Story: Veil I: Brother (chapter 12)
Authors: Register
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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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