Chapter 7: Interlude II

Night had fallen over the darkwood. With it came a silence—a silence that weighed on Valhera’s shoulders like it had a year before, following the strain and sting of her own blood shed. She felt the silence like she felt her scars, something that was a part of her, within her, yet… not her own. This was a silence she knew, a weight that was familiar… and yet, its burden proved too great, if only for a moment.

She looked away from Ithana to hide her scarred face. She strained her back and felt the contours of her own twisted flesh, standing from her skin.

Across from her, Ithana sat, feeling the silence settle with her, also. Like Valhera, she knew this silence well. She knew it from her many years tending to the faint of heart. She knew it for the beast and the burden it was, plunging even the stalwart into icy waters of doubt and despair. She knew the abiding cold that follows reminiscence’s burning flame, of wounds recalled and scars bled anew.

There is a saying, in the Dreamer’s creed, that all things fade with time. Lives, feelings, stains… they weaken, as the years pass. Every turn of the earth renders wounds a little less raw, their weight a little lighter. And Ithana knew this to be true.

But watching Valhera, she remembered just how young the girl was. She knew that Valhera treaded knee-deep in the mire of her past. That she had not had time enough. That there might not be time enough, the world being what it was.

So when Ithana looked at her patient, she did so with pity. Valhera noticed. It set her on edge. She nearly barked a curse, but decided to hold her tongue.

“That’s all for tonight,” she said darkly.

Ithana understood. Slowly, she stood, turned, and checked the room’s little fire. It had burned down to embers over the course of Valhera’s tale, so she added another few logs before departing. Standing on the threshold, she looked once more at the Undying in her bed.

She thought about saying many things. That all things fade in time. That scars, permanent as they may seem, are not a curse, not a damnation. That the burden of the past is great, but something known to all.

But Ithana said none of these things. She knew how they would sound, breaking the sorrowful silence that follows a haunt laid bare.

* * *

The dim light of dawn crept through the darkwood canopy. It touched Ithana’s window as she sat in her favorite chair, nursing her baby. The morning’s silence was placid, peaceful, interrupted only by the comfortable crackle of the hearth-fire. The world was as it so often was when she watched Eslen’s watery little eyes, his stumpy little tail.

It was a silence of a different sort, unlike what had settled over her home the night before. There was no weight of the past pushing on her spirit, no shadows looming in the words unsaid. There was no anger hiding in the darkness, no burden of death carried on the wind. There was only this moment, quiet and precious, given to the tiny creature who knew all of her love.

She parted her hair, waiting out her grogginess. Peaceful as this silence was, there was sadness beneath it within it, around it. There is sorrow inherent in silence, in moments like these. A sorrow in all things temporary and fleeting. It is a sorrow that comes from knowledge. That nothing lasts forever. The world does not allow it. Time marches. Babies grow. People die. Such was Gilgaroth’s will—that all things have an end.

Ithana allowed herself to feel that sorrow, for a time. She cherished moments like these, knowing that they would end. She was a Dreamer. It was her duty to know what lay beyond all things, and to stay grounded despite it. Hers was the burden of knowing… and living anyway.

It was hard, sometimes, especially knowing what was beyond the walls of her cottage, seeing the things carried on the deadwind.

“All things have an end,” she whispered, as Eslen wrapped his tiny fingers around her own. “And, still… we strive.”

She thought about Istis, her partner, her love. He had left early that morning before their son had awoken. Since Eslen’s birth, they had been living off their stores and stockpiles, but those were running low. The nearest town was no more than a day’s journey to the south… if it was still standing, anyway, so he had departed to gather what he could. But if it had been reduced to rubble like so much of the darkwood, then there was no telling when he would be back. She hoped that he would not be stopped by the undead horde or Elthysian army. But, the times being what they were, they both knew the risks they faced, simply leaving their home.

“I love you,” she said to her son, remembering Istis’ parting words. “Enough to pierce the Veil.”

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Eslen blinked, happily unaware. She sighed and brushed her fingers through his silk-smooth hair.

“One day, you’ll know.”

He had been strangely quiet since the Undying’s arrival. Ithana wondered if he took after his mother, able to sense things that others could not. She doubted his infant mind could comprehend the power that slept one room over, but she remembered how, even as a child, she’d had the Sight.

Eslen turned his head, seemingly content with his meal. Ithana held him closer to her chest, adjusting her robe to cover herself once again. His little fingers seemed to point toward the Undying’s door, and something about the moment gave Ithana pause.

There was pressure, weighing on her shoulders. It built, heavier, and she made to stand. She strode toward the Undying’s room, but hesitated on the threshold.

There was frantic breathing. Then a crack, a sob, and a sigh. Something shuddered the wall, crashing into it, and Ithana clutched her baby, about to run.

She would’ve thought him bothered by the commotion, but he seemed the opposite. He watched her, wide-eyed, mouth half-open. He looked at the door, little hand reaching for the knob.

Ithana eased the door open, peeking through the crack before stepping inside. There, Valhera was sitting up in bed, legs drawn up to her chest. Black tears dripped from either of her eyes while more seeped from her clenched lips. Black liquid splattered along the floor, along the walls, subtly smoking wherever it touched the wood. Slowly, the stuff faded, exposing cuts and gouges carved, paper-thin, leaving no splinters or sawdust in their wake. Ithana took in every detail, drew breath to ask a question, but the Undying cut her off.

“No, I’m… fine,” she whispered, wiping the ichor away. “I’m… sorry about your room.”

Ithana glanced at her son and found him staring at Valhera with utter fascination. She thought about putting him back in his crib so that she could assess the situation, but Valhera’s next words gave her pause.

“A baby,” she said, wincing as she laid down again. “You don’t see many of those anymore.”

Ithana bit her lip. “Istis and I are lucky.”

“Not the best time to be born. With how things are running their course.”

Ithana hesitated, seeing the Undying’s hollow eyes. “We conceived before the Elthysians invaded.”

“Figures. I didn’t mean to judge.”

Ithana adjusted her hold on Eslen, making doubly sure that he was secure in her arms. “What… happened?” she asked, looking more closely at the damage to the floor, the walls. The table, shattered, thrown against the wall. The cuts were clean, sheer, like a keen knife slicing butter.

Valhera shook her head. “I don’t like living these things again.”

“If it’s nightmares, I can help.”

The Undying stared back for one long, menacing moment. “No.”

Ithana frowned, but didn’t allow herself to be bothered. Instead, she took her seat by the Undying’s side and tried to read that hollow look on her face. She debated leaving the woman to her rest, but she knew how sleep could torment a mind unlike anything in the waking world. And if the woman refused the help she offered, then her haunts would surely strike again. She contemplated working in secret, helping Valhera from afar… but another thought sprang into her head.

The cuts in the walls were clean. No dust, no debris, no splinters. She thought about the accounts she’d heard from Risnium, how the walls had been destroyed… no, cut down in a similar way. Siege engines and battering rams would have left smoking piles of rubble in their wake, but the Undying had cut hard stone to shreds. Ithana thought those tales had been exaggerated, but the damage to her house spoke to some degree of truth.

“I know that look,” Valhera said. “You’re wondering… just what the hell I am.”

Ithana took breath to reply, but her words fell short. Valhera sighed.

“I’m getting to that. And… everything that entails.”

“It’s okay. Take your time.”

“Where did we leave off?” she asked, though Ithana thought she knew the answer.

“The scars. The first… of many.”

“The scars,” Valhera nodded. She looked at Ithana for a long moment, then turned her attention to the ceiling instead.

Her eyes traced the cuts left in the woodwork. She thought about her shoulder throbbing while black blood surged, cutting everything in its wake. Sharper than steel, sharper than mithril. Her thoughts returned to her treasured blade, and once more to its previous wielder.

Her father had been a farmer. But leaving it at that was like forgetting that there is always a life lived before the undead rise. It was not the entire story. She considered the burdens he’d borne, the weight of his past, the life that he’d led. He had been a farmer, yes, but before that, he had been something more.

And her true father… well, that was a truth she still struggled to grasp.

But now was not the time for truth. There would be opportunity later in her tale, to explain where she came from… and why. For now, it did not matter whose blood thrummed in her veins. What mattered… was the man who had given her what little light she had. The man who had loved her, despite all that she’d done.

“My father,” she began, spinning a second lie. “Was a paladin.”