Shadows - Shayde Mel'for

[rohenna]

She was falling now, endlessly, down the dark deep shaft in Lendose. Above her, the sun seemed to close in on itself, growing smaller as she fell, but there was always the silhouette of the man standing at the top, watching her fall, his face full of rage.

Finally, after what seemed forever, she landed. Shayde was aware of sharp rocks beneath her back, but felt no pain; aware of blood in her mouth and nose, but tasted nothing. She moved to raise herself on one elbow, looking warily around the semi-dark cavern, then sat up suddenly as her eyes landed on a human corpse sprawled several feet away. Drawing herself up to a crouch, she gazed at it for some time. It was vaguely familiar, but she could not place it.

Her awareness shifted briefly to the figure standing at the top of the chasm, his anger burning into her even at that distance. She wanted to speak, wanted to call out for him to stop, that it was nobody’s fault. Opening her mouth, she could do nothing but whisper, and the words were the same terrible mantra: “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it. Don’t hurt me. I won’t do it again.”

A shuffling sound shifted her attention. The corpse had risen, its loose, rotted joints shambling toward her, a large gash across its throat. There was no time to calm herself; Shayde began to sob. It drew close to her, backing her against the rough wall of the cavern, and she could do no more than turn her face away, whimpering. “I won’t do it again....I’m sorry...”

The visceral remains of the face sneered as it hissed. “There’s a good girl. Tell me what you think I need to hear.” Shayde closed her eyes, her face pale with terror. It spat at her. “I would not have failed you!”

The corpse drew away, collapsing on the ground at her feet. For a moment Shayde remained where she was, pressed against the wall, silent tears trickling down her cheeks, then slowly she turned her eyes to the rotting head. Its dark braids draped over its shoulders, the eyes that stared at her were silvery blue; one palm was turned upright, the remains of a burn visible where the flesh had not fallen away.

A cold chill spread through her veins.

The voice of the raging man above her grew louder as if he was suddenly rushing at her, and then it was as if the voice flew past down the tunnel and into the darkness, his words unintelligible but for the fury they contained.

Then she lost sight of the sun, and was plunged into a silent blackness.

She woke with a gasp, her sob catching in her throat, her whole body heavily blanketed by a deep sense of foreboding.

[rohenna]

It was another of those intrusive dreams.

The angry man was there again, on a mountaintop, his form a small dark silhouette against the darkened sky. She knew rationally that he was a great distance away, yet his voice was there, rasping in her ear like an angry wasp.

“Oathbreaker. I don’t deal with Oathbreakers.”

The voice became the man, suddenly, right there in front of her, his face close to hers, his hand trailing her throat softly, his breath warm in her hair. For a moment, it felt like love. Her skin where he touched her burned. Her throat tightened. Her heart hurt. “I’ll not betray him..." She murmured. "It is as different as day is to night.” He withdrew his hand, stepping away, then returning to her, standing close.

“Foolish girl” He laughed...then a wave of his loathing washed over her. She cried out at the intensity of it.

“So you are with child, then, whore?” The final word was spat out; her cheek sprayed with spittle.

She shook her head, at first slowly then firmly. Her voice broke... “It was a jest...no more...” He punched her then, hard in the stomach, and she crumpled, a burning pain deep within her growing until she could do little else than curl into a ball and moan. “A jest, you filthy witch? You’re unfit to grow a new life. You’re nothing. A whore doesn’t deserve children. Doesn’t deserve a man to love her. You’ll lose it all. Watch. You’ll lose everything, slattern!”

Then there was blood on her hands, on her skirt, in the soil around her, and he was gone. The pain within her belly grew dull, and an unnamed grief washed over her.

She cried out fitfully in her sleep, unable to waken fully before lapsing into another dream.

He’d grabbed her by the upper arm in a rage, flung her across the room, and she had landed against a chest of drawers, the ornate handles carving shallow grooves into her skin. She’d hit her head, causing her vision to blur a little, and she slumped almost gratefully to the floor.

Murmuring her usual mantra, she became fixated on the sound of her own voice, turning inward so that the fear ebbed away and she could go numb inside. Or was it hollow? As he raged and cursed, she set about imagining what hollow things must feel like, drawn deep within herself until he hoisted her up roughly, throwing her limp body face down across the bureau...suddenly she knew nothing but pain, all the images in her mind scattering into a mist.

She woke, still dream-dazed, crying out as the phantom pains ripped through her body. Reaching across in the darkness, she remembered he had gone to Lendose yesterday; she was alone. Shayde curled tightly into a ball, softly singing a lullaby she remembered from childhood, her voice low and wavering, barely audible in some parts, and gradually she was able to unfurl her body.

She performed her examination gingerly. There was no blood, but the dull ache in her belly remained, along with cuts on her cheek, and a bruise the shape of a handprint on her upper arm.

She did not leave her room that day, or the next.

[rohenna]

She threw back the blankets with an angry exhalation and slipped out of bed. Her climbing leathers were close by, and she pulled them on quickly, along with her hood and travelling cloak; the nights were cold now, the ice-laden breezes carrying to the city from the snow storm in the Ravenwood.

Taking the stairs two at a time, she burst forth into the night air in seconds, gasping, then began to run. The rooftops were not going to be enough, tonight. She felt as though her heart was going to explode and fracture into a thousand tiny shards of pain and confusion, and so she ran, drawing on the feeling until she reached the main wall of the city, then began to climb, grasping knotholes and outcroppings almost carelessly.

She reached the top, hauling herself up onto her stomach, then into a crouch, and sat there for a moment, feeling the burn in her muscles, the sting of the cold air in her nose and throat, the wild wind flicking at her as if it too knew her heart.

Moving along the top of the wall in the high winds was exhilarating. There was a sense of possibility there...the swirling darkness of the city below might claim her; defiantly she would not cling to the wall in fear. Enough fear. Enough guilt. She had killed a man. Calculated, premeditated...she touched her throat where the scars lingered, raised in the cold wind. I have atoned, she thought. I paid my penance before I committed the crime, many, many times over. And even after he was dead and gone, I still kept paying.

That gentleman Jard had put it simply. Survival. Fight or flight. Kill or be killed. She was not proud of it, by any means, but she would not wither away in shame or guilt anymore. If she hadn’t have killed him, he would have killed her. It was that simple.

As for all the other things whirling in her mind, she eyed the direction of the Daris forest thoughtfully, a scowl on her face. It would be running away, sure enough, but she was almost past caring. Torn in every direction. She was tired of it. Disappearing held such a lure; if only she knew she wouldn’t bring the convoluted mess with her she would flee the city that night. Finally, her energy depleted, and the winds too strong to resist, she collapsed on top of the wall, her arms wrapped around herself, and sat with her despair until dawn.

[rohenna]

There was a stillness about her even as she moved. Nobody looked up as she passed through the gates; she barely saw them herself through the shroud of silence that had fallen upon every cell of her body. In a practised, unconscious gesture, she whistled low and long; moments later, the yellow-eyed she-wolf slipped into habitual step beside her, pushing at Shayde’s hand with her muzzle. They continued like this, woman and wolf, for the hours it took to reach the edge of the Daris forest.

Karsa bounded off into the twilight haze, scouting for boars and other wolves. Shayde kept moving through the trees until she found the little stream she sometimes camped at, stared at it for some time, then moved further north until she came to another little clearing; a mossy little vale with a large rock outcropping that would suit for shelter should the weather change. It was near dark. She dropped her pack, moving silently to gather kindling in the inky light. Within moments the small fire had taken hold. Shayde moved to the water’s edge, gazing down at her broken fingernails and scratched feet. It took her until this moment to realise she hadn’t even had a chance to retrieve her boots from the garden in the Keep, had just left, barefoot. She shed her leathers, slipping into the dark water, allowing herself to sink down until the water flowed over her head and the sound of her own heartbeat was the only thing she was aware of. She stayed there until her lungs began to burn, surfacing reluctantly.

Karsa had returned. The she-wolf’s eyes flickered and gleamed oddly as she sat gazing at Shayde across the firelight. Shayde pulled a woollen gown over her head, padding quietly over to Karsa’s side, and sat against the warm body of the wolf, her hands toying idly with a long stick, one end pointed into the coals until it glowed hotly. She removed it as the flames took hold, lifting it into the darkness as her eyes followed the bright trails it made before it was extinguished.

Finally, she set down the stick, pulled up her knees to her chin, and wrapped her arms around her legs, a breath escaping her.

I thought he was a man first, a knight second.

She pulled over her pack, extricating the white flower given to her by Alvinne Anthurium, and examined it quietly.

I'll need all my courage for this task. Everything I am will be tested.

After a time, she set the flower gently back down on her pack and rested her cheek on her knees. Her thoughts were quiet; the shock still echoing through her body as a profound physical silence.

Sleep did not come for her. As dawn approached, she rose quietly, trailing through the undergrowth around her camp. She would need to build a shelter that would last a few days. Maybe longer. The silence now was vital to her. She couldn’t go back to the city. Not yet. Not while she knew the noise of it, the rush of it, would hurt so much. Not until this silence was able to find its own voice and speak to her.

When at last she did sleep, she dreamed of the cold stone of castle walls, of Alvinne's voice, of the figure of Lord Avgral gazing darkly at her from the top of the hillside.

[rohenna]

Dawn brought with it to Ravenswatch a silencing of the violent night winds as the first tentative rays of light broke across the jagged hills. For a few moments, no sound could be heard; it was so distinct from the wild night before that at once Shayde uncoiled, sitting up and looking around. She had somehow fallen asleep curled against a warm chimney on the rooftop, in the middle of the storm that had drawn her from her room; its ferocity in her blood, her restlessness growing. The city streets were littered with leaves and debris, the cold stone beneath where she lay the only dry place on the roof. She stretched her arms high over her head, dropping them down to rub her eyes, then shifted slowly to the easterly end of the roof. She watched, oblivious to the cold, the damp cloak about her shoulders.

The light at first was a faint, pale blue, a colour so gentle it barely affected the darkness. Gradually a soft pink spilled across the valley, and Shayde watched it paint her cold hands with a gentle luminosity. She held them up to the light, watching as it played between her fingers for a few moments before bringing them to rest in her lap. She gazed at them, her fingers fluttering slowly as the sunrise bled warmth into them.

Her hands.

These hands that had healed, held, caressed, loved, comforted.
These hands she had extended in friendship. Hands used to build a connection, to overcome fear, to build trust.
These hands that had been lifted in defense against savage fists.
These hands that twitched with the urge to strike, to punish, to avenge.
These hands that had killed.

Yet still, for all this, just her hands. For all the tales they could tell; just her hands. Just bone and flesh and nothing else.

She murmured, softly, wonder filtering through her words: “I can change nothing. Only learn.”

For a moment, just a moment, she felt it. The faintest stirrings of release. A flicker of forgiveness. Then it was gone...but she had held it once. Next time she would hold it a little longer, then a little longer again.

[rohenna]

Shayde paced along the bank of the river in Two Bridges. Stooping randomly to pick up pebbles, she threw them into the water, scowling darkly, the tiny plopping sounds insufficient, unsatisfying. Her hood had fallen back onto her shoulders and the wind had blown her dark hair loose of its braids, and with the mellow glow of the sunset on her face, she looked as a creature from a wild place, anger, wariness, tension all dancing around her muscles, her body taut and ready to spring.

She climbed up onto the large rock that cast a shadow over the river, and perched there, her dagger scratching white grooves into the stone.

I don’t want to hold on any longer. I don’t want to keep it all down, smile through the discomfort, say everything is alright. I don’t want to try so hard. I don’t want to always be strong. I don’t want to be steady, calm, rational. I want to fall apart and have someone take me in their arms and tell me everything will be alright, and just let me weep until I am dry. Then when I am done, I want them to hold my hand and walk with me through whatever comes next. I don’t want to watch from the outer. I don’t want to feel the loneliness of watching as if through a window, as if I can be seen but not heard. I feel as though I could scream and all anyone would hear would be a faint whisper. I don’t want to feel like this. I can’t hold on anymore. I don’t want to.

“And that is what makes my heart ache for you.” She dug the dagger into a crevice until it would not budge, then released the handle. Yeah. Mine, too.

She lowered her head so that her cheek rested on her knees, her arms drawing her legs up close to her body, her grief filling her eyes, but still too raw to bring tears.

The moon rose, gradually, casting a soft blue hue over the water. Shayde looked up.

Mistress. I have not had to seek your protection, your guidance for some time. All around me the illusions fall, revealed for what they truly are. I held them as long as I could. I don’t have it in me to hold them anymore. I pray to you, keep the nightmares at bay...help me find a path through this long dark night...for I fear I shall not walk in the light again for some time to come.

[rohenna]

Shayde wandered the path toward Tristan, huddling over as the icy winds blowing down from Ravenswatch roared through the gorge, tugging and whipping at her hair, her cloak, making her eyes water. She noticed it only a little, so immersed was she in her thoughts, yet her body responded automatically, drawing her cloak around her, clutching the woollen fabric around her neck, her hands wrapped in its folds, and her shoulders curled as if trying to make herself smaller.

The Festival was a roaring success. She had never imagined, never dreamed that it would receive such support, such generosity...she was over half way to her goal already. The Museum felt suddenly real to her; an actual thing, not a dream and a pile of papers on her desk. It was so important. Frowning, she recalled the sight of the Lochwarian neophyte standing ominously by the door. She knew that no trouble would occur during the evening, but a sense of unease flickered in the pit of her stomach about what might come. No matter, Shayde. It is worth it. Just keep moving forward. Release that fear.

Her mind shifted to Click, and her revelations over the past few days. Shayde’s mind reeled. Her wisdom, her ferocity, her courage...her friendship...Shayde had never met anyone like her. The trust she felt was instinctive. She didn’t need to question it. But fear pervaded most other facets of her life, and she was weary of it. She wanted it gone.

Freedom. That’s what Click said. Once you get a taste of it...fear becomes so much less important, unwanted, unnecessary.

Shayde slipped behind the Inn in Tristan and made her way to the water’s edge, where she sat huddled, her knees drawn up against her chest. She thought of all the ways she experienced freedom. Now was a perfect moment; she was alone, nobody knew where she was, and nobody was waiting for her today. She could take as little or as much time as she wished. She could ponder the glassy silver-blue surface of the pond for hours if it so took her imagination...she could sleep in the Inn, the forest, or her home.

It was a perfect moment to illustrate all the ways her body could move through the world freely. But that was not it. That wasn’t the problem.

It was her mind, and her heart, that needed to experience freedom. Click had said it. Fear cages. Fear imprisons.

She thought of the time she spent in the forest, the year in which she watched plants unfurl and the leaves sprout green and strong, then wither and die and fall.

There was no fear there.

Things just happened as they happened, and there was little resistance to any of it. The leaves didn’t fear Autumn. They embraced it, turned their warm vibrant tones, then, when the time was right, slipped quietly to the ground. Seeds that pushed their silent way through the soil did not fear the light or how it may change them. They just grew.

Everything in the forest changed constantly, and nothing in it feared, resisted, or doubted. Something inside Shayde relaxed, and she rearranged herself so she was sitting cross legged, her eyes closing, practising her breathing as Talon had taught her so long ago. A flicker of sadness flamed in her belly at the thought of his absence, then she released it, shifting her attention back to her breath. Images of the forest floated through her mind...the way the light filtered through the trees, the flickering glints from the stream as the first rays of morning sun hit the water, then suddenly it was a sensual thing...the scent of damp, crushed moss, the roughened ridges of the pine bark, the sound of birdsong and trickling waterways. She moved her awareness into her belly, into that place where fear usually sat waiting for a foothold to climb its way into her heart. It was there, still, but smaller than she recalled, and where it resided, sunlight poured onto it from one side, and Nuarari’s soft pale light blanketed it from the other.

Shayde smiled.

Little by little.

[rohenna]

Afterwards she could still not say if it was a dream or a nightmare. She slept. She dreamed.

In the dream her house was a mess. It seemed as though someone had ransacked it; books and papers everywhere, chairs and tables overturned, the stuffing from her pile of cushions strewn across the floor like snow. Something caught her eye, lying by the fire. Dark red, glistening, about the size of her fist. As she stepped closer to it, she could hear whispering “What is the truth, Shayde? Tell me the truth. What is the truth, Shayde?” The voice was unrecognisable, everywhere and nowhere at once, and she spun around wildly, seeking any indication of its source.

“I don’t know.”

The voice whispered, this time more of a loud scratching sound in her ear. “Yes, you do”.

With trembling, bleeding fingers she reached for the dark red object, and lifted it closer. It was a heart. Already the blood had started to congeal over it, as if it were some hours old, and as she turned it over in her hands, she looked down and saw her chest cavity was hollow, bleeding, the congealment matching that of the organ in her hands. She uttered a muted cry.

The whispering continued, growing insistent. The voice was female, low, soft, and beguiling.

“When did you last laugh until you cried?
"When did you last weep for joy?
“When did you last dance under Nuarari’s gentle light?
“When did you last feel truly free?
“When did you last feel alive, Shayde?”

There was silence for a moment, then the rushing sound of something moving fast around her.

“What is the truth, Shayde?”

Shayde hesitated, holding her breath as if containing that exhalation would stop the tide of emotions that were flooding her body, then she exhaled loudly, collapsing to her knees, clutching the heart to her body as if it were a child. The whispering changed to a soft, low murmur, an edge of satisfaction in its slippery tones.

“And how do you expect to find freedom when you have so much bound up inside? You are resisting everything. You’ll just build yourself a stronger cage.”

Shayde whispered, tears slipping down her cheeks, her whole body slumped. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Yes, you do.”

There was silence for a few moments as more tears fell.

“What is the truth, Shayde?”

Silence fell again; the tide of tears slowly subsiding.

“Love...Love is the truth.”

The whispering voice sighed like the rustling of leaves. “At last, we are getting somewhere.”

[rohenna]

She pushed the door of her old family farmhouse open, and stepped inside. A wave of memories washed over her immediately, and she stood there in the entrance for several moments, allowing them to come. Tentatively she moved beyond the doorway. Setting her pack on the floor by the kitchen area, she looked around at the tiny house that was once her entire world. As it was to be again for a little while. The silence weighed in on her grief like a millstone.

She’d left Cear days ago.

Shayde’s childhood farm had come up for sale in recent months, and without hesitation, she’d purchased it. She’d had a couple work it for her for a time, but they needed to leave, and so it had stood empty for a week now.

She’d packed up her little house - the boxes were stored at Orion’s home – he and Lillianne were kind enough not to ask any questions, and so on the last day she took over to him the address to her farm, and the gift of a traditional wedding luck charm that she had had a silversmith copy for each of them from one originally obtained on her museum travels. She had bid them farewell quickly, taking the rations they pressed upon her, then, tugging her hood down low over her face, she stepped out into the street with nothing but her cloak and her small pack.

She slipped into the shadows, delivering a letter at this house or that inn, along the way. They all said similar things:

My dear friend,

I have had to go away for a time. I thank you for your friendship and your love, and I pray that your blades are guided well, your family is safe, and good health is yours. Should you need to get word to me, please contact Orion Steele at the Bladeshall – he will pass messages on.

I will return. When I am not certain, but I shall see you again.

Your friend,

Shayde Mel’for

Long ago she had sought storage in Ravenswatch for her collection of artifacts for the museum. It was no big thing to add her own furniture and books from her room at the Ravencrest, and give Eorian enough coins to ease his mind about having a room stand empty for a while.

Then, holding her breath, she stepped out of the gates of Ravenswatch, and turned toward the Forest of Daris. She dared not turn around for fear her pounding heart would cause her to flee back, try to make good everything she had undone, everything she had walked away from. A long low whistle, and the yellow eyed wolf soon stepped silently into place beside her.

Only when the time was right, would she return.

[rohenna]

She had shot down three ducks; that would be enough to see her through a few days at least. Shayde moved silently through the forest near her cottage, stopping to pick mushrooms and take cuttings of small plants and herbs, or like now, to sit close, embraced by the base of one of her favourite old trees and reflect.

The tree was covered in a velvety moss, and so was soft against her back. Shayde tilted her head back, gazing at the sunlight filtering through the canopy of leaves, dappling the forest floor with a soft yellow hue. Quietly she sat, listening to the bird calls and the breeze dancing through the trees; the scent of crushed moss and damp leaf litter and sun-warmed soil; her fingers brushing lightly over the smooth curving lines of the roots at the base of her tree.

Two rabbits darted into the clearing and stopped abruptly, their eyes flicking around, their noses twitching, testing the air. Shayde held her breath. One was barely more than a kitten, the other she assumed to be its mother. Suddenly the younger one flicked out its back legs, then scampered towards its mother in a wild dance that ended in another sudden halt. Again they froze. Another frenzy of motion in the younger one; the mother calmly nibbling on a small plant. The dance went on, flashes of furry motion, then stillness, all the while the mother serenely chewing at her lunch, and Shayde found herself suddenly bursting into helpless laughter at the contrast. Startled, both rabbits shot quick as arrows into the undergrowth.

She rose to her feet reluctantly. As she walked, the odd chuckle bubbling from her lips, her thoughts gradually turned to her Museum. While she had left most of her plans and notes in storage in Ravenswatch, she went to the village the third day to purchase parchment to avoid the urge to tear pages from the new sketchbook that Click had given her. The parchment now piled up on her kitchen table. The urge to return to Ravenswatch was growing, but the understanding that she needed this solitude right now bound her here.

It was good to be here again. At times she felt as if the last seven years of her life were but a vivid dream; upon returning to the cottage some afternoons after a good days foraging, she half expected her grandfather to be feeding the sows, or the chickens, or taking a nap in the sun beside their nameless dog. Then the illusion would fade; she was alone – and all the memories and all the pain would come flowing back. Admittedly, each day the flow grew less, and some days she caught herself realising a whole morning had passed without thinking on it. Other times she realised she had spent an hour thinking of things to look forward to upon her return, a half smile dancing around her lips and a lightness coming into her step.

It was near dark as she reached her cottage. She swung the back gate open, then moved around to the front of the house to bring in some more firewood for the night. As she turned to go in, her gaze was drawn to the shadows in the dusky light across the road, to the dark shape of what appeared to be a man standing there watching her. An icy chill flowed through her veins. A log rolled from her arms, and she side stepped to avoid having it land on her feet. When she looked up again, she saw naught but shadows.

The knowledge would now not be quelled: she could not stay here much longer. Shayde knew that the whispers in the village were becoming rumours, and the rumours were beginning to spread. Half elves were rare in these parts at the best of times; she was easily recognisable to those who had watched her grow from a babe, even disguised. Besides, she took after her mother enough in looks for there to be much doubt. If it had not happened already, it was only a matter of time before his family knew she was back, then her life, and her farm, would be in danger.

She was not ready to leave. Not just yet. It seemed she had a last battle to fight. She whistled long and low, and a few minutes later, the yellow eyed wolf was welcomed into the house for the evening.

[rohenna]

The man waited in the shadows, watching the little cottage just beyond where the moon fell across the roadway. He’d been instructed to do nothing but observe at this point, though he knew that more...serious work would be required of him very soon. But she was observant, this woman. A natural tracker herself. He knew she had seen him from the first, but he was puzzled as to why she had not confronted him.

Tonight was the sixth night he had watched her. She showed no edginess, no signs of being intimidated or unsettled by his presence. As she entered the cottage this evening, he could have sworn she stopped and gazed directly at him for a few seconds. Her expression had been unreadable.

The evenings were growing colder. He would be glad when this job was done; it was one of his less interesting, and until he could spill some blood, it wasn’t even worth the meagre fee they were paying. If he hadn’t owed them a favour...

* * * *

Inside her cottage, Shayde took several deep breaths to calm herself. She could not tell if her hands were trembling more from rage or fear, but in a little while, it would not matter anymore. One way or another. No more, she repeated. No more.

She strapped her blades to her hips, and slipped into the shadows.

* * * *

The next morning, the rain beat down against the cottage windows. Shayde rose from her seat near the fire where she had spent the night, gazing into the flames, the blood spatters and smears over her face and leathers turned black in the low light. Moments from the night before flashed into her mind; she received the images coolly and calmly.

The blood. So much blood. The man, begging in the darkness for her to end his pain.

Her own voice, calm and deadly. “ Tell them this: they know not who they deal with, nor the alliances I have formed. Tell them, this ends here, tonight. Else the next messenger they send will be delivered to them in pieces. Else I shall be in their shadows, watching, until I decide to cut their throats. This ends.”

She had dragged the man to the village, barely conscious. She knew he would live. She had been careful about where she wounded him. She had taken him to the doorstep of the old house she had been imprisoned in, and made sure that he still lived as they opened the door. She had watched as pale faces looked out into the darkness. She made sure she was seen. Then she had turned back slowly toward her cottage.

* * * *

"I have become a monster." Rising quietly to her feet in the soft, muted dawn light, Shayde set about heating water for a bath.

[rohenna]

The lake opened out before her, and she drew in a deep breath, moving swiftly towards it. It was late afternoon, and the sun was just starting to spill soft coppery tones across the glassy surface of the water.

She shed her leathers quickly. The water was so cold that as she surfaced she gasped, laughing softly at the shock of it. Her skin rose into goosepimples, then smoothed down as she dipped back below the water, the noisy silence of submersion interrupted by the tattoo of blood pounding through her veins.

Release. She sank, the freedom of weightlessness and then the abrupt scraping of sand as she found the bottom of the lake both a pleasure in themselves. Ishtar’s gifts, these sensual moments. The cool embrace of water pressing against her warm flesh, the slow dance of her body beneath the surface, illuminated softly by the muted green shadows cast by Rel’s light filtering into the lake’s depths.

She had practised, her whole life, holding her breath underwater for longer and longer periods. Now she was able to float along the floor of the lake for a couple of minutes before the tightening in her lungs grew too much, and so she remained there, her attention drifting from one sensation to another.

Eventually surfacing, the sun’s warmth touched her skin; she hungered now for the hollow of warm sand on the beach beside her leathers. Laying on her belly, her arms folded in front of her, her cheek resting on her hands, she allowed her mind to wander.

So much had changed since she had left that fateful day. There were the familiar faces; Orion and Lillianne seeming happier than ever, wedding plans underway...it warmed her heart to see them. Click and Lyran finding some kind of tentative peace; Shayde hadn’t known where to look when she found them locked in an embrace near the wall in North Cear recently, though her amusement had quickly overtaken her shyness and she was able to speak to them.

Then there were the many new faces. It seemed the imminent change in season was drawing in a sudden surge of travellers. That, or desperation as the war raged on. Her thoughts drifted. That bottle of wine Lillianne had given her had been designed to allow her a night to forget her troubles...instead it had caused a whole new set. She recalled the discussion the following day with Artemis...neither of them could remember what had happened...and Mercalla was not going to tell them the truth. She winced. She was not that kind of girl, usually. That was what had her so confused. Drunk, yes. But not enough to...She blushed again at the idea of what they might have done. Might. There was no way of knowing...

Though she was certainly acting quite unlike herself lately. At times she wondered if she were taunting death. The Maiden of Lochwar, Camryn...she had deliberately baited her about a revolution, about heretical items...she knew she was already under scrutiny by the Church, and yet she still...it was a dangerous game, but that was what lured her...She spoke the truth when she said a revolution was not what she intended, but by then the damage was already done. Shayde had seen it in her face, the set of her jaw, the watchful gaze. She sighed. Another visit to Ward was required.

Then the artist, Bogudar. She laughed, recalling their first meeting. Another who knew the dance of words, the play of a well placed touch, his practised flattery as natural to him now, she imagined, as breathing. His art was, however, spectacular, she could not deny it, and flicking through those sketches, they were breathtaking. Already she was contemplating approaching him for a project...but she would wait to learn a little more about him. Talent was one thing; a business proposition was quite another. Particularly with one who possessed such a honeyed tongue. Besides, there was something about him that just didn’t add up. She couldn’t put her finger on it yet.

[rohenna]

The small golden head lay on the cushions, her body barely visible, wedged between cushions; one arm was flung above her head, and her fingers twitched regularly like a dreaming cat as she slept. Shayde gently laid the blanket over the girl so as not to wake her, and then moved quietly to the other end of her house, picking up plates and cutlery from the one-sided feast that had occurred earlier.

What an evening it had turned out to be. The spiky haired bundle of rebelliousness that was delivered to Reina and Ardaion’s door was the last thing Shayde expected from an impromptu dinner with new neighbours and recent acquaintances. It had taken her a couple of hours pursuing the nagging sense of familiarity, then the urchin had mentioned knowing Threecard...that had piqued her suspicions, then recognised Amelia, but in the end, it was the troll story that confirmed her hunch.

She called herself Fierre, so Shayde went along with it. She had approached her in the kitchen to confront her, but as soon as Amelia wandered over, Fierre had scampered back and stopped responding. It took a little coaxing once Amelia had moved away, but finally Fierre had relented and told her the truth. Not that that had solved anything. Shayde took her home, witnessed her meagre pantry emptied in just over an hour and a half, and then watched a trail being cut across the floor as the tiny creature paced and hopped frantically about.

Shayde stopped, glancing at her sleeping form, the pale hair turned deeper gold and reddish in the firelight. There was nothing that could be done, she had said. They didn’t think it would happen to her again...but nor could they give her any idea of what the future would hold for her. She couldn’t fight the way she was accustomed - and she’d already been picked up once by the Childcatchers - nor was Shayde allowed to tell anyone of her situation, rendering any kind of assistance difficult.

They would go to the forest tomorrow so that she might work off some of that frustrated energy. Then Shayde would try to figure out how they were going to help her.

[rohenna]

Shayde pulled the carefully folded parchment from her pack, smoothing it out on her table, sliding the candelabra across to have a better look. She had never seen a likeness of herself before. There were no mirrors in her house. Braiding her hair was done simply to get it out of her way. But this drawing...her fingers traced the lines on the page; her eyes following their movement. She made herself a pot of tea, using Lillianne’s brew, all the while thinking over the conversation in that tiny Inn room. Slipping onto a chair, she cradled her mug in both hands, her eyes travelling over the drawing again. It was more risque than she would have asked for, but she was covered, and there was no denying his talent and his eye for fluid lines and movement...and of course the female form. She chuckled to herself.

While she still had the feeling he was concealing a great deal, she found him rather likeable, in spite of his idea that the Museum was complete madness on her part. Or perhaps, because of it. At least he wasn’t afraid to speak his mind.

She sipped at her tea, a satisfied sigh at the perfection of Lillianne’s blend. Lillianne. The soft, gently spoken woman had revealed a firmness, a determination to her that Shayde had never expected. A lioness, that one, disguised as a kitten. She had an insight and a keen mind that Shayde found often lacking in women. They had spoken a number of times, and while Shayde could see the sense in what she was saying; but it made no difference. Her heart was her heart.

Twice now she had had them all over for dinner...Lillianne, Orion and Darion...and each evening stretched into the early hours of the morning without any of them noticing; long conversation and laughter and wine and dancing. Dancing...

She stared into her cup. Darion had changed. That impulsive, idealistic boy had gone; there was a man in his stead, with the same strong will, but tempered by experience; he now possessed a quiet wisdom, a keen focus, and she was curious to learn more. They had begun to form a friendship before he left, but it had been sporadic and coloured by the things that she had learned about him from others...the day he and Sammil had come to blows, Celestia’s tale, and the chaos of Azai and the darkoa...Shayde hated to be pushed into anything, and had felt her heels dig in when Darion and Adrian had tried to give her what felt like orders. Now...she pondered for a while, wondering how he might conduct himself and his plans in future. He showed to her an understanding and a patience that she had never dreamed he would possess.

Then, remembering, she frowned. It had been forgotten, just for a time, as Darion had been absent, and it wasn’t until Orion had asked her about the climb up the castle walls that it all came back to her. She had confided in Lillianne about her mission but not the reasons behind it; the priestess had dismissed it rather easily - but to Shayde, a different Darion meant that she had to be more aware than ever. She hoped that such a terrible choice would never have to be made.

[rohenna]

Shayde sat at breakfast in the Two Bridges Inn, the table in front of her containing a steaming pot of hot water, a teacup half full of an aromatic brew, a half eaten pie pushed to one side, under her hands a piece of parchment and a small inkpot.

The Inn was mostly empty; only the quiet preparations by Jal and his staff could be heard coming from the kitchens; it was this time of morning she enjoyed the most, before the sun rose, before most of the Inn’s patrons were awake. She glanced down at the page in front of her.

The list, in her curled, elegant script, was simple and short, having come directly from her dream a few months ago.

“When did you last laugh until you cried?
"When did you last weep for joy?
“When did you last dance under Nuarari’s gentle light?
“When did you last feel truly free?
“When did you last feel alive?
“What is the truth?”

She crossed off one...then another – remembering how Click had stood by her as she screamed out her rage to the hills behind Cear - then another as she remembered cutting the throat of the rat-faced slaver – then another as she remembered dancing with Darion, both of them laughing helplessly – then another as Lillianne called her sister – then another as she recalled walking away from the McWilliams family, finally free of the past, the bleeding man slumped on their doorstep, her voice hard and firm, her hands black in the night from the deed she had done...absolution, absolution, absolution...their words floated through her mind...each one cutting a cord of guilt, of bondage.

“Then I fail to see how you are a monster... I know your heart. And you are not a murderer.”
“If you want to help Shayde, don't break the door. Knock on it instead.”
“Shayde....that wild thing that is making you a survivor? That wild thing that is making you strong? You are not going out and choosing innocent victims...you were righting wrongs, both times”
“It is not a changed Shayde we have gotten back...It's a renewed, free one.”

At the bottom she paused. The conversation with Calimus flowed through her mind, his voice soft when he spoke of Zo’art...the simplicity of things...the realisation that she had no need to fear.

She wrote, carefully, along the bottom of the list, a soft smile on her face.

Love is still the truth.