands to embrace her, he was delighted to find her embracing him back. It wasn't a conscious decision to take a chance, just a response to the liquid flame running through his veins. He started leaning her back, moving a hand to loosen the first button on her hunting vest. For a moment, she resisted him, but he smothered her in kisses until she relented with a whimper. As he was fumbling with the third button, he felt her hands at his waist, fumbling with his shirttails.
Pushing himself up, Tremaen shifted all his weight to his knees to free his hands to complete their assignment. Her hands went still, gripping his shirt with white knuckles. He could see the twinge of fear in her face, a fear he once had. Smiling softly at her, he leaned back forward to kiss away that fear.
Unfortunately, she chose that exact moment to turn her head. “Did you hear…?” She hadn't the time to complete the phrase before his forehead met her jaw with more force than either of them thought.
Tremaen pushed back to rub at his forehead as Ourna let out a wordless yelp and started to scramble up herself. Suddenly, Tremaen fell backward as her elbow accidentally met his nose in her scramble. Tears instantly sprang to his eyes and he moved a hand to his nose, which brought on a new onslaught of pain and water. Feeling the stickiness of blood flow to his hand, he decided that his nose was most likely broken.
He blinked his eyes several times to at least clear them to see and started to sit back up. He could see Ourna on her hands and knees, and Tremaen winced when he saw her spitting blood off to the side of the blanket. He blinked his eyes again and realized that she was quiet and staring straight ahead of her, wide eyed. Following her gaze, he felt his insides freeze up. For, at the edge of the trees, was Jiulan holding the reins of his horse, and staring right back.
Frantically, Tremaen wondered if something, anything could be done to salvage what was bound to happen next, but the pain and the shock kept him frozen. So he just sat as still as a startled rabbit watching Jiulan turn his raven dark head to take in the scene, blanket, basket, state of dress and all. Then, to Tremaen's surprise, the other boy threw his head back and laughed.
Jiulan laughed until he was wiping tears from his eyes with a knuckle. “Oh, oh do I see which way these winds have blown,” he quoted the punchline from an old and extremely crude Seven Willows joke, which earned him a fistful of sod in the stomach, courtesy of his own twin sister.
The action loosened Tremaen's limbs and scooted to Ourna without taking his hand from his nose and held his position defensively.
“Get over here and help us, you goose,” Ourna said to her brother, spitting out another mouthful of bloody saliva.
This brought on another round of laughter from Jiulan, but he did come over and kneel to take a look at his sister's injury. And then Tremaen's.
Some time later, after it was assessed that Tremaen had, in fact, broken his nose and Ourna was now missing a tooth, cold fear returned to Tremaen. He could see his own face, minus certain types of swelling, mirrored in Ourna as they both watched Jiulan.
Jiulan grinned back at them. “Oh, come now, sister mine. You can fool Mother and Father, but I knew you were up to something. I even suspected who with.” He narrowed his eyes a bit, though the grin was still there. “Though not the extent.”
Ourna shot her brother a baleful glare. “We were sparring, right?”
Jiulan blinked innocently. “And I hit you too hard. I am terribly sorry about that.” He turned the look to Tremaen. “And you, I haven't seen in weeks. Did hear that a branch cracked and happened to hit you in the face.”
Tremaen managed to painfully smile hesitantly at Jiulan, starting to see the face of a friend again. “Right. Terrible luck, that.” He stuck out a hand to Jiulan, who grasped it firmly, then pulled Tremaen forward to give him a clap-back hug.
“Yeah, those tree limbs are dangerous.” Jiulan winked, then got to his feet. “Well, I'm going to go back to my horse, and I think it would be a good idea to get my sister home. It'll take me a moment to get ready.” Jiulan whistled off.
Tremaen looked to Ourna, limbs trembling, not really sure what to say or do. She, in turn, let out a long breath as if she were holding it for ages. “That was far too close.” Tremaen nodded in agreement. “Maybe…maybe this isn't a good idea.”
Images of Master Mehtar running him through and spitting him like a pig at feast made Tremaen reply, “Probably not.” And both went home.
The swelling in his nose was mostly gone when the news spread through the villages that Mehtar Kotari and Kiratu Aselma had exchanged public apologies in front of the Council. Tremaen knew that he would eventually be welcomed back to the home of Master Mehtar and Torves Kayiera…and Jiulan and Ourna. But he also thought that the secret magic of the wood meetings was done and over, and the fact that he had ever agreed to Ourna's last statement to him made him want to weep.
(Backdated entry.)
“I'm telling you, she's a good horse,” Tremaen stated, with as much certainty as he had the hundred and fifty times before that day. He looked out on the yearling mare he'd chosen with a smile, one foot resting on the bottom slat of the corral and elbow on a post. She was running the corral again, pure white mane and tail streaming behind her. “Look how fast she is.”
Ourna stood next to him with crossed arms, looking in the same direction critically. “She's albino, Trey. Probably blind and weak legged. To her own devices, she'll probably not live. Father always said you had a bad eye for them.”
The smile vanished off of Tremaen's face and his voice took a defensive edge. “Well, he let me choose despite that, didn't he, and agreed to train her? I'll see to it that she wins every race at festival…for years to come.”
“It's not races I'm concerned about. I'm worried about one of my lieutenants losing his horse at the wrong moment to a broken leg.” Tremaen found himself rolling his eyes at Ourna. Her life had become so centered around the militia since she took the reins two years before, it was as if she saw everything through that window.
“I won't,” he replied with finality. With any luck, he added to himself.
He heard Ourna sigh and then say, with some balming quality to her voice, “Have you named her?”
Tremaen smiled to himself. From captain back to friend. May it always be so. “Winterwind.” Turning his head, he caught Ourna smiling softly at him.
“Pretty. Let's put some money on her living up to her name, hum?” She grinned. “Against my Starspell and Jiulan's Moonsong?”
He grinned right back at her. “Done.”
She took on a haughty stance, then ruined it by wrinkling up her nose. “Oh yes, we'll see which yearling will be wearing the festival garland.” There wasn't even a suggestion that any other horse would win. Master Mehtar's war bloods always took the day.
“Ah, so you're taking part this year, are you?” Something thrilled in Tremaen.
Ourna shrugged, looking back out on the horses. “For the races.” She barked out a laugh at herself. “For all my big talk, I do want to try Starspell. From the feast on, I'm on duty.”
Rolling his eyes, Tremaen shot her a look. “Oh, gods forbid Torves Ourna enjoy herself a bit.”
She made a face right back at him. “A bunch of people getting drunk, rowdy, and randy. Breaking out in fights and making messes. Sicking up behind a tree. Getting propositioned right and left. Yeah, sounds like great fun.” Many matches were made at the festival, above all else, it's why people went.
He shot her a rakish grin in return, hoping it wasn't forced. “It surely is.”
“Someone's got to keep it from getting out of hand, and that someone is me and the scant volunteers I can get. I guess it's no use in asking you to help keep some order.”
He just shrugged. “You know, it would help with the rumors. Last I heard, you were one of those that looked at other women. Hasn't outpaced the ones about you and Jiulan doing those…” He started his best imitation of a gossiping harpy. “…unnatural things they do in the Realm.” He threw up his hands. “Because he's always right there with you.”
Ourna made a disgusted noise. “You can't tell me you believe any of that.”Immediately, he regretted bringing up those things whispered in some corners. “No, no, not at all. I know better.”
She grinned a little and nudged him in the side with her elbow, the way he'd seen her do with Jiulan a hundred times. “I'm still hearing I'm one of your flipskirts. How many have fallen to your pretty face in rumor?” He crossed his arms and sniffed. “And I happen to know how much of that is true, Trey.”
He felt his cheeks color a bit, retorting a bit more sharply than intended, “I'm just trying to expand your definition of life beyond horses, orders and shooting things with arrows. I don't mean to imply you should become a flipskirt or do anything like that, really.” He hated sometimes that she knew the things he did, and hated that he was too much of a coward to explain why he did them.
“I know.” Ourna sighed. “But the militia is still a mess. I'm fighting for it every day. I've got so much work to do with that and the farm.” She looked up briefly. “I'm sure you'll find someone to raise a house with, or whatever it is that you're looking for. I'm just not interested in those things. I've got some business to take care of, so I'll see you soon.”
Tremaen nodded, softening his stiff posture a little when she pecked him on the cheek. He watched her walk away for a stretched moment before pounding the corral fence with his fist. “Yeah, I know you're not interested in those things,” he muttered through his teeth.
(Backdated entry.)
She was here. Ourna was back and sitting right next to him at the little round table in the inn common room. Several times, Tremaen wanted to reach out and touch her, lay a hand on an arm, something, just to make sure. Lucky chance brought the horses to her, lucky chance let him see his own Winterwind first. So much luck was fleeting. He wanted tangible proof that she wasn't some spirit twisted out by his mind. But, she rarely showed him any favor in front of others and he respected that. She was a leader now, so much more than she was with the militia. Therefore, he contented himself to staring.
Tremaen sat quietly, dying to ask a thousand questions of what happened to her. Something to explain the far away and sad look her face took on in the silent moments, but he restrained. She asked Tonanti to go look in on their enemies after what had gone on with those she'd left behind had been told. Asked. Had something made her, of all people, cautious?
The other left, and they were alone. He watched her pick at her food, and Tremaen risked a hand out to touch her forearm. She was solid and real, but her look was still somewhere else. “Are you sure you're all right?” He asked her softly.
She covered his hand with one of hers, a familiar touch that made him want to smile. “I'm…yes, I am. I just….”
Tremaen used his free hand to almost unconsciously shift one of his thigh sheaths so the long knives would be free of the table, should he need them, as he scooted his chair a touch closer to Ourna's. He hardly even noticed them anymore. “You can tell me anything. You know that.” Anything at all, including admitting to the sign that could mark her brow now. He wasn't certain how much that had changed her, but he was certain she was still Ourna.
She smiled softly at him. Tremaen thought there was some sadness there as well, maybe something that looked like fear, but the last had to be imagination. “I know. It's just too near, I think. Almost unreal. It's not that I don't want to tell you…”
“I understand.” Tremaen smiled back at her, resisting the urge to brush a stray hair from her face. He always had to keep in mind what the boundaries were now.
“In time, Trey.” She removed her hand from his and sighed.
“All that you need.”
They sat in silence for a while before she spoke again. “Do you ever think what might have been? What would have become of your plans for..anything?” She sounded so painfully wistful.
He squeezed his eyes shut and turned his head. I was going to take you out for a ride, he thought, right after Calibration. I was going to make a present of an amulet, but that got stolen, I think. I was going to bring out that old quilt and stretch it on the ground with a basket of berries and mother's sweet cream. I was going to tell you, no matter what you might have said, I was going to tell you what I can't tell you now. All he said, though, was, “No. With my life, and my curse, I can't look forward and I can't regret.” If only that were true.
“That must be nice.” He opened his eyes and turned to her again, starting to say something, but was stopped short by her throwing her arms around his neck and squeezing him tightly. “I missed you, old friend. I can't tell you how much.”
His eyes closed again, almost on their own volition and he nuzzled his nose in her hair. Maybe, maybe he could do it. Maybe it could still work now. “I missed you too. I kept saying you'd be back, mostly to keep myself from insanity. I don't know what I would do if I lost you, on top of everything else.”
Ourna disengaged herself from him, though he did not want to let go. He almost stopped resisting the urge to try to kiss her, until she spoke again. “I trust you, you know that? Beyond anyone else.”
He settled back in his chair and smiled a bit sadly back at her. “I know. Best friend and right hand.” And that was why. The morning Jiulan left, he'd signed up, volunteered, whatever it was that soldiery did. He could press his claim with the woman he loved, but not with the General he followed. He knew he didn't have the…gifts…the others did, yet he was the one at her side. He was well aware that she might order him out to die, and that he would do it. Friendship, that was allowed. She needed it, someone to help her clear her head, not to cloud it further.
He forced himself to grin at her and playfully poke her side. “Well, enough of that, General. We have work to do.”
She laughed at him, full and honest, swatting his hand away. “Don't call me that. But you're right. I guess I've gotten to slack off long enough.”
(Backdated entry.)
Albrecht Torsten is a military engineer for hire and a master stonemason. He specializes in the construction and reduction of earthworks and fortifications. He can also organize an army, coordinate its supply chain, oversee the training of troops and support personnel, teach mathematics, tell amazingly improbable stories and considers himself an expert on fine wine and food.
Captain of the airship Schnellvögel, he takes almost nothing seriously except manners, honor and food. If he must fight, it will be with a smile. If he must die, it will be laughing. Life, he thinks, is too short, too important to spend even a second of it shadowed in despair and gloom.
“Against the assault of laughter, nothing can stand.”
— Mark Twain
“A little levity is appropriate in a dangerous trade.”
— Walter M. Schirra Jr.
The boy who would grow up to be Albrecht Torsten was born somewhere near the Seven Willows sometime in 727, though he does not know exactly where or when.
Later in life he would come to suspect Arrosa, but that is more a feeling than anything else. In 729, at the tender age of two, he was the sole survivor of a bandit attack that claimed the lives of his parents and their traveling companions somewhere east of Seven Willows. Albrecht was found wandering along the roadside by a caravan of mercenaries returning to northern city-state of Gilderven from the siege of Dorvinta. The circling vultures overhead soon led them to the grisly remains of Albrecht's parents. One of the mercenaries, a stonemason and military engineer named Hans Torsten, took pity on the helpless child and adopted him. Albrecht grew up in the Torsten household and when he was ten, he was apprenticed to his adopted father and learned the craft of stonemasonry.
Now in those days Gilderven was a member of the Karvorberg League, an alliance of northern city states to the north of Rubylak. Originally organized to fend off the Wyld barbarians that menaced its early members, what began as a defensive alliance grew and prospered. The League pushed back the barbarians, freed neighboring city-states from the yoke of the Kursvolger Satrapy and made the region safe for free men and free trade. The Karvorberg League was even able to turn a profit by selling the services of its soldiers and officers, the Karvorberg Freikorp, to other city-states.
In 742, when Albrecht was 15, the League came under a massive barbarian attack unlike any it had ever experienced. Caravans were slaughtered, entire cities besieged and overrun, all with a level of discipline and coordination unheard of for barbarian forces. It soon became obvious that the Kursvolger Satrapy and the barbarians had formed an alliance to conquer the League. For three years the war ground on, until at the Battle of Gilderven, when victory was within their grasp, the barbarian hordes turned on the armies of Satrapy.
The carnage was beyond belief. The two formerly allied armies clawed at each other in the ruins of the city, while its defenders, among them the Torsten family, made both sides pay dearly for every inch of ground. Into this chaos, the vaunted Karvorberg Freikorp made a last desperate attack into the middle of the fighting between the barbarian and Satrapy armies. Against all odds, the Freikorp prevailed, routing both armies, though at terrible cost. Gilderven lay in ruins, most of its defenders dead, among them Albrecht's adopted family. The League took another year and a half to push back the Satrapy and barbarian forces, but could not muster the strength to finish them off once and for all. An uneasy peace settled over the land, and people set about rebuilding.
Most people at any rate. The philosopher Vomba Ursa once said that it's human nature to look for what we lose where we lose it. Perhaps that explains why Albrecht, having lost his home, his family and his innocence on the field of battle, became a mercenary. For the next six years or so he plied his trade in the cold north, fighting in actions large and small. During the siege of Saluchi by the Haslanti League in 753, Albrecht's lightly manned position was overrun by Saluchi huscarls attempting to break out from the siege and admit fresh supplies from the river.
Despite overwhelming odds that claimed the lives of all but three of the men under his command, Albrecht's small force somehow prevailed and stopped the breakout attempt. The city surrendered the next day, the best of its fighting force spent and demoralized by the assault on Albrecht's position. In recognition for his valor, the Haslanti League made a present of an airship to Albrecht.
Two days later, the Realm landed a sizeable task force that began to drive on Saluchi, searching hard for someone or something. Hearing this, Albrecht and the three survivors of the huscarl assault quickly decided that a change of scenery would be in everyone's interest and set sail for the west, seeing what work a military engineer might find across the vast oceans. They spent two years there, mostly in the employ of the small kingdom of Saronica against the feared pirate Vermillion Scar. With the defeat of the Scar at the battle of Halfway in 755, Albrecht and crew said their farewells and headed south. There they spent three years searching for the fabled Hall of the Wombat King, supposedly the most magnificent underground stone structure ever constructed, before heading east.
Eventually, between various mercenary and engineering jobs (even one or two for the Realm), dodging the Wyld Hunt, and staying a few steps ahead of a growing list of people who want him dead for things he has done on previous jobs, Albrecht got homesick. He decided that he might try to find his actual birthplace and so set sail for Seven Willows, not entirely sure of what to do when he got there. The rest as they say, is history.
After arriving in Nathir, the group is reunited with a lost comrade and seeks out Albrecht's lost Air Boat.
Start Date: 18 Resplendent Air
In the process, Albrecht discovers that his traitorous first mate, Greuber, is more than he seems.
Meanwhile, in the underworld, the first of Umbra's bindings is broken.
End Date: 18 Resplendent Air
It figures that as soon as I have time to actually plan out what I wanted to do for a session and get myself in the mood for the night's roleplaying, the game gets started two hours late. Ah well. It seemed to turn out OK anyway.
This session marks the end of Act I.
Converted from old log.