Shadows - Shayde Mel'for

[rohenna]

“I could help you, you know...” Shayde woke suddenly in the darkness, blinking as she tried to decipher the shadows in the room. The low, laughing feminine voice echoed in her mind; as always she was never sure, at first, if she had dreamed it or heard it.

Her eyes adjusted, and she slipped from the bed, pulling a robe about her slender shoulders, padding softly out of the room. The fire was now mostly glowing coals as she sank onto the cushions scattered on the hearth. A half glass of wine was still there from the night before, and she took it, cupping it in both hands, and sipping slowly, her eyes flickering shades of silver in the low light.

The dreams came every night now.

Sometimes she dreamed of her mother. They all started sweetly; her mother laughing as a tiny Shayde had done something amusing...the way her mother tucked her dark hair absently behind her ears as she concentrated over her herbal tomes...her mother and grandfather dancing merrily around the hearth one evening as a young Shayde clapped and laughed. Then the memories would come. Her mother screaming at her to run, to go and hide in that place in the woods as she had been taught...the lumbering awkward shuffle of the hideous undead creatures...her mothers dead eyes gazing at her from the ground, her throat cut open. Sometimes Shayde would wake at that point, sobbing, and curl up into a ball tightly until she could remember where she was.

Other times the dreams continued, mingled with other memories. Once she was in her wedding gown, weighed down and unable to fight or run. Once it was the night of her grandfather's funeral again, the night she was beaten until she lost consciousness, then woken by her husband, informing her coldly that she must never leave the house again without permission. His threats had been idle; she was unable to walk unaided for several weeks afterwards. Quite often the undead creatures took on the face of her dead husband, and loathing and rage would wake her, reaching for her blades, her heart pounding with the ache of vengeance.

Sometimes it was that voice, promising to help her. Promising to save her love from a dark destiny. That voice. It would twist into her mothers voice, then return to itself again, but each time the promise was there. Often she would wake calling out. “You can’t help me! He’s gone...and of his own free will!”

But in every dream, there was always an overwhelming sense of helplessness.

After she had calmed each night, an intense loneliness would fill her heart. It had grown into something of a ritual; she would wake, and then take a glass of mulled wine as reality seeped in, replacing the horrors of her sleep. She took comfort in the solidness of her home; touching the warm stones of the hearth, and scenting the Teshalian incense she had started burning since the visit top Morell several days ago. This was real, she told herself, trying to slow her pounding heart.

Tonight, she recalled snatches of that argument; the angry words, the realisation that once more she was alone, that what she had clung to was a hope against hope. She didn’t even know if she wanted to talk to that girl anymore – the one who had once been a Canite. Needing to understand why he would be drawn to something like that now seemed irrelevant. It was what it was. All she had left was an aching desolation and the realisation that once more, she had to start again. She resolved to visit the Moonsingers in the Temple in the morning, and lay down on the rug. Sleep did not come to her until almost dawn.

[rohenna]

With a grunt she sliced her blade across the throat of the orc. Blood spilled down its chest, splashing onto Shayde’s face as it flowed. She grimaced, hating the warm stickiness of it clinging to her skin, the metallic odour that now seemed to be imbedded in her nostrils permanently...at least until she had bathed several times in her own herbal bath oil concoction, brewed after the first visits to the battlefields.

She dropped to the ground, pushing away from the heavy corpse and rolling deftly to one side. All fell quiet in the little clearing, and for a moment Shayde lay back in the grass, admiring the dappled greens of the trees above her as the sun warmed them. A bird darted overhead. It could almost be a lazy afternoon in the forest she knew as a young girl; a lazy afternoon gathering herbs and hunting small game. Almost, she thought, were it not for the fact that her elbow was bleeding, there was a large bump on one side of her forehead. A Kor arrow had grazed across her outer thigh, tearing the flesh jaggedly and beating a constant throbbing drum of pain that resounded in her head.

The battlefields were not what she expected, though she had tried her hardest not to have expectations of them in the first place. You can’t go in thinking you are prepared, she said to herself sternly. If you do, you’ll go in with your mind made up already, and won’t see how things really are. She hoped she had succeeded well enough to able to look at it with her own eyes, not her mind. What her “own eyes” saw was almost overwhelming. Stillness and silence, then a terrible cacophony of noise and motion as the enemy came in waves. So much killing. So much. She wasn’t sure that she would ever get used to that. Then came the almost guilty pleasure of bloodlust...I didn’t expect to enjoy it, she thought. I stopped being me, just became part of the frenzied dance.

It felt to Shayde as if for the first time she was in the very centre of life, where she was as vital and vivid as she would ever get. Being faced suddenly with her own mortality had birthed a whole new perspective. In the moments of the battle, faces flashed before her, memories of things long gone and of moments just passed.

Laying there in the sun, she suddenly knew what was important to her, and what was inconsequential and transitory. This was what the Whisperers at Nuarari’s temple had spoken to her of. This moment. They had spoken of clarity, of the choice to continue and lose everything she held dear, or to close some of the doors she had thrown wide open after Tyne’s death in her scrambling, frantic search to discover what freedom was, and in doing so, save her own life. They said that the dreams were echoes of the real world, and that Nuarari was trying to help her see what she needed to see. Shayde wished sometimes Nuarari would just write her a nice little list and send it to her in a dream instead of these violent, terrible memories that twined around her fears and amplified them. It was getting all too much.

But the Whisperers had been right. The conversation with Soap...watching Sam being blinded by the necromancer's messenger, Elvina’s grief stricken words... watching the ache in Ael’s eyes, and the mild confusion in Talon’s...the sudden comprehension that you could love without having to possess...watching a demon plead for redemption...then the moment Fyvre returned...her energy contagious...the meeting with the Centurion and understanding that there really was a war to be fought, and it was on so many levels, and to be a good fighter, as good as Shayde wanted to be, she had to be clear of heart, thought and body, as each part would all be called upon at different times to fight,and ofttimes all of them together.

A cloud passed over the sun, breaking her reverie. Slowly, she climbed to her feet, pushing her tangle of hair back behind her ears, and reaching for her little pack with its healing herbs. Moments later her wounds were patched, if only enough to get her back to Lendose and find a medic.

Then she had to find out how to deflect a necromancer, get some information from an ex-Canite, make a decision about a demon, and find a new dress. Doors were closing, and her colours were changing.

[rohenna]

A piece of tile broke off and smashed against the cobblestones of the laneway below, echoing angrily into the darkness. Clinging to the chimney pot, Shayde cursed under her breath, waiting tensely for sign that her clumsiness had disturbed the night. A dog barked a few streets away; the tree in the square whispered as the breeze rose and fell. She relaxed a little, then outstretched her leg slowly to find a more resilient foothold. The scar tissue on her left palm twinged; her eyes closed as she concentrated on blocking the memories that flowed from the sensation. Pain for pain, she thought.

She knew things about the city now. There was a man who, always talking to himself under his breath, wrapped himself in rags and slept behind the Inn when the patrons within grew complacent with drink; a pair of young lovers who would meet in the darkness of the rooftop garden and whisper to each other, though sometimes only one of them came, and would wait for an hour or so, finally slinking home with a dejected stoop to their shoulders. There was a lonely storekeeper who waited until dark to close up, locking the front door with his gaze turned always skyward. He had nearly seen Shayde one moonlit night as she crouched on a rooftop across the street in plain sight. A lucky lesson, as the following night she noticed others who slunk through the darker corners of the alleys and lanes. Kalem, perhaps? She made a point of being careful after that, alerted to the full danger of her night travels. Once she watched a hooded man follow a pretty, rounded young woman from the Inn to what Shayde imagined was her home: this one she clamboured silently after, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up. Three drunken young men returning from the docks startled the young woman, calling out lewdly. The hooded man melted into an alleyway and was gone. Shayde watched with silent relief as the young woman scurried nervously home. Some instinct told her that the three young louts had probably saved a life. That night she followed them home along the roofline, slipping down the drainpipes to push a few crowns under their doors.

The climbing began one evening when her head was too busy to sleep. The fire had flared up, warming the little house to an uncomfortable, breathless warmth, and Shayde had flung the door open, allowing a stream of fresh crisp air to tendril around her. The moon hung low and yellow, and she changed quickly, slipping out the door of her house into the night. It was the same moon she had seen on the night her luck had changed; her first week of freedom, curled up in a mossy vale, her fire slowed to embers, and the stars almost noisy in their brilliance. Back then the moon had crept over the ridge, gleaming that fat buttery yellow that echoed Shayde’s full belly in its contentment, and it wasn’t until she had licked her fingers clean and lay back against the mossy ground that she saw it. The moon had been so...abundantly female, the fullness of its curve akin to a rounded hip. It stirred a strange restlessness in Shayde; broke her contentment and drove her to clambour up the cool limbs of a nearby tree to get a better look. She had to get nearer.

The same restlessness directed her gaze to the drainpipe that ran down the side of her cottage. It took a mere second to glance around before she was climbing the pipe, pulling herself silently onto the roof of her cottage. She carefully turned herself around, engaging a couple of firm footholds before turning her eyes back to the moon.

Many nights later she found herself up on the roof again. Glancing around, she noticed how a number of the buildings were quite close together, and she made her way to the edge of the roofline, first crouching, then leaping soundlessly across like a cat. Each night she travelled further, learning shortcuts and hiding places.

Tonight, she had gone further than ever before. She had promised she would keep watch, and since it helped to take away the desolate ache of missing him that washed over her every night, she took to it with fervour. Focus, now, Shayde. She looked around. She was looking for a woman, that much she knew. A deadly woman. Shayde wondered briefly if it might ease her own pain to bring herself to this woman’s blade. She frowned at her own thoughts, and set her mind once again to her task.

(Also published in The Artist thread)

[rohenna]

The Daris forest was unusually peaceful. The claw marks left by the Howlings were a day or so old; even the places where a nervy traveller had muddled their way through the undergrowth were not fresh, the broken foliage already browned. Shayde would have been worried about the lack of new trails, would have taken it for a sign that the black dragon was moving again, were it not for the birdsong that filled the air. Talon and Ael were leaving carcasses for the dragon regularly; it seemed the plan had a twofold effect – she did not need to hunt for food, so both the forest wildlife and the local villages were safe from her forages, for the moment at least. The birds would have fled the forest if she was hunting.

Shayde stopped a moment, leaning against a tree, closing her eyes. The birdsong seemed to have reached a pinnacle, the unique songs blending into a cacophony not unlike cicadas on a warm day. She slipped down to the ground to sit, slowing her breathing the way Talon had been teaching her.


The breeze was suddenly cooler, and she opened her eyes. The light had changed; the shadows grown long, the vivid tones of the forest muted and softened as the sun sank lower. Shayde pulled her cloak around herself, and set about finding a place to camp. She couldn’t go home yet. It still pained her to think about the last time she was there, and she wouldn’t be able to sleep indoors tonight anyway. The moon was in her blood again. She craved fresh air and starlight and waking to the fragrance of the moss crushed beneath her. Rummaging in her pack, Shayde’s fingers found the rough canvas of her tent. Hesitating just a moment, she released it, pulling out instead her spare cloak and her tinderbox.

Right on dusk she killed a rabbit, cleaned it, and set it cooking over her small fire. Now that her hands had nothing to occupy themselves with, her mind crowded with all the events of the last few days. Irellia’s sadness, and the guilt that struck Shayde again and again, Sammil’s initial coldness melting away: though it was not like it had been before, at least he was speaking to her; the words of Ishtar that felt at first like a blessing, then the realisation of the burden it might be falling heavier upon her each day. Elvina, with her courage not unlike Ael’s; Soap and her shadows; Talon – she had not realised that some kinds of love could feel like betrayal – it still stung a little that what she thought was a safe haven was infinitely more complex than that; Kadmiel...remembering the conversation with Kadmiel, she reached for the leather pouch that contained her herbs, and pulled out the small fiery gem he had given her. She sat it in the palm of her hand for some time, watching as her small fire turned the gem brilliant shades of gold, orange, yellow and white. Suddenly she frowned. She tucked the gem safely back into the leather pouch and, pulling her knees up to her chest, Shayde sat and wept.


When the rabbit was cooked, she wiped her eyes, and removed it from the flames. She dropped down into a prayer-like kneel and began murmuring.

“What is it you want of me, Lady? Love, and joy? These things seem mutually exclusive. And in the middle of a war. I don’t know what it is that I can do for you. I am not made from the same stuff he is. Lady Luck, Mistress of Love...can you give me a sign? Else I have little choice but to shut off my heart, and then how am I to serve you?”

Wrapped in two cloaks, Shayde’s sleep that night was fitful and brief, punctuated with nightmares. By morning, the rabbit still lay cold and untouched beside the coals.

[rohenna]

Shayde stepped wearily up the stairs to her room in the Ravenswatch Inn. A small fire was burning in the grate; she had sent one of the women upstairs ahead of her while she had a quiet drink at the bar. Sighing softly, she leaned back against the door, and dropped her pack down beside her, where it toppled over, flicked open and spilled some of the contents across the floor. She closed her eyes in weary frustration. Sliding down to the floor, she pulled off her boots, dropped her cloak off her shoulders, and unbuckled her armour. The washstand had also been filled with hot water; bless the woman, thought Shayde, I will tip her an extra few crowns for her foresight. Weary as she was, she took the time to bathe, the room filling with the scent of her herbal oils, then slipped into a soft woollen gown and sat down on her sleeping mat beside the fire to dry her hair.

After a few moments she glanced over to the contents of her spilled pack, and reaching over, carefully picked a silk wrapped, slightly bruised, living flower from the pile. She gazed at it silently for some time as she combed her hair. It had been a gift from Talon; he sat silently breathing life into it as she spoke with Ael one evening, and had handed it to her almost shyly, telling her it was called a “bruised heart” in elven. She hadn’t known; then. Had simply thought it a gift from one friend to another, hadn’t raged at him about betrayal or deceit. The memory of her anger, and the good grace with which he endured it caused her to wince. Shayde put the flower down beside her pillow gingerly, and reached over to the small leather bag that contained her herbs, and now the gem from Kadmiel. It sparkled brilliantly in the firelight as she drew it out, and placed it down beside the flower. Slipping down onto her belly, she rested her head in the crook of her arm and gazed thoughtfully at the flower, then the gem. Kadmiel's words came to her again, urging her to be strong, as if he saw something in her that she was not aware of...she remembered times of late when she had had to call upon all of her strength, all of her will, all of her courage...Suddenly she gasped, followed quickly by a burst of laughter, which laced through her voice as she uttered a quiet prayer.

Lady, You blessed me even before You claimed me...I did not understand...I thought it had to be another way. I cannot share what I do not possess; and yet I have possessed it all, since the moment I became free. Everything I wanted and more...I have it. Three years ago I was a shadow of myself, a thing between life and death in that desolate place called survival. Now I have freedom. I am blessed by You. What an honour. I have friends, wonderful, wise, true friends. I am loved by not one, but two great men. I have been approached for the honour of allowing someone redemption whether I can give it or not. I am a Vanguard. I have two homes, and can still choose to sleep in the forest. I have a purpose, a place and love. There are things to overcome, but for the first time in a while I remember who I am, and what I have. You shall have Your love. You shall have Your joy, made manifest in whatever way I can to honour you, Lady.

Shayde sank back onto the pillows, gazing unseeingly into the firelight, a soft smile dancing across her face. Just before her eyes closed, she reached over and picked up the fiery gem, clasping it to her chest as he had described. She slept.

The coals burned low; Shayde mumbled and pulled a blanket around herself, then drifted back into sleep. The night gave way to day; still she slept. People passed by her door hours after daylight ended, the low rumbling of chatter punctuated with the occasional laugh; still Shayde slept. It was not until the first light of dawn the following morning that she opened her eyes. The fire was completely cold.

Stretching, she thought to herself “If I leave Ravenswatch now, I could be at Soap’s house for some strawberry pie by mid morning.” She washed her face, threw a cloak over her shoulders, and slipped out the door, heading in the direction of the stables. The sky was still quiet, the muted colours of the sunrise still tentative on the horizon. Shayde smiled. It was going to be a good day.

[rohenna]

Shayde watched as the door closed behind Kadmiel. The silence that filled the room became very quickly oppressive, and she shifted uncomfortably, then flung her blanket from around her shoulders in frustration. She hauled herself to her feet, stopping to catch her breath as another coughing fit overtook her. She scowled.

Looking around for her pack, she dragged it across the floor, and sat back down on the rug to collect various things; her knife, a book she was reading, her tinderbox, and pushed them rudely into the pack.

She dressed quickly, stopping only to cough, and the curse at her weakness, and glanced over at her two cloaks; one bearing the bright golden symbol of the Vanguard, the other plain and worn. She took the latter, fastening it around her shoulders.

Scribbling a note for Soap and another for Soap to deliver to Ael and Talon, Shayde took a last look around the room, her eyes briefly lingering on the Vanguard cloak.

She closed her eyes.

After a few moments, she opened them again, and stepped through the door, closing it softly behind her. Within moments she was outside, gasping in the fresh air, heading towards Ravenswatch stables.

She was going home.

[Wired]

[rohenna]

LMAO!!!

[rohenna]

(This entry was meant to be posted the day after the last one, so in terms of RP this has already happened over a week ago).

She held her breath as the cottage came into view. It was smaller than she remembered, but well tended, and obviously occupied. A lazy tendril of smoke spiralled into the air; the old herb garden was burgeoning with vegetables of all kinds, and half a dozen chickens bobbed around, the dusk light reflecting luminously their white feathers. Shayde stood for a moment, her eyes greedily moving over the scene. In her mind she saw her grandfather chopping wood, stepping back to take a breath, wiping his forehead on his sleeve in that quick efficient way men have. She saw her mother, as clearly as she could remember her from a child’s memory, kneeling in the herb garden with her skirts billowed around her as she weeded, dark hair slipping loose from its pins. She saw the old rangy dog that did little else but sleep in the sun like a cat; his name did not come to mind. Perhaps he had never had one.

The breeze picked up, a chill wind that hurt her skin. Damn this sickness, she thought. It would have a been a perfect night to sleep out here in her familiar old forest.

She moved off quickly down the narrow road that led to Matthias’ house.

* * * *
Clutching the letter Matthias had sent her, Shayde crouched low behind the hedge that bordered his cottage garden, watching the door intently. Within an hour or so, a tired looking woman stepped heavily out the front door, clicking the front gate behind her, heading toward the main village. Shayde took a deep breath, and slipped up to the door of the tiny cottage.

Shayde tried not to show her shock as her eyes fell on the small wizened creature in the bed. Matthias had always seemed to her robust, solid; this frail creature before her was almost unrecognisable, his face sunken, his eyes dull, and every breath accompanied by a raspy, wheezing sound.

“Shayde Mel’for. What a sight you are. Come closer.”

Shayde summoned a smile and moved over to the bed, pulling a chair across with one hand. She sat down and took his cold hand in hers, looking at him softly.

“Matthias. I’m so glad to see you.”

He chuckled, his wheezing erupting into a phlegmatic cough. “Before I up and died, you mean?” Her face fell. “Come now, we’ve always been honest with each other, Shayde. You know it as well as I do. And I’ll be glad of it, too.”

She hesitated, then nodded to him. “Yes. One last time. I needed to come home.”

“Well, I have no news. Not much happening here...same broth, different day. What have you been doing since my last letter?”

Warming his cool hand between hers, she spoke of her friends, of Cear and Ravenswatch, of joining the Vanguard, of learning to speak the elven language, of her first few battles. He asked a question here and there, but neither of them mentioned the plague. She spoke of Teshalia and showed him the scar on her palm.

His cool fingers stiffly grasped at hers, opening her palm and tipping it so that he could peer at the mark more closely.
“Marked by a Goddess? What an honour, Shayde.” He was silent for a moment, his breathing growing almost quiet. “You know, you were always like that as a child, filled with joy, and spreading love. Even when the village children teased you for being different, you managed to make friends of them in the end. People warmed to you. There were whispers after your marriage that things weren’t right; you sort of became a shadow. You were such a bright little girl, so happy, even after your mother passed, in spite of those nightmares, you found joy in the simpler things.” His gaze travelled all over her face. “You still have friends here, you know.”

His expression darkened, his craggy eyebrows drawing together as he frowned.

“Old McWilliams is dying too, and he’s the only one who doesn’t know it. With all the destruction caused by the Canites, their business is failing, and the family are getting desperate. Be wary, Shayde. Always wary. They know you live. And nothing is more dangerous than a vengeful heart with nothing left to lose.

“Your grandfather knew you were trapped in that marriage. He also knew that telling you he knew would solve nothing, and might even make things worse for you. He bid me watch over you when he was gone. I’m sorry, lass. Sorry for what was done to you, sorry you had to do the thing you did to end it. But things will go right for you. You’re a Vanguard now. You have a new life. All you need now is a good man to marry. “

She looked away, her expression tight. “I don’t know that I will ever marry, Matthias.”

Matthias cast a surprised look in her direction, looking thoughtful, then he nodded once. “I see.”

She looked down at her hands. Matthias put a gnarled, sun-darkened hand over hers, and squeezed it once. His voice was now a raspy whisper.

“You are what...one and twenty? Fight your war and see what comes of it before you make such a choice, Shayde. Your Goddess wants more of you. Your very life demands that you don’t close your heart off, no matter how hard it gets. Life keeps moving forward, Shayde. If you don’t move with it, it will drag you along in the worst possible ways. You can’t stop, no matter what. Find that child that you were once, Shayde. Don’t let the world make you less than what you are.

“Your mother said the same thing after her husband was killed. My heart is broken, she said. Then she met your father...I’ve never seen a pair like them, even for just that short time.” He chuckled, patting her hand. “We all know what a blessing came of that, don’t we? Which reminds me...” Raising a bony finger, he gestured to a large chest at the foot of his bed. “Will you open that up, and bring me the small wooden box within?”

Shayde nodded, and slipped across the floor, lifting the lid on the chest, and retrieving a simple wooden box. The only sounds in the room as she handed it to him were the rasping of his breathing and the swish of her skirts as she sat. He looked at her a moment.

“Your grandfather bid me pass these to you should I ever get a chance. They were your mothers.” He pushed the box back toward her, and gestured to her to open it. Inside lay her mother’s old herbal tome, two leather books, and a small box containing a dried flower. She pulled out the flower gingerly, holding it up for them both to see.

Matthias lifted his bony finger again and nodded. “It was a gift from your father...he..sort of...made it...Its real, but it was like he could make it bloom himself. Called it...” He frowned a little, then spoke an elven word that caused Shayde to glance at him, and repeat at the same time, her voice filled with wonder.

“Bruised Heart” Matthias looked surprised, but said nothing, watching her closely.

She gazed at it in silence for a time, then placed it gently back in its box. The leather books, on closer inspection, were her mother’s journals, containing notes about everything from the weather and gardening observations to the weeks when Shayde’s father first came to stay. Shayde closed them immediately and tucked them back in the box.

“I will read them when I have a quiet moment.” Pausing, she looks at him, her eyes soft. “What a treasure you have given me.”

She rose, kissing him on the head, laying her cheek across his forehead one last time. Her eyes filled with tears, and she let them fall, unashamed.

“Matthias...all you have ever done for me...you are family to me, you know? I’m so blessed to have you.” After several moments, she stood slowly. "I'd best get going before Emmaline returns. Rest well, Matthias."

[rohenna]

The week seemed to be blessed by Ishtar from the start, Shayde reflected from her forest camp that evening.

The cure for the plague was making its rounds of the town. The mood of Cear was not unlike that of a celebration, though grief still hung heavy in the air.

Then she had the luck to stumble across Melanie, who finally responded to her, albeit in a small way. Baby steps, Shayde thought. I don’t want to frighten her away.

And last night, as she slept, the idea had finally come to her. She woke, excited, in the cool dawn, and made her way thought the dim-lit town to the Mistyvale Inn for breakfast, where the scent of fresh bread and warm food drifted enticingly out into the square. It was one of those mornings that hot pies were being served fresh from the kitchen; still not as good as the pies in the Tavern in Two Bridges, but one could hardly complain at such a fare. The pie was perfect...soft flaky crust, its centre warm and with just the right balance of herbs, meat and gravy. There were even mushrooms; at the first bite she groaned audibly, before blushing and ducking her head as a patron at the next table glanced at her quizzically.

Shayde sat making notes on a sheet of parchment as she ate breakfast that morning. Her idea would require more saving and a lot of planning...but still...if she could source what she needed...

The sun was shining when she stepped outside. Perfect, she thought as she saddled her mount.

“Good morning, my Lady” she crooned, stroking the soft fur of the horse’s neck, rewarded with a cheerful nicker.

After a successful morning collecting herbs in the outskirts of the forest of Daris, Shayde arrived in Lendose. Dismounting, she tethered her horse beside the drinking trough. Feeling adventurous, she slipped through the enormous gates of the Keep, and gazed around. The first building to her right was elegant Varanite architecture, marble columns and neatly finished stonework. Her curiosity piqued, she rapped quietly on the large wooden doors. Silence from within. Shayde took a tiny breath, held it, and pushed through the door.

The room glowed brightly, lit by enormous chandeliers overhead. Shayde moved forward quietly, gazing curiously around the high walls, the staircases either side beckoning upwards, but it was the head of the dragon mounted in the room directly in front of her that drew her on. Slipping through the doorway, her eyes fixed on the grim head, she stepped up to get a closer look. Voices broke her reverie and she turned then flushed as five sets of eyes fixed on her.

"Shayde." Phelan Almaran had stepped forward, his usual warmth and friendliness working to put her at ease. Shayde collected herself and smiled politely as he introduced the others in the room.

“Dame Edana Genvaldi, Sir Tawno, Sir Hyel Loremaster” At the mention of the last name, Shayde smiled warmly. The very elf who may be able to help her idea take root. She turned to the final occupant of the room; the tall, strong looking woman with a striking face gazed at Shayde, and she returned the look, at first evenly, and then curiously, as Phelan introduced her.

“Dame Amelia Almaran, my cousin.”

[rohenna]

Shayde cursed as her blade sliced into her fingertip, blood first welling to a bead, then trailing slowly down her finger to her palm. She put the blade down on the table beside the oiled whetstone, and headed to her box of herbs and bandages, retrieving a small soft bandage which she deftly wrapped around her finger.

Often, recently, Shayde found herself lost in her thoughts, completely unaware of her surroundings, or what she was doing. This time, unfortunately, her reverie was broken by a careless slip of a finger along a sharpened blade; a rude awakening. Looking back at the table, she began to laugh softly.

This was a new thing. There was a lightness in her belly; laughter bubbling easily to the surface, and she craved solitude more than ever so she could be alone with her thoughts.

And sleeping. It was as if the nightmares had never plagued her. As if suddenly all those terrible memories were dissolved. She knew it was not so; she could sense them still lurking, knew they would surface when she next felt threatened, but for now...there was peace.

Peace. That was it. Shayde Mel’for felt at peace for the first time in many years.

Aside, of course, from the dull throbbing of her injured finger. She smiled.

[rohenna]

Dawn had just broken over the tops of the trees, spilling a quiet yellow light across the dampened ground. Shayde had already been up for an hour; barefoot, her hair loose on her shoulders, she whirled her blades in a silent dance, her eyes closed, her movements fluid and graceful. The mossy ground was cool under her feet, though she hardly noticed it as she stepped and spun.

She turned suddenly; a gust of cool wind flung the branches above her, sunlight struck her face and she stopped, opening her eyes. She sheathed her blades, laying them gently beside her pack, and dropped to the ground cross-legged, slowing her breathing as the forest grew lighter.

After a time, Shayde rose, slipping over to her pack and pulling out a sheaf of papers rolled tightly in a piece of soft leather. She smoothed the papers over her lap, and reached over to her pack to draw out a small pot of ink and a bent quill.

“I’m going to precipitate it”. The words continued to echo through Shayde’s mind since she had left Kadmiel in Lendose a few days ago. She wasn’t anywhere near as prepared as she had hoped she would be; in fact, she’d spent so much time in Cear working on her idea that she had hardly picked up her blades, almost forgotten the scent of the forest. She’d been sleeping under the canopy of the trees since then, seeking clarity in her solitude.

Chewing her lip, she skimmed over the neatly scripted list on the top page.

Supplies. Need to dry and prepare more herbs.
Keep practising! Getting lazy. More important than ever.
Fast. Also no more drinking. Wine too good lately!
Talk to the art dealer in Cear.
Find Phelan.
Finalise time to meet with Sir Hyel – important.
Talk to Talon about Mindworm. If he will speak to me.
Meet with Adrian. Need Talon’s help!
Wedding gift for Angela and Amil’car.
Find Elvina – must see if she still needs my help.
Talk with Celestia about the Overlord.

Shayde hesitated, then scrawled at the bottom of the list:

Anger. Resolve it. If it controls, it does not serve.

[rohenna]

With a great flourish, Shayde laid the bedspread across her new bed in her little room in the Ravencrest Inn. She plumped the pillows, then stood back, hands on her hips, surveying her work. It was much better now...a real little place to live. Not like her sweet little cottage in Cear, but good enough for now, while she had so much to do in Ravenswatch.

Adrian had helped her get most of the furniture up the stairs and inside the room, and helped her rearrange things so that the room was workable. They talked while they worked, and she was happy for the company.

The end result was a room that was compact, but functional. She longed for space to move freely, but she would have to seek the forest for that for the time being.

She sat cross-legged on the bed, pulling various things out of her pack and arranging them in little piles on the woven bedspread. The small, worn book that Phelan had given to her surfaced, and she gazed at its cover for some time, lost in thought.

She hadn’t been totally honest with him. She couldn’t be. But choosing what she disclosed was one thing when it was in a conversation, seeking information; receiving in wholehearted trust something so personal to Phelan made it...wrong. Dishonest. A lie, even. The whole foundation of this project must be one of integrity, else the spirit of it would be lost, and it may be undone before it got a chance to become solid. She would have to rethink it; the concept, the way she went about it, what it would mean, ultimately.

Climbing off the bed, Shayde took the little book to her desk, wrapped it in paper with a scribbled note, and addressed it to “Sir Phelan Almaran, Knightshome, Lendose”. As she wandered down the stairs to find someone who could deliver it, she stared at the little parcel. Such a small book, a child’s thing; but it had set off such a tide of understanding in Shayde’s mind. Everything she did needed to be done in complete honesty. Everything.

[rohenna]

The first rays of dawn were beginning to seep through the city gates as Shayde climbed carefully down the drainpipe of the building, her feet making no sound as she dropped to the cobblestones. Pulling her cloak around her body for warmth, she padded quietly across the main square, and slipped in the side entrance of the Ravencrest. Moments later, back in her room, she shed the clothes dampened from hours on the rooftop, blew out the candle and slipped into bed in the half light of the early morning.

She’d left her room some time ago, restless from hours of sitting at her desk. As the words in front of her ceased to have meaning, Shayde had pushed back her chair and fled outside, drawing the cold night air into her lungs as one who had surfaced from a deep dive. Ravenswatch was more challenging than Cear. The buildings were different, the rooflines more steeply inclined, and Shayde was enjoying pushing her body beyond its limits. Tonight, she’d gone as far as the Temple of Ineania, its sharply pointed roof silhoutted against the night sky, darkly alluring. Strange, she’d never noticed that figure on the easterly roofline...on closer inspection, she had realised someone else was up there already.

Amelia.

Hesitating, Shayde had wondered if it were not best to slip away quietly, as Amelia obviously sought solitude. She watched her for a few moments, then realised Amelia was crying. With a soft sigh, Shayde made her way over to her and sat down.

And so they had talked. It was the first time Shayde had seen another side to Amelia; she was gentler, more thoughtful, more real than Shayde had observed to this point, and she found herself confiding in her. Now, lying in her bed, thinking over the conversation, Shayde wondered if that had been a good thing; she was not prone to speaking so openly with a new...dare she say...friend...and it unnerved her a little. But Amelia’s raw pain had elicited in her a protective response; she had spoken of things that had never passed her lips, knowing only that they had both once sought something from him that was never going to be possible.

Now, warm in her bed, Shayde peered at her scarred palm in the semi-darkness. The mark was fading; the visit to the Temple, the statue speaking to her, releasing her from her decree, was already taking effect. There was no pain anymore when she flexed her hand; her grip on her blade was more natural than it had ever been. It was as though everything had conspired to close a chapter at once, all things that had once connected Shayde to him were being passed on, given away, or fading. That was it. She felt as though she had passed this last part of him to Amelia. It was hers now.

[rohenna]

“Why do you continue to defy me, witch?!”

Shayde cowered, one hand shielding her head, the other clamped over the bleeding cut on her throat. He stood, grasping handfuls of her hair; dragging her thus off the bed and pushing her rudely to the floor. His knee landed on her chest, and he pulled her head back so he could see her face. She looked away.

Swallowing her terror, Shayde summoned her voice, a mechanical, rehearsed whisper falling from her lips. “I’m sorry...I won’t do it again...don't hurt me”

He stared at her, rage turning his features ruddy.

“One of these days, filthy whore, I won’t be so...forgiving...” He grasped her throat, nudging his knee into her chest again, and squeezed until she began clawing at his fingers, her heels scraping on the floor as she struggled to breathe...



...The fire had gone out.

Shayde woke on the floor of her room in total darkness, clutching at her throat, coughing violently. Her bedclothes were tangled around her body. Disoriented, she touched the floor, where her own soft rug cushioned her, and then brushed her fingers over the rough woven linen of her bedspread. Satisfied now that she was in her own room in the Ravencrest, she fumbled for the pouch that contained Kadmiel’s gem; clutching it tightly in one hand, she curled in a ball, sobbing quietly, stroking her throat as if it were a child she were soothing.

After a time she quietened. She lit a small fire in the grate, and sat at the hearth until dawn, her bedclothes pulled around her, the gem still tight in her fist.

Dressing quickly, she slipped out the door of the Inn. Kadmiel should have just finished his dawn prayers, she surmised as she headed toward the city gates in the soft light, and she wanted just to sit quietly with him. Curse or no, she would not be cowed by the past again.