Book 4 Chapter 20: Who I Was

Joan closed her tome once more. Despite her best attempts, she really couldn’t think of anything to add. There probably was something to add, maybe the fact she found a new door to the realm of the gods.

But that didn’t really matter, the chosen couldn’t enter them. Only she could. There was certainly no way she was going back there alone, either. She would require a light source of some kind and while those massive spiders hadn’t been a threat when they were all together, she didn’t want to risk stepping in the wrong web or her light drawing all of them to her. She’d fallen into one of their nests enough times as the Hero to know she didn’t want to ever do it as Joan.

So what could she add? Worst of all, she didn’t really have the heart to write anymore. She just felt a strange mix of hollow or on the verge of bursting into tears, her mood bouncing back and forth and trying desperately to keep herself stable.

“Joan?” Bauteut asked.

“What?” Joan asked before glancing back.

“Are you done?” Bauteut asked.

Joan nodded before locking the tome up and sliding it to the side. “Yeah. It’s done. I’ll give it to Searle once he finishes. Before we leave. I don’t know.”

“Are you feeling well?” Bauteut asked.

“You’re my healer, shouldn’t you know?” Joan asked.

“I can help with some of the physical stuff, but there is a lot more that goes into your health than just that,” Bauteut said. “Your mental and emotional state are also important and I don’t really have magic to fix that. Especially at your age, they can be incredibly delicate.”

Joan gave a shrug. “I don’t know. I’m trying to shake it off.”

“Joan, if you need to talk, you can,” Bauteut said with a small smile. “You know we’re--”

“Here for me? I know,” Joan said. “You, the chosen, everyone is here for me. I just don’t know what it is, or how to fix it or even what’s causing it. If I did, I’d talk about it. I swear.”

“Is it because of the hag thing?” Bauteut said. “I remember hearing about them back at the academy, they are pretty terrifying.”

“Eh,” Joan said with a shrug. “I guess they are usually kind of scary. But I know how to deal with those. I’ve killed plenty of them before and Searle was with me, so it wasn’t like I was in any real danger. If he hadn’t been, Korgron would have dealt with it instead. It was fine. I was fine. I think. Maybe? I don’t know.” She crossed her arms on her desk and rested her chin on them. “I just feel odd. Does that make sense? Weird. I thought there was something important there. Instead I was just worried about a hag. I didn’t even know it was a hag at the time. I just know these things. They’re there. It’s my mind. Yet I can’t remember any of it. That’s so frustrating. And it’s not like the things in my life were important, it’s the Hero’s life that matters. Not mine.”

Bauteut walked over to stand by her before gently reaching out to pat her on the back. “It’s okay if you’re not sure how to feel, Joan.”

“It’s always okay, isn’t it?” Joan asked. “Is half your job just telling me it’s okay if I’m a mess? Because it feels like that some days.”

“Sometimes we just need permission,” Bauteut said in a soft teasing tone. “As much stress as you’re under, I imagine it is very important for you to know it’s okay.”

Joan rolled her eyes but couldn’t help but smile. She hated to admit it, but permission did help. “So is that the secret of being a healer? Just telling people it’s okay for them to be all messed up?”

“Kind of,” Bauteut said with a light chuckle. “It’s one of the many secrets we’re taught as healers. You want to know another one? Well, here. Nobody knows what they’re doing. None of us. Not a single one of us know. We try our best, work as hard as we can and we mess up. You, me, the Hero, the chosen, even the queen and king.”

“Oh? So is that what throwing the bucket at Korgron’s head was, a mistake?” Joan asked.

“Dear heavens, no,” Bauteut said. “That was well deserved righteous justice. She earned that bucket. I threw up on the king!”

Joan couldn’t help giggling at that, though she tried to cover her mouth and suppress it. “Really? Oh, I’m sure he didn’t mind that much.”

“Then I had to explain where you all were and what was taking so long,” Bauteut said before shaking her head. “Why I was sent ahead. If you even were coming. That was a little nerve wracking.”

“I imagine so,” Joan said. She didn’t want to imagine how furious they’d be if there hadn’t been three chosen arriving soon. A sudden knock on the door made her sit up a little straighter and glance back. “Come in,” she called out.

After a moment the door opened and Searle stood there, a book in his hands. “Hey, Joan. Err, Bauteut? Can I talk with her privately for a moment?”

Bauteut glanced between the two for a moment before giving a shrug. “Sure, if you like. I’ll go see if Thalgren is still teaching Korgron some of those coin tossing games.”

Joan sighed. She really wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Whenever those two played one of them would end up losing everything, the fact she couldn’t be sure which of them it would be was always a little troubling. At least they were usually good sports about it. Once the door was closed she glanced to Searle. “What did you need to talk to me about?” she asked.

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“This,” Searle said before walking over and putting the book down on the desk, opening it to one of the pages where he had placed a bookmark. “It took a while to find, but the record keepers try to keep a log of those who die in the kingdom. They aren’t always the most clear and lots of them are lost. But sometimes they can be useful. So I started looking.”

“Looking? For what?” Joan asked.

“The Hero,” Searle said.

Joan went entirely still before glancing towards the scribbled notes. It wasn’t written very well. Ambushed on the road, a long list of other names. But one stood out above the others. “Lord Ernald Raullin,” she whispered.

“There’s no records of him having any lands or family, but it seemed a bit odd to me,” Searle said. “Why he was on that road. The timeline matched up as well. As well as how you told me you died. I thought that maybe it might be him? If you can’t remember who you were, what if nobody else could? I’m sorry if it’s not--”

“Shut up,” Joan said softly. Ernald Raullin. That was him. That was her father. Ernald. Ernald. The Raullin family. No property? They had a keep, they had people. It was behind the demon lines now, it…

No, it wasn’t just behind the demon’s lines. It was in a strange part of the map where there wasn’t supposed to be anything. Just ruins. She could remember it now. If things had been different, she might have gone through it on her way to meeting with the fae.

“Joan?” Searle said. “You’re bleeding.”

“Shut up,” Joan said again, her eyes locked on the name.

It felt like her memories were trying to burst through a strange wall, blocking their way and trying to stop her from remembering. But she could see it. Her family. Her mother. Her family crest. All of it was gone now, forgotten. But it had existed. She had existed. The Hero had existed.

“Owain Raullin,” Joan said softly.

And like that, she could almost feel something snap and memories, disjointed and sharpened like blades, assaulted her mind.

------

“Hello, Hero,” the Three Sisters said once Owain appeared once more.

He’d died. But how? Why? He couldn’t… could he? Or was he? He couldn’t, who was he? Why was he…?

“This is going to be quite difficult,” the Three Sisters said. He couldn’t be sure, but he swore they sounded concerned. Possibly even worried.

“That figure, he killed me,” Owain said, his eyes looking up at the dark void. “I’m dead, aren’t I?”

“Indeed. But this is just the beginning,” the Three Sisters said. “From your life, from your soul, a new life will spring forth. One final chance.”

“It will?” Owain asked. “Why?”

“Because it is our promise,” the Three Sisters said. “What is given cannot be stolen back. What is taken cannot be returned. Though the hour of the end draws close, we give you one last gift. Hope.”

“Hope?” Owain asked. “Who was that? Who was he?”

“Penthe,” the Three Sisters said. “You knew her well, once. She knows you well, now.” They then turned and began to walk away, their hands reaching out as long, thin threads materialized in the air. “This is the end of the Hero. From these threads, a new life will be born. A new opportunity. A new hope. You have given, so it cannot be stolen.”

“I was the Hero?” Owain asked.

“You were.” “You are.” “You may be.”

Owain stared at them, trying to piece together what they meant. But the longer he sat there, the more strange and blurry everything seemed to become, as if he couldn’t truly see any of it. “What will happen if I fail?”

That brought silence from the three before, finally, the threads disappeared. Slowly, they turned to him.

“We see the threads, Hero. We see as they are woven, we see where they have been, where they will go. We can nudge them, we can gently guide them, we can add new ones that are given to us,” the Three Sisters said before holding up a single, silver thread. “But until they join the weave, we cannot know where they will go.”

“Will I remember this?” Owain asked.

“Perhaps,” the Three Sisters said.

“If I do, what do I need to know?” Owain asked.

The Three Sisters were entirely silent for a long moment, the thread beginning to glow bright as the world around them began to get dimmer and dimmer. Finally, when the glow was almost too much for him to see any longer, the voice echoed. “What you stole cannot be returned, Hero. Now that you have given it, it cannot again be taken. There will be no third Hero. Speak to us again once you have gathered the chosen.”

------

“Joan?” Bauteut asked, her eyes locked on hers.

“Bauteut?” Joan asked, staring at her. Her face felt funny. She tried to reach a hand up to touch her face, but couldn’t. However she could see blood all over the desk she was leaning over. “What happened? There’s blood. Am I bleeding?”

“Joan? What does that mean? You’re not making any sense,” Bauteut said before lightly snapping her fingers in front of her eyes. “Joan? I need you to focus on me.”

“What are you talking about?” Joan asked. “I feel, well, not fine.”

“Joan? What are you trying to say?” Bauteut asked.

“I just thought it might help her,” Searle said, the panic evident in his voice. “I didn’t think this would happen.”

“I’m fine,” Joan said, though she could barely move. Maybe fine was the wrong word, but she didn’t know why they weren’t listening to her. Why couldn’t she move?

“Get Emeline,” Bauteut said.

“But she just sent us away,” Searle said.

“She’s one of the best healers we have,” Bauteut said. “I can’t fix this! We need someone with precision and control I just don’t have!”

“But what if she won’t help?” Searle asked, his voice filled with panic.

“She will. She has to,” Bauteut said. “Joan? Joan. Stick with me. Stay. Don’t close your eyes.”

“Huh?” Joan asked. She didn’t close her eyes, did she? No, she did. Everything felt so weird. Why were they getting the queen? She felt fine. She just couldn’t move. Couldn’t do much of anything. It felt strange. It didn’t hurt at all, so didn’t that mean she was fine?

Her eyes closed again and she could hear Bauteut yelling at her, but the words were getting more and more distant. She felt fine. She felt relaxed. She knew who she had been, what she had been. Owain the Hero. That was important, wasn’t it? She finally had an answer. All she had to do was figure out everything else now. Just as soon as she finished taking a small, tiny nap.