Story: Veil I: Brother (chapter 12)

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Chapter 12

Title: Should Have

Chapter 12 – Should Have

To My Dear Distinguished Colleagues:

I fear I may have backed myself into a corner.

It seems Veil’s candidness our past outing was not entirely selfless, but was born of the hope that I would be just as forthcoming in return. All at once she seems to have become adamant in her desire to know who her birth parents are; knowledge I cannot in good conscience grant her yet.

This has upset her greatly, though less due to being denied the knowledge she seeks than the feeling that I treated her unfairly. She has begun to come around since I pointed out that it is unfair to expect me to uphold a ‘deal’ I was never allowed to disagree to, but for a time I had the unpleasant experience of feeling she was disappointed in me.

Laugh not those of you without children. Trust me; it is not a look any parent could stand to see in their child’s eyes.

Sincerely,
Gorion

--

"Hm. Yes, it does seem to be magical," Jaheira said as she examined the quarterstaff Mijandra had taken from Silke. Capped on each end with silver covered in delicate leaf work, it certainly looked like the kind of weapon to be magical.

"Woohoo!" Imoen shouted with a jump. "How magical?" she asked, continuing to bounce on her heels.

"Have patience and you will find out," Jaheira growled without shifting her gaze from the staff.

Though she hadn’t practiced with a quarterstaff in some time, Mijandra had found herself able to spin this one with surprising ease. After Mijandra noted this and the unexpected strength behind Silke’s attack to Imoen, the girl immediately sought Jaheira to cast some magic-detecting spell or other on the staff.

Imoen grunted in irritation at the delay. "Quicker than identify, at least," Mijandra heard her mumble, though as usual – or always – when Imoen talked magic-talk, understanding was a different matter.

"It is only a faint aura," Jaheira finally said, looking up.

Whatever that meant, it didn’t seem to disappoint Imoen in the slightest. "Unless it’s hiding its real aura, of course, because it’s really powerful and evil and cursed and stuff," she suggested, bouncing even more in strange glee at the possibility.

"Yes, found in the hands of such an incompetent waif as this was I can see how you would be worried about such a thing," Jaheira said less than seriously.

Imoen paused long enough to stick her tongue out before saying, "But it’s probably just +1, then, right?"

Jaheira’s mouth twisted slightly as if tasting something disagreeable. "Yes, probably."

"What is +1?" Mijandra asked. If she was to be ‘adventuring’ now she should probably know something about magic arms. Hopefully Imoen would try to give a coherent answer.

Imoen grinned. Usually not a good sign. "It’s a measurement of basic magical enhancement." And this grin was no exception. Mijandra blinked. Imoen rolled her eyes and giggled. "Oh c’mon, sis, it’s not that hard. It’s…this!" she said, taking the staff from Jaheira’s loose grip. "You felt how this was different from a normal quarterstaff. Well, +2 is even better. And +3 even better. Eventually it’s like you barely even hafta think before the weapon moves, so I read."

Jaheira shook her head. "A measure doubtlessly invented by wizards; it is almost vulgarly blunt in its practicality."

Imoen cocked her head at Jaheira, an eyebrow raised. "You almost sound like a bard, Jaheira," she said, laughing lightly. But the laughter halted quickly and her eyes suddenly hardened as she turned away, idly studying the quarterstaff she now held. "But no," she shook her head, "You’re not pretty enough to be a bard."

Mijandra frowned. Imoen was not usually spiteful for this long or this openly. After having several hours since that morning to cool off, not to mention emptying Jaheira’s pack at lunch while she and Khalid weren’t looking and hiding its contents evenly throughout the surrounding foliage before replacing the displaced items with sand, all in just under two minutes – Mijandra was rather impressed, and got a kiss for saying as much – Mijandra thought Imoen would have gotten over Jaheira’s outburst by now; whether she wanted to or not.

From the brief look of surprise on Jaheira’s face, it seemed she had thought the same. "Yes, I would have to agree with you," she finally replied, her voice cool.

"Really?" Imoen asked, glancing at Jaheira a moment. "How completely unnatural of you," she continued mildly, eyes returned to the staff.

Jaheira outright scowled at Imoen for a few moments more before declaring, "Fine! Act like…a child, then!" and then walked away forcefully to sit next to Khalid by the logs that would be their fire once the evening grew cool enough to warrant it.

Mijandra and Imoen looked at each other. The air remained heavy even in Jaheira’s absence, Mijandra wondering if she could do anything to help resolve the conflict and if she even should. She would like to know just what Jaheira had meant by any of what she said that morning. What exactly it was that was so unnatural. Jaheira had heard something in Imoen’s words, words which easily echoed Mijandra’s own experience. She’d understood something in them; something she judged harshly.

Not that Mijandra was worried in the least whether Jaheira’s judgment was correct. It was meaningless; natural or unnatural was meaningless. But whatever it was Jaheira thought she had understood…maybe if Mijandra understood it, too, she would understand other things, as well. ‘Like…the lake.’

That thought led back to Imoen and the increasingly tense silence between them. Mijandra had been staring into her eyes, which normally caused anything but tension, but this time, with these thoughts, was different. Mijandra finally turned her eyes elsewhere, and they fell on the quarterstaff. She thought of a question.

"So magic weapons just have a number? For how much better they are?" That was pretty simple, now that she understood.

"Oh, no," Imoen said, somewhat startled by the sudden end to the silence as well as the choice of subject. "Magic stuff can have lots of different numbers and measurements. But I think they’re mostly just for, uh, ‘betterness’ and abstract stuff like that. If a sword is glowing or flaming or whatever, then you can just say ‘it glows’ or ‘it’s on fire all the time’," she concluded with a shrug.

Mijandra nodded, only slightly irritated things had to be more complex than she thought.

"So…," Imoen started, seeming nervous. "Can you teach me to use this?" she asked, giving the quarterstaff a shake.

Mijandra’s eyebrows twitched in surprise, then lowered as she crossed her arms. "You’ve already trained this long with a sword and you’re barely passable. You want to start over again?"

"Please?" Imoen pleaded. "I can defend myself better with it, can’t I? It’s bigger. And the sword just really isn’t for me." She hesitated a moment before continuing in a softer voice, her eyes averted. "I don’t like cuttin’ stuff."

Mijandra’s eyebrows gave another surprised twitch. She had noticed this aversion of Imoen’s before but this was the first time the girl had ever said anything. And Mijandra thought that swords at least didn’t bother her, since she’d held one many times without complaint. A chef’s knife on the other hand, she wouldn’t touch unless she absolutely had to, and she tried to avoid even looking at one whenever possible.

So why force herself to use a sword for so long? Mijandra stepped closer to Imoen, putting a hand under her chin and guiding Imoen’s gaze to hers. Pretty eyes. Shame and irritation were there, in her eyes and face; aimed inward. Mijandra had seen that look before. On that first day, when Imoen needed help to climb the wardrobe. And many more times since then, each when Imoen had failed to do something Mijandra could do. It was always a surprise, the things Imoen could get insecure over.

Tilting Imoen’s head down, Mijandra leaned forward and kissed her forehead. "Okay," she said.

"Yay!" Imoen chirped as she tackled Mijandra in a hug, laughing at her own childishness. Mijandra smiled and softly laughed with her.

--

"Impossible girl!" Jaheira rasped for the fourth time. She’d reacted badly to what Imoen said that morning, yes, but she had clearly shown a much more moderate temper since then. She’d even managed to act as if Imoen’s nature did not bother her, treating her no differently than she had before. So there was no call for the girl’s continued animosity!

Jaheira had not apologized, no, but it’s not as if it would mean anything if she did. She still believed everything she’d said, even if she regretted the harshness with which she had said it. So there was nothing to apologize for. Or very little, anyway. Far too little for any reasonable person to actually insist on the effort.

Jaheira ground her teeth as her attention was drawn to another source of irritation. She had been fuming for at least three minutes now and complained aloud four times with Khalid sitting right next to her, and he’d yet to do or say anything. He would normally be trying to soothe her immediately!

She turned to look at him and saw his eyes staring intently in the direction from which she had come just a few minutes before. Following his gaze she saw Mijandra, crouched at her pack and withdrawing the poles she and Imoen used as practice swords. "You are fortunate I am not the type to be jealous, or I might take issue with you staring at a girl almost half your age," Jaheira said in a calm voice that Khalid certainly knew meant she wasn’t calm.

Khalid started, his mouth working as his face turned red. "I-I w-w-w-wasn’t– w-would never!"

"I very well know that!" Jaheira shouted. "But why have you been staring at her like a fool at a zoo for the past two days?!" She’d noticed his preoccupation, and had more than a good idea what the reasons were behind it, but she honestly expected him to have recovered by now.

"I-I-I c-can’t h-help it!," Khalid stammered. "Sh-she’s a B-…" He cringed at whatever he was going to say. "She’s a m-m…," he tried again with a new word, though he still seemed to be lacking the air to finish.

"Monster?" Jaheira offered, and his head jerked weakly in a nod. She normally tried not to finish his words for him, but normally he wasn’t this much of a fool and more deserving of the consideration. "We do not know that." Khalid opened his mouth to speak but Jaheira cut him off. "Even if my suspicions are true we do not know that."

Khalid looked at her as if she had lost her mind. Jaheira narrowed her eyes.

"Do you assume every half-orc a monster? Every drow? Every fiend-touched?"

"Th-that is-"

"And what of the reverse? Paladins fall. Druids turn to shadow. Lathanderites turn away from the sun."

"Th-those are all m-m-mortal struggles!" Khalid argued.

"And? Have you forgotten even ‘mere’ mortals can ascend?" Khalid’s mouth stilled as he processed this, but Jaheira was not done yet. "You remember he was mortal once. So was the Black Sun, who has proven to be more wicked than all of his predecessors combined. And now there is this Kelemvor, the new god of death. Another mortal, in a position that has known nothing but evil for centuries, but by all appearances he has turned against that tide. The powers of the gods are neither immovable nor absolute."

Khalid sighed, taking another moment to gather his thoughts. "You assume that M-Mijandra can resist, then?"

Jaheira shook her head. "No, I do not. This is a unique situation and it is quite possible, even likely, that she could not. But I will wait and see before I cast judgment. We owe Gorion nothing less."

Jaheira saw him close his eyes briefly in guilt. Still, he pressed on. "She already k-kills thoughtlessly. That w-w-woman was d-disarmed and helpless."

Jaheira frowned. "That fool bard? She tried to kill her sister – and nearly succeeded, having taken Imoen by surprise. I’d have done the same if someone came as close to killing you, and I would not care if they were disarmed, or helpless, or even a fellow Harper!" Jaheira looked away then, missing whatever expression followed the initial shock on Khalid’s face. "And were my sisters alive I imagine I would do the same for them, as well." ‘Though that might not be the perfect analogy to Mijandra and Imoen’s relationship,’ her thoughts reminded her.

She turned back to Khalid and saw only concern in his features. Such was often the case when she brought up her family. But it seemed his worries over Mijandra were still not laid to rest, for he had more to voice. "She still k-kills far too easily for s-someone so young."

"I do not disagree with that," Jaheira shook her head ruefully. "But though it is unfortunate it is quite easy to understand why. Just from what Gorion had told us we know she has endured things that force one to grow up quickly – and it seems what Gorion told us was very little indeed."

Khalid still did not look fully convinced. "She was t-training to fight long before th-that man…Koga, was it?"

Jaheira nodded. "Yes, I believe she started shortly after Imoen was nearly killed by a goblin," she stated serenely, and had to hide her amusement as Khalid deflated visibly.

"I had forgotten that," he confessed. "B-but even so…the dedication Gorion described in his letters was d-disturbing, and he’d been t-trying to make light of it."

"It is the same dedication as he described her having for everything else she ever bothered to do. The same dedication that has her purposely falling out of trees to practice landing," she added with a hint of incredulity. "And I know we both have more than enough memories of daily weapon drills in our own childhoods."

A smile flickered on Khalid’s lips in spite of himself. "Yes, but I was t-training in a militia and you to be a p-protector of nature," he countered, though the briefly-seen smile remained in his voice. "I hardly had the p-passion to train so hard of my own accord, let al-lone harder." He paused then, and when he spoke again all mirth was gone from his voice. "N-not even b-back then… B-…bef-f-fore."

Jaheira sighed and took one of his hands in hers. "Well, I did take to practicing my own martial skills more than I was required, but I am sure the standards of a militia are different from those of a druid circle," she said quietly, electing not to change the subject. Khalid would not have appreciated it; he disliked being treated as glass as much as she did.

Khalid nodded slowly, releasing a sigh of his own. "I s-suppose I have not been fair to Mijandra. But the p-possibility is frightening."

"It is," Jaheira agreed.

"And it would be m-much easier if she weren’t so…s-strange."

Jaheira raised an eyebrow. "You expect to meet anyone normal in this life?"

Khalid chuckled. "You have a point."

"Indeed, I do. Honestly, Khalid, she is not that different from me. Except that I tend to be quite a bit louder than she is." Khalid outright laughed at that, and Jaheira smiled. "At any rate, perhaps you would feel better if you spoke with her?"

"Wha- I…ab-bout what?" he tried to ask in a casual voice, with little success.

"About what worries you, of course. You have…faced similar trials to hers. And you are still a warrior, Khalid, though one with a better-developed conscience than most. Talk to her as one. Find out what kind of warrior she is."

"I d-don’t know…"

"To be honest I would like to know as well," Jaheira continued as if he hadn’t spoken. "She went to do some training with Imoen not long ago, if you can catch her still practicing it would be the perfect opportunity."

"I…"

Jaheira gave Khalid a light smack on the shoulder. "What are you still waiting for, you nitwit? Move already! Go!"

Khalid swiftly got to his feet and dazedly walked off in Mijandra’s direction, Jaheira frowning as she heard what sounded suspiciously like an exasperated chuckle fading away along with his footsteps.

--

"Good," Mijandra said, though without any of the feeling it had when she really meant it. Imoen knew she wouldn’t be hearing that for a while yet. For now ‘good’ was just a nice way of saying, "You didn’t screw up." But that was the language of training, it seemed. All trainers were like that, not just Mijandra.

Imoen had spent the first few minutes deliberately misunderstanding Mijandra’s instructions, until Mijandra finally had to reach around Imoen from behind and physically force her to hold and move the quarterstaff properly. Which Imoen decided was even more fun than watching Mijandra try to hide her laughter and look annoyed at the same time, so she continued to act the fool for a few minutes more; right until some of Mijandra’s irritation started looking genuine.

Now they were training in earnest, Mijandra making lazy strikes with a pole for Imoen to practice deflecting. "Good," Mijandra said after another trio of successful guards. "No," came soon after, however, as Imoen blocked again. "Never cross the staff in front of your legs."

"It worked, didn’t it?" Imoen asked just to be contrary, deflecting another blow as Mijandra hadn’t felt the need to stop practice just to provide criticism.

"Because I’m giving you more time than you would have in a real fight," Mijandra answered, and Imoen just knew she was going to start picking up the pace soon. "Reverse the staff over," she continued. "It’s faster and you won’t trip yourself." An abridged explanation, as Imoen had already received the full one.

Just as predicted, Mijandra’s attacks started to come faster after that. Not that there was any reason for Imoen to worry, yet, as faster was still far from fast with the slow pace they’d started from. Unfortunately, Imoen immediately found herself worrying anyway. It was one of those ironic moments when one’s fear of failure turns them into a bumbling fool, causing them to fail before the task even became as difficult as they feared it would. Imoen liked to laugh at such moments, sometimes even when they happened to herself. Not, however, when they resulted in her dropping a heavy wooden stick – with metal caps – on her foot. Especially if she had needed that stick to block another heavy – if much shorter – stick from striking her in the head.

"Owww!" Imoen said, before suddenly wondering what it would be like to have two heads. Then she would be able to say, "Owww," for both her sources of pain at the same time. And she’d have one head that didn’t hurt. Though whether that would really make her feel better as a whole she wasn’t sure. She’d have to find an Ettin willing to experiment. Until then, she was at least sure that if she had two heads, one of them could be paying attention to what was going on around her while the other wasted time on bizarre fancies.

As it turned out what was going on was Mijandra stepping in just as Imoen’s rear was about to make a deliberately rapid descent to the ground – it was much easier, not to mention safer, to hold your foot and whine from a sitting position after all, especially if your coordination is suffering from a recent blow to the head. But Imoen’s rear instead found itself being carried, along with the rest of her, to a nearby tree and gently set on the ground where Imoen could lean against it.

"I’m sorry, Im, I didn’t mean to." The volume wasn’t any different, and her words came out at the same pace as always, but the contrition in Mijandra’s voice sliced through Imoen’s thoughts nonetheless, any distraction she still suffered coming to a quick and merciless end. The contrition was on Mijandra’s face, as well, and in her eyes; just moments away from overflowing onto her cheek.

"Hey, it’s okay," Imoen said soothingly, her arms going around Mijandra’s neck. "I know that." She pulled Mijandra down into a hug, the elf following willingly or just too distracted to resist – Imoen could not have budged her in any other case. "Was just an accident," Imoen whispered.

"My accident. My fault," Mijandra insisted. This was the first time she had ever hit Imoen on the head. She had aimed for it plenty of times, but Imoen guessed she never tried very hard. Whenever she seriously tried to get around Imoen’s defenses, it was always to strike below the neck. ‘Which may not make for the best training,’ Imoen conceded, ‘but hey, I’m her little sis.’

"Well, I forgive you then, okay?" Imoen countered. Mijandra sniffed then pulled back, eyes glancing briefly at Imoen’s before looking intently over the side of Imoen’s head she hit with the pole. "Hey, yer messin’ up my hair," Imoen complained facetiously as Mijandra searched through it. Then there was a gentle touch and a sharp pain. "Ow!" ‘Yep, I think she found it.’

Mijandra turned her face down as her other hand touched Imoen’s forehead, and the familiar healing magic spread through her. Mijandra surreptitiously wiped an arm across her eyes before looking up again. "All better!" Imoen tried to say cheerily, but Mijandra only nodded and sat down beside her quietly. Needless to say Imoen wouldn’t be receiving any more training today. "Heh, we don’t even know if your power works on anyone besides me, yet," Imoen continued, undeterred. "Bet if you got in a fight with Jaheira we could find out, though." She grinned. "You’d knock her head off."

Mijandra let out a short – very short – laugh, and Imoen wanted to dance like it was Midsummer. "Seems like you’re the one who wants to get in a fight with her," Mijandra replied.

Imoen put on an affronted face. "That would hardly be lady-like."

Mijandra gave a small snort. "And?"

Imoen scowled. "Are you insinuating that I regularly exhibit unlady-like behavior?"

After appearing to think a moment Mijandra nodded slowly. "Yes."

"Hey! I’m wearing a dress aren’t I?"

"That’s shorter than my shirt," Mijandra responded, glancing down to look between them. "Almost. And you’re wearing pants under it." All of which had been Mijandra’s idea in the first place, but Imoen ignored that. They weren’t arguing over whether it had been a good idea, after all.

"Your shirts are huge," Imoen countered. "And it’s short because I shortened it, see?" She pulled the hem as close to Mijandra’s eye level as she could while wearing armor. "With needle and thread. Like a girl does." Mijandra took a moment to look over the frayed edges and wandering stitches, not to mention the uneven slant of the cut – which Imoen had absolutely and entirely done on purpose – before returning her eyes to Imoen’s face and just silently raising an eyebrow. "Oh, like you could do any better!" Imoen huffed.

"I don’t claim to be lady-like," Mijandra said calmly, while trying to hide the shaking of her shoulders.

But Imoen saw it, and could feel herself go into a frenzy. ‘Like a shark that smells blood in the water,’ her imaginary second head commented. "Well it’s a good thing, because you’re not!" she replied with an ostentatious poke to Mijandra’s arm. "So not, that if you did claim it, it would be the silliest thing anyone had ever said, ever! And the God of Silliness, who I think is secretly Deneir, would come down and take you to be his husband!" Mijandra received another poke for every emphasized word. "Husband, because you’re so…" Poke. "Not." Poke. "Lady." Poke. "Like!" Poke. Mijandra’s lips were a thin line as small tremors shook her entire body.

"Laugh!!" Imoen finally demanded outright, grabbing Mijandra’s shoulder with her poking-hand. Mijandra’s jaw quivered, but her mouth stayed shut as she forcefully shook her head. "Laugh, damn it!" Imoen ordered again, sitting up higher to try and seem more authoritative, but Mijandra again shook her head in refusal, Imoen reflexively fluttering her eyes against a few loose strands of hair that brushed her face. Finally Imoen got onto her knees and then twisted to sit in Mijandra’s lap. "Laa-aa-aa-aa-augh!!" she pleaded as she shook Mijandra by the shoulders, but Mijandra just looked away, her mouth pinched but still not giving in. "Fine then. You leave me no choice."

Moments later Mijandra finally shrieked with laughter, and did not stop until Imoen was satisfied. She’d had this armor for months now, after all, and Imoen had figured out – after much trial and error – how to tickle passed it on the first day.

--

Mijandra’s laughter reached Khalid not long after he left Jaheira’s sight, where he had stopped for a moment – several moments, actually – to try and prepare himself. The sound of it was quite a shock, somehow by its sheer normalcy more than anything else. It seemed when Mijandra did laugh, she laughed just like anybody else; and apparently could be just as loud doing it as well. He found himself smiling involuntarily as he listened to it, much as he – and most anyone else – always did at the sound of laughter.

Khalid would rather not interrupt it. And he needed time to think first before he could hope to perform the task Jaheira set him on. Indeed, they were both warriors. Indeed, he and she had both suffered captivity. And indeed, it seemed impossible for such laughter to come from a corrupted soul.

He needed time to think.

--

"Alianna."

"Huh?" Imoen’s head turned in its place against Mijandra’s shoulder.

"My mother’s name. It’s Alianna."

"It is?!" Imoen gasped as she braced a hand against Mijandra’s chest to push herself up. Mijandra nodded. "How’d you find out? When?" she asked, facing Mijandra from her seat in her lap.

"Jaheira said it two nights ago."

"What?" Her face scrunched in confusion, quite adorably Mijandra thought. "When did she tell you? And why’d ya wait so long to tell me?"

"I don’t know." She really didn’t, exactly. There were many possible reasons, but which of them were the reasons she couldn’t be sure. There was the memory of how foolish and, to be honest, even cruel the desire to know her birth parents had made her, and the effect that had on her last years with Gorion. Part of her questioned if she even deserved to know about them after that. But a larger part of her wondered if it might somehow be cursed knowledge, the pursuit of it certain to only cause more misery.

Then there was the fact that Gorion refused to tell her for so long, combined with Jaheira’s sudden withdrawal from the fire that night just as she was drawing connections between Mijandra’s parentage and the red ice. The red ice and the darkness from which it came, awakened within her by eyes of fire. Then cryptic words spoken in secret that had filled Khalid with a fear that did not diminish with the passing days. And three years. Three years she spent in a cage, without a name. All of it was connected, and all of it suggested the answer to who her parents were may be dark indeed. Something terrifying; something unimaginable. It would have to be, for losing Imoen was the only truly terrifying thing Mijandra could imagine.

Then there was Alliana. Who was she? What happened to her for Mijandra to have to spend the first years of her life as she had? And…who was Alliana to Gorion? Just how much had Mijandra really hurt her father six years ago? "I should have been!" The words rose from her memory with ease, loud and rough where his voice was normally so much the opposite. ‘You are,’ she wished she could tell him. ‘No matter who conceived me, you are.’

And then there was how she found out. From Jaheira. Not Gorion. Because Gorion was not there. That, and everything before, everything about this, period – every thought it inspired, every memory it invoked – fought to be the cruelest reminder that her father was gone. Even now she could feel her eyes grow hot and her chest seize. She didn’t want to cry. Not like that. Never again.

Varied reasons, yet they did all share one thing. "I was afraid," she answered Imoen. The human girl’s face showed surprise, but it was quickly replaced by concern. Mijandra being afraid was a race occurrence; her confessing it even more so.

"And Jaheira didn’t tell me," Mijandra continued. "I overheard her talking to Khalid."

"What?!" Imoen shouted, then made a quick sheepish look over her shoulder. Satisfied no one was listening, she turned back to hiss between clenched teeth, "She knows who your parents are and she hasn’t told you?!"

"She knows who my mother is. My…father she wasn’t sure, but she had a guess that she didn’t speak aloud. Something to do with one of Alaundo’s prophecies."

Imoen jerked in Mijandra’s lap. "No," she said, shaking her head slowly. "No, no, that can’t be right." A few fingers came to rest against her temple. "I mean, we only read a few, but Alaundo’s prophecies are all big, nasty stuff. And we’ve only been adventuring for a few days!" The hand left her temple to make a few frantic gestures in the air. "It’s way too soon for us to have to deal with any prophecies, let alone one of his!"

Mijandra wrapped her arms around Imoen then leaned back against the tree, stroking a hand through Imoen’s hair for her own benefit as much as Imoen’s. "What prophecies do you remember?" Mijandra couldn’t remember any herself, having only read them because it was required of all disciples of Candlekeep, and she and Imoen were put through most of the same studies the aspiring monks were.

Imoen sighed, taking a moment to respond. "Something about seven scourges and a door ya can’t close," she finally answered, now sounding more sullen than afraid. Mijandra smiled, relaxing considerably. Already the possibility of impending doom had changed from terrifying to merely irritating; Imoen would probably start growing excited next, if the supposed doom weren’t related to such a personal matter as Mijandra’s parentage. "Nother one about a sparrow divided, who eats a shadow and then eats, um…a bunch of other birds?" she continued in a muffled and slightly nasally voice, her nose pressed to Mijandra’s chest. "And I remember reading about rabbits not wanting to be rich but I’m not sure that was Alaundo." Imoen lifted her head. "Uh, but even if the prophecy itself doesn’t sound all that scary – or, uh, coherent – what it actually means always is. I think."

Mijandra nodded. "Okay."

Mijandra’s arms slid from around Imoen as the girl got up. "So we gonna go force Jaheira to tell the rest of it, now?"

The elf wondered if Imoen could see her shiver. That fear again. Coming from so many places at once, and all the stronger for it. "Soon," she answered vaguely.

"Soon?" Imoen sounded mildly incredulous. Mijandra saw she had a hand held out to help her up, which made a grin twitch on her face despite her looming fears.

"Soon," she confirmed and took Imoen’s hand, then openly grinned as Imoen grunted uselessly trying to lift her while Mijandra just sat there, not exerting any effort whatsoever.

"Get up, you stink!" Imoen finally shouted, kicking the bottom of Mijandra’s boot – an action she would have rather regretted if Mijandra hadn’t healed her foot earlier. Mijandra chuckled softly as she complied. "Oh, sure, laugh at your poor weakling sister why don’t you?" she heard her mumble, though in a tone that let Mijandra know her eyes were smiling.

Seeking the time, Mijandra turned to see where the sun was on the horizon. Half an hour at least before sunset, she guessed. There was still enough light, and the wind a good calm cooling breeze. She was drawing two of her swords almost before she realized it.

In her left hand was the sword she’d had since she was thirteen. Four years later its 16 inch blade might as well be a dagger for her; and that was exactly the use she intended to put it to. Her right hand held one of the swords she’d taken from the bandits. Its 24 inch blade had a fresh edge from the blacksmith at the Friendly Arm, but she hadn’t had much opportunity to practice with it yet.

The rolling of Imoen’s eyes was almost audible. "Still not sweaty enough for one day, huh?"

Mijandra fought a smirk. "Never." Imoen sighed and tisked as Mijandra moved away to have more space, beginning the basic forms that by now came to her as naturally as breathing.

At the same time she watched Imoen step over to the fallen quarterstaff, leaning over to pick it up before scowling at it. "Make a fool of me, will you? You’re magical; you’re supposed to make me better."

Mijandra frowned thoughtfully as she rehearsed an aggressive counterattack. "We really should have been training with a normal quarterstaff."

"Yeah yeah," Imoen said dismissively. Returning to their tree, she settled in to watch Mijandra practice.

--

Khalid took a deep breath before finally resuming his search for Mijandra.

It did not take him long to find her, performing drills alone with a sword and long dagger. Imoen sat at the base of a tree nearby, watching Mijandra with strangely rapt attention. Having had little fortune with women before Jaheira, and not being very keen on watching as another had fortune in his place, it was not the sort of gaze he saw often; but with the number of years he’d lived he still managed to see it often enough to recognize it now.

Therefore, courtesy dictated he look away; and that before he announce himself he try to remove the patronizing grin that those with sufficient years always had when they saw signs of ardor among those still young. Clearing his throat, he said, "Ah, h-hello there."

Facing forward again, Khalid saw Imoen turning her head as well to look at him. However, other than a brief flick of her eyes Mijandra did not yet acknowledge his presence. "Heya, Khalid," Imoen said with a hint of surprise.

He supposed that was natural after the way he’d been acting recently. "H-how is it going with you two?" he asked, as what he assumed was a perfectly inconspicuous conversation starter.

Imoen cocked an eyebrow nonetheless. "Well, Mijandra did try to dash by brains out with a club earlier." Khalid looked alarmed until Imoen pointed laughing eyes in Mijandra’s direction, returning them to him before saying, "But other than that we’re doin’ great."

"I see," he said nervously, turning to watch Mijandra’s practice. Attacks flowed from her sword arm as she moved forward, risking an occasional quick thrust from her dagger while her imaginary opponent was on the defensive before returning it to a loose guard. Deciding he could wait until later to mention her dagger attacks came at too-regular intervals, Khalid tried starting with something more positive. "V-very good." Though not particularly clever.

Again Mijandra gave him but a brief glance, though she did at least speak this time. "Not yet."

"Yeah, Khalid," Imoen added as if to a child, though with just the right kind of smile to remove any sting. "This is only the first time she’s used that sword. So of course she’s completely awful, no matter how much it’s just like any other bloody sword in the world. Right, sis?"

"Right," Mijandra answered with a small grin as she made a horizontal slice at her opponent’s throat; a combination of images Khalid found eminently disturbing.

"Y-you are quite dedicated," he observed once he recovered; another comment Mijandra found little need to respond to. "Do you l-like fighting?"

Mijandra paused in a defensive position. Khalid saw Imoen tilt her head at him out of the corner of his eye. Resuming her practice, Mijandra answered, "Yes."

"W-why?" Khalid heard himself immediately ask. Imoen frowned, but it was just the first of the words that would come tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop them. "P-p-p-people get…h-hurt!"

Mijandra’s practice slowed to a stop. Crossing her arms, Imoen demanded, "Hey, what’re you doin’, Khalid?"

Her weapons now held passively at her sides, Mijandra turned to face him and said, "I do not like fighting."

Khalid opened his mouth to speak. When it didn’t seem to work, he swallowed and then tried again. "Y-y-you’ve ch-changed your mind?" he asked.

Mijandra shook her head. "You changed the question," she answered. "I like…sweating," she said thoughtfully, looking away. "I like making my heart beat fast. I like getting better at things." She looked down at the blades in her hands. "I like to practice fighting. That doesn’t hurt anybody." She glanced briefly at Imoen, quietly murmuring, "Shouldn’t." In a clearer voice she continued, "I don’t like hurting anyone."

Finally her eyes returned to Khalid with a look he couldn’t quite identify. "But sometimes it’s necessary," she finished calmly, and soon returned to her practice as though she’d never left it.

Khalid couldn’t help wondering if she was challenging him somehow, but it didn’t exactly feel that way. There was little to wonder about the glare Imoen was giving him, though. "What reasons ya have ta think Mijandra likes hurtin’ people, huh?"

For some reason, the sudden thickening of Imoen’s east-Amnian accent struck Khalid as particularly intimidating. "I-I…uh…"

"Somethin’ Alaundo toldya, maybe?"

Mijandra’s practice stopped in mid-motion, her foot hovering in the air with knee just slightly bent to return it to the ground after making a side kick at her opponent’s hip. A move Khalid might have admitted would have taken him by surprise; if he’d actually seen it. As it was, he was much too busy trying to get his thoughts to stop stuttering to have noticed.

--

"So, Mijandra overheard Khalid and I speaking that night?" Jaheira asked, hoping she’d finally pieced together the story a panicked Khalid and irate Imoen were trying to tell her. Fortunately, she kept herself from pointedly adding, ‘Privately,’ to the end of the question. It probably would not have helped the situation.

"Yeah!" Imoen answered, veritably steaming. "So ya better tell us who Mijandra’s parents are, and what they have ta do with Alaundo’s prophecies!" Fortunately, Jaheira kept herself from laughing at the sight of the fifteen-year-old looking ready to take someone’s head off. It probably would not have helped the situation.

"I cannot say who her father is–"

"Badaulder! You got some idea! Enough ta make Khalid act all buffleheaded since then."

"If you will let me finish," Jaheira said only half as forcefully as she wanted to. "I have an idea, yes; I was not about to deny that. But it is a wild, almost ludicrous idea based far too much on circumstance, and precious little of it at that."

"So?" Imoen countered.

"So–," Jaheira started, but then Mijandra was speaking.

"If your idea was true…would it let us do anything? About the visions and…other things if they come back?"

Jaheira thought about it for a moment before shaking her head. "No, I very seriously doubt it would."

Mijandra crossed her arms on top of her knees, shielding her face behind them. "Then I’ll wait until you’re more sure."

Imoen and Jaheira’s eyes both widened in surprise, Imoen turning to say something but unable to do more than move her mouth soundlessly at Mijandra while the elf refused to look at her. "Fine," she finally conceded with a huff. Turning back to Jaheira, she said, "Then what about her mom? Some reason ya ‘can’t say’ about her, either?"

"No," Jaheira said absently, watching as Mijandra seemed to curl up even tighter at the question. She didn’t say anything, however, so Jaheira continued. "She was an elven priestess of…" The druid looked to her husband for assistance, and they both spent a moment in concentration.

"A-Angharradh, wasn’t it?" Khalid offered a second later.

Jaheira nodded. "Yes, I believe you are correct."

"Angharradh?" Imoen badly mispronounced.

"Spring, planting, fertility, birth, and defense," Mijandra said into the inside of her elbow.

Jaheira blinked. "Ah…yes. I could only recall spring and defense."

"So is it a god or a goddess?" Imoen asked. "Although…I guess birth kinda answers that already, huh?"

"She’s three goddesses," Mijandra said.

"Oh," Imoen said, nodding slowly before giving a loud, "Huh?"

Still talking into her arms, Mijandra answered, "Angharradh is the merged aspect of Aerdrie Faenya, Hanali Celanil, and Sehan–"

"Alright, nevermind," Imoen said, shaking her head. "Let’s get back to Mijandra’s mom."

Jaheira waited a moment with an eye on Mijandra before acquiescing. "Khalid and I never met Alianna ourselves; she was highly honored in Evereska and did not leave the city often, and we never had reason to travel so far north."

"Gorion could always f-find a reason to, though," Khalid said with small grin, which Jaheira soon shared.

"Indeed, and at least four reasons why he had to go alone."

"And twice that for why he was always d-delayed in returning."

Jaheira actually had to fight a fit of laughter before she could continue speaking. "He never explicitly said as much, but there was little question the two were lovers."

At the last word Mijandra jerked as if struck. Jaheira and Khalid’s merriment died in an instant. "Mijandra?" Imoen began, concern bordering on fear as she looked at her sister now shaking next to her.

The elf’s only response was to stand and retreat towards a large tree near the side of the road, at a walk that clearly looked like it wanted to be a run.

--

"Sis?" Imoen called, looking up into the tree where she could see the shape of Mijandra still climbing. She stopped and turned her head, and though Imoen couldn’t see her eyes in the fading light and the shadows of the leaves, she had little doubt Mijandra was looking right at her.

She quickly climbed back down to an almost level area formed by where the trunk divided into the tree’s main branches. It was only about five feet up, and Mijandra came to the edge and stretched her hand down to Imoen. At this distance Imoen could see the silver of Mijandra’s eyes with ease, and what she saw there left little question of whether she would accept the invitation.

Without a sound Mijandra pulled her up, and then they were holding each other, Mijandra’s back to a branch that rose aggressively enough to sit against. She continued to shake with what Imoen thought were sobs, but the only sounds she made were two words, spoken in a desperate whisper. Words Imoen needed little imagination to realize were meant for someone besides her.

"You are…you are…"

[End notes: Handy glossary for this chapter:

Aerdrie Faenya – Elven goddess of air, weather, fertility, avians, and winged elves.

Badaulder – Faerûnian equivalent of "bullshit" or "hogwash".

Black Sun – Another name for Cyric, former mortal and now human god of murder, lies, intrigue, deception, and illusion. Once had domain over death, as well, but lost it to Kelemvor.

Deneir – Human god of literature, glyphs, images, scribes, and cartography. Honored in Candlekeep alongside Oghma.

Fiend - Any entity born of the lower planes, a living embodiment of the ideal of evil. There are three major kinds of fiends: devils, demons, and yugoloths.

Fiend-touched – A mortal with a fiendish ancestor one generation distant or more. Usually exhibit just one or two fiendish physical traits (like horns) and are otherwise indistinguishable from a normal member of their race. Human fiend-touched are commonly known as tieflings.

Hanali Celanil – Elven goddess of love, romance, and beauty.

Kelemvor – Former mortal, now god of death and the dead. Dedicated to bringing justice and order to death and the afterlife, and dispelling excessive fear of death born from ignorance and misinformation. Also hates undead and those who create undead as abominations to the natural order.

Lathanderite – Follower of Lathander, human god of dawn, birth, youth, spring, vitality, and athletics.

Midsummer – Festival day that has significance in almost every faith.]

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