[Flashback] In the Forests of the Night [Closed]

[Azilis Theroulde]

Late Summer, 503 A.V., Five Day's Travel from Zeltiva Tiger, tiger, burning bright In the forests of the night What immortal hand or eye Could frame thy fearful symmetry? -William Blake, Tiger “Everyone, hold up the line. There's something wrong here.” The rough voice of the caravan's leader, a hardened Isur by the name of Irado, rang out in the relative quiet of the Wild Lands twilight, cutting through the rhythmic clop of horses' hooves and steady rotation of wagon wheels. Azilis reined in her horse, a chestnut Zavian mare, checking around her to search for the source of the trouble. “What is it?” her father asked. He, along with her brother and the other ten or so men that rode in the caravan, were clustered around three wagons that held all the possessions of the families that were making the journey from Nyka to Zeltiva. “I thought we were going to stop here for the night.” “Yes, that was the plan,” muttered the Isur, dismounting from his horse and surveying the Gilded Hog, the travel inn that the caravan had intended to rest at. Even from her post at the back of the caravan, Azilis could see that there were no lights on in the small building. The door hung open on its hinges, creaking ominously in the wind, and the gates to the slat-fence stable had been torn off and lay in a jumble on the ground. “I need a group of five men, strong and capable. We're going to go in there and figure out what happened. The rest of you stay out here with the women and children. I don't want anyone wandering off.” Azilis' brother's hand immediately shot into the air. “I'll go! I'll do it!” With his other hand, he pulled a dagger from his belt. “Put that thing away, Sylvair, what do you think you're doing waving it around?” Papa reached out and caught his arm. “You're not going anywhere. You're far too young. Go take care of your sisters, you hear me?” “But Papa -” “No.” As the men gathered together in preparation for entering the building, Sylvair trailed dejectedly over to Azilis. She grinned at him. “Hah. Serves you right, Sylvair.” He stuck his tongue out. “Shut up. You don't know what you're talking about anyway. You're only ten.” “And I can ride a horse better than you, can't I? How many times did yours dump you today?” Sylvair blushed. “I don't know what you're talking about.” “Oh, you know exactly -” “Azilis? Sylvair?” It was their mother's voice, coming from inside the family's wagon. “In here, please. It's getting dark and now's no time to be out there unattended. Besides, it's time to pray.” Azilis slid off her placid mare and tied her to the wagon, slipping inside the back flap. Her mother, three months pregnant, lay in a makeshift cot, surrounded by boxes of posessions. Pots, pans, and bundles of herbs hung from the ceiling, scenting the small enclosed space with the comforting aromas of lavender and rue. On top of one of the crates sat Thaelia, monkeylike, her fingers running restlessly up and down the bole of her wooden flute. At eight, Thaelia was the youngest of the three Theroulde siblings. With her glossy black hair, dark eyes, and reddened lips, she took after their mother, while Sylvair and Azilis had both inherited the red-gold hair and pale eyes of their father. Although she had never voiced such a thought, Azilis often wondered if Thaelia was her mother's favorite. Mama had told her again and again that parents didn't have favorites, but Azilis wasn't sure she believed her. After all, if she had a favorite, it would have been Thaelia, with her calm demeanor and quiet smile.

[Azilis Theroulde]

“Mama? How much farther is it to Zeltiva?” Sylvair asked, interrupting Azilis' reverie. Aedrys sighed. “I don't know, Sylvair. Five days, maybe, if I had to guess.” Azilis frowned as she rummaged through her small sack of possessions. “But it's been twenty days already. Aren't we going to be done soon?” Her fingers brushed the edges of her small ashwood harp, and she pulled it out of the bag and set it before her. Sylvair, too, was searching for his fiddle. It was a ritual amongst the Therouldes to pray to Rhaus every evening, and naturally, the best way to touch the god of music's heart was to play him a song he could not resist. The sounds of plucking of strings and the rasp of air blown over a flute soon filled the wagon as the four tuned and warmed their instruments. From out of the corner, Mama pulled a magnificent burnished-wood harp and set it before her, leaning into it as if into a lover. In the candlelight, it seemed as though fire played over its polished surfaces. Azilis' training harp was nothing in comparison. Azilis chose the first song. It was an old favorite of hers, one that described the wanderings of the people who would become the Sylirans, distraught and weeping after the Valterrian. As her fingers roamed up and down the strings of her harp, her mother's voice, low and soft, sang the melody. No heart hangs on distant water What enchantment in this world I wander westward, my heart desires With seas alive Shadow me under the mountains of time Guide us to endless paths... Our tears fall on stony highways That skyline splendour lights my way We wander westward our heart's desire With seas of light Shadow me under the mountains of time Guide us to endless paths... Azilis' fingers fell away from her harp at the end of the song, and they all took in a collective breath at its beauty. “Rhaus be praised,” whispered her mother, smiling.

Secret :

The song is by Mhaire Brennan, and it's called "A Place Among the Stones."

[Azilis Theroulde]

Suddenly a shout shattered the calm left in the song's wake, and Azilis tensed. “Everyone calm down! Panicking isn't going to do us any good!” a voice commanded. She recognized it as Irado, their austere guide. “I'll deal with the bodies, just -” The wagon flap swung open as her father crawled inside. His face was white and beads of sweat ran down from his graying temples. “Here,” he muttered, reaching into one of the crates in the wagon and retrieving several small pouches. He handed one to each of them, even Thaelia, and with shock Azilis realized that it was a sheathed dagger. “What's going on, Corentin?” said her mother, clutching Thaelia to her. “What bodies?” He shook his head. “Dead. Everyone in the inn, all dead. They were -” He shuddered and stopped talking. “But we're going to have to stop for the night. It's too dangerous to keep going, things being as they are.” Thaelia began to cry quietly as the rest of them stared at him in shock. “But...but what killed them?” Azilis ventured after several moments. “We don't know, honey. Maybe...a Relic.” Her mother moaned. “No...” “What did the bodies look like?” Sylvair asked eagerly. Papa frowned at him. “Azilis, Sylvair, step outside with me, please." Dutifully, they followed him from the wagon. “I'm counting on you two to protect your mother and sister, you know that. As soon as we circle up the wagons, I'm going to keep watch with the other men. If anything happens, you use the knives I gave you.” Azilis shivered and glanced around them. The sun had sunk completely beneath the horizon, casting the surroundings in ominous shadow. People bustled back and forth between the wagons and the inn. Although she hadn't realized what it was before, she smelled the stink of rotting meat and felt her stomach rise. “We can't at least get away from the smell a little bit?” “No, honey, we can't.” He pulled Azilis and Sylvair to his chest briefly and then released them. “Now. Back into the wagon.” Azilis joined the rest of her family in their wagon, where she dragged out her bedroll that she shared with Thaelia. Stowing the knife under her pillow, she fell into an uneasy sleep.

[Azilis Theroulde]

The high, keening cry of a horse roused her from sleep. Still fogged by dreams, Azilis shoved her hand under her pillow, grasping for the dagger. Screams and bellows joined the noise made by the horses, and through the translucent wagon cover she could see figures moving erratically in the firelight. She looked around, her heart racing, and remembered what her father had told her. Sylvair was propped up on one elbow, rubbing his eyes. She shook his shoulder. “Sylvair! Sylvair! We have to go!” He looked at her, eyes wide, and scrambled out of his bedroll. “What's going on?” “How d'you think I'd know? Hurry up!” She pushed aside the wagon flap and nearly dropped her dagger in shock. The central campfire was in utter chaos. A flurry of black shadows had descended on the clearing, looking like something out of one of her nightmares, with leathery wings and knifelike claws. One of them had brought down a woman and was tearing her apart with its claws as she screamed. Another had grasped a child and was lifting into the air with it, carrying it away. The horses had gone wild; their eyes rolled and they foamed at the mouth. Many of them had broken free from the wagons and trampled the injured humans lying on the ground. Irado and a group of several men and women, including her father, had gathered in a circle. They held a motley collection of daggers, broadswords, and bows, and were brandishing them at the creatures. “Father!” shouted Sylvair, and ran towards him, picking his way across the carnage. He had only made it several feet before one of the creatures descended upon him and began to drag him into the air. “Kelwyn guide my hand,” Azilis breathed, and unsheathed her dagger. After a moment of hesitation, she plunged it into the exposed back of the creature. It stiffened as she pulled it out, dripping with dark crimson, but didn't drop her brother. Instead, it turned to face her. “What do you think you're doing, little girl?” it snarled. As soon as Azilis got a look at its face, she realized what it was: a Zith. It was a female, with catlike yellow eyes and silvery fur. The Zith leaned in close to her, and with horror she realized that it was sniffing her. “You smell like fear. Never used a weapon before, youngling?” Without warning, her mouth formed an O of shock and her eyes went wide in pain as a feathered arrow protruded from her chest. She keeled over, releasing Sylvair. Azilis hurried to him and dragged him to his feet. He stared up at her as she shook him, his eyes glassy with shock. “Azilis. Tend to him later, there are bigger things at hand.” It was her father's voice, and when she looked up he was crouched over them. “Take your mother and sister into the woods, but it can't be too deep, or you'll be lost. Help them hide. It's the only way you'll be able to escape.” “But what about you?” He offered her a wan smile and opened his clenched fist. Inside was a small ball of fire: Reimancy, one of the disciplines he had mastered under the goddess Eyris. “Your old father knows a few tricks still, Azilis. I'll be fine.” “And Sylvair?” “He'll be alright. Azilis, remember what I've taught you, and don't be afraid to use it.” “But I don't think I can -” “I would not have taught it to you if I did not think you were capable. Now. Go.” She nodded, unable to speak, as her father rejoined the fight. Nudging aside the wagon flap, she motioned for her mother and sister to join her. “What's happening?” whispered her mother. Drops of sweat clung to her pale face, and she clutched her stomach. Thaelia, dressed in only her shift, shivered in the cold. “The Zith, they're attacking, we're not safe here.” “But your father -” Azilis tugged at her hand, wishing she didn't have to bear the burden her father had set on her shoulders, wishing she could figure out what, at ten years old, she could do to help, wishing that someone would pinch her and she'd wake up from this nightmare. “He'll be alright, Mama. But please, we need to go.” And so, under cover of night, they fled into the darkness of the forest.

[Azilis Theroulde]

The chaos was such that no one, neither human nor Zith, noticed their escape. A shadowed stand of trees lay about 20 yards beyond the ravaged inn and campsite, and Azilis ran towards it on the tips of her feet, trying not to make any noise in the grass. She knew it was futile; the Zith had much better senses than humans. If one snuck up on them, they'd never know it until the creature chose to reveal itself. With a shiver, she remembered hearing that it was impossible to hide from Zith anyway, because they'd hear your heart knocking against your ribs and find you no matter what you did. The rest of her family followed after her: her mother, clutching the hand of Thaelia, who was whimpering in fear, and Sylvair, who was beginning to come out of shock as he trailed behind them. Azilis ducked under the overhanging branches of the first trees, trying not to cry out in pain as rocks and shards of bark dug into her feet. She hadn't had time to put on any shoes before fleeing. “I can't see anything,” gasped her mother. It was true: with every second farther they got from the campfire, the world of the forest became shrouded in ominous darkness. Azilis winced as she hit her shoulder on a tree, nearly falling over. “Can't we stop now? Haven't we gone far enough?” “A little farther, Mama,” Azilis whispered. Adrenaline rushed through her veins as an instinctive thought pressed insistently at her mind: go deeper, go deeper, go deeper. “But wait for a moment. I have an idea. Sylvair...Papa initiated you into reimancy, didn't he?" She heard him whistle. "Yes, but you can't be thinking...using it for light?" "I am too thinking that. We need light, or we're going to kill ourselves." She knew the Zith, with their excellent night eyesight, would have been able to see it, but figured that with the amount of noise they were making anyway they would have been doomed if there was a Zith nearby. “Sylvair. Do it.” “A-alright,” he stammered, and closed his eyes. A moment later, a flickering ball of orange, almost like blown glass, appeared in his hand. When he opened his eyes he seemed more centered, as if concentrating on his Djed had helped him compose his mind. “Let's keep going.” Later on, when she thought back on the moment, Azilis didn't know if it lasted for minutes or hours. Branches tugged and caught at her white shift, opening large holes and gashing the skin underneath. Pine needles stabbed at her ankles and the soles of her feet. Sweat ran down her face and soaked her hair as she concentrated on the few feet of foliage that she could see in front of her. But all she could sense was every crack of a branch or sound in the distance, wondering if it might be a Zith that had caught up to them. She didn't realize she had begun to keel over until Sylvair caught her. His ball of Res was extinguished, plunging them into darkness once more. “Azilis. Azilis. What's wrong with you?” “I – my foot - there's something caught in it-” She didn't realize it until she said it, but a pounding headache surged at her temples. “Let's stop here, we've gone...far enough...” Sylvair lowered her onto the ground, and her fingers skittered blindly along the forest floor, seeking a tree for her to prop herself up against. Hyper-alert with adrenaline still, she heard Thaelia and her mother gasping for air. The wooded, musky scent of dirt and dead leaves filled her nostrils, along with the coppery tang of sweat and blood, and she realized that her other senses were trying to compensate for her total lack of sight. She squeezed her eyes shut, focusing on the strong stream of Djed coursing through her body, and felt her headache recede. “Is everyone alright?” she murmured. “I'm fine, and I know Thaelia is, because I'm holding her hand,” whispered Sylvair. Then there was silence. “Mama? Mama, are you there?” “I...yes...” But her mother's voice was weak and breathy. “Mama, what's going on?” “Don't worry yourself about it, Azilis, let's just be quiet...” For a time the only noises Azilis could hear were her own quiet gasps for air and screams from far in the distance. They hadn't become any less frequent, so she could only assume that the battle with the Zith was still raging by the campfire. Then - “Azilis?” It was Sylvair's voice. “I have an idea. If you're up for it.” “What?” “Well, if I sensed auras for awhile, to make sure nothing's coming, and then when I got tired you could do it, and we just alternated until...until morning.” She felt her body, already exhausted, recoil at the idea of using so much Djed, and for so long. “For as long as I can, I will,” she whispered. This time the wait felt like eternity, although if she had to guess, it was probably less than an hour. When Sylvair felt as though he couldn't bear it anymore, he would squeeze Azilis' hand. She would do exactly as her father had taught her: concentrate on the river of Djed that flowed through her body and branched, like a river delta, at her heart. Then she would focus the river, redirecting it to her eyes. When she felt her eyes tingle, she'd open them and scan the forest for any sign of Zith. The auras of the trees and plants all around her weakened her, and though she tried not to focus on them or on the auras of her family, it was incredibly difficult. Never had she tried to use Auristics in such a manner, where she wasn't concentrating on one aura in particular but instead trying to divine the presence of an aura that might or might not even be there. When the headache returned and threatened to make her scream with pain, she would release the Djed from her eyes and let it flow back to the rest of her body. Through all of it she prayed to Kelwyn, begging the twin god and goddess of last resort to hear her and save her family. Her vigilance was rewarded when at last, out of the corner of her Auristics-enhanced vision, she spotted the aura of a figure winging silently through the forest. The aura was dark red and tangled, pulsating with primal energy. Tendrils of fear snaked around her throat, making her feel as though she couldn't breath. She squeezed Sylvair's hand several times, trying to communicate to him what she had seen. She dared not reach out to find her mother and sister's hands, knowing any noise would alert the Zith to their presence. But it was in vain. The negative space that was the Zith stopped directly above them, flapping its wings as it hovered in the air. Azilis felt a surge of satisfaction from the creature as it caught sight of them. A tide of terror rose in her body, cutting off her auristic connection to the Zith, which disappeared into the darkness that once again became her world. Her head buzzed and bright bursts of color flared in front of her eyes as she squeezed them shut, trying not to faint. Her instincts were telling her to scramble to her feet, leave her family, and run until her legs gave out, but the rational side of her mind knew that even if she did find the strength to stand, she wouldn't make it very far before she felt the legendary Zith claws rip open her flesh. “What have we here?” a voice purred from the darkness. It spoke perfect common, but with a strange accent Azilis had never heard before. This one sounds...like a perfect gentleman...how strange, considering the circumstances...she thought hazily. “A little band of fugitives, it seems? My, you are in bad shape, every one of you. You're not even running away from me. That's not a very good show, you know. But it's all one to me.” The Zith, a female, continued to speak, knowing that she had the attention of the Therouldes captive as she decided whether they all lived or died. “Do you know, I think I'm feeling merciful right now?” She paused. “Well, not merciful really. Lazy. I broke a claw killing one of your kind back in the clearing. He put up a good fight, unlike you all. And do you know what I did after I killed him?” Azilis smelled the Zith's fetid breath on her face as it leaned in close. “I ate him. Right there by the wagons. Raw.” It seemed as though her heart was erratically skipping beats as Azilis lay there, her back to the dirt, and waited for the Zith to decide her fate. Fear comprised her all, her being. Fear was all she was. “So I'm not going to kill any of you lucky, lucky humans. At least, not right now.” She laughed, a hoarse, grating sound. Azilis felt a hand on the top of her head, lightly stroking her filthy hair. Just as soon as the sensation was there, it was gone, and she wondered if she had imagined it. “Out goes one, out goes two -” at that, she felt the Zith's hand on her head again - “out goes another one...” A long paused followed, and Azilis held her breath. “And that leaves – you!” Everything seemed to happen at once. Thaelia's high screams filled her ears, followed by the beating of a huge pair of wings. Azilis felt the heavy gusts of wind smack her face as the Zith lifted into the air. She tried to stand, to reach out for something, anything, but at last her abused body gave up as she spiraled into unconsciousness.

[Azilis Theroulde]

“To be honest, Corentin? I don't know if she'll recover. Right now, it could go either way.” “There must be something I can do. I can't just sit here, that would be -” “No. Sit down, close your eyes. You've done all you could. Her life is in Kihala's hands now.” The words skimmed along her consciousness like water over a pane of glass, barely registering. Her nose, ears, and mouth felt as though they were plugged up with rough cotton, and she could feel the faintest of throbs starting in her feet and traveling up her legs. She had a sneaking suspicion that the more she came awake, the more they would hurt, and wondered muzzily if she could burrow back into the nothingness from which her mind had begun to unstick itself. After several moments, she twitched her fingers experimentally. When that was successful, she chanced trying to open her eyes. That was a mistake. Light seared her vision, as if she had stuck her face into a roaring flame. Shapes and colors shifted and bled into one another, forming a nightmarish phantasm that made her stomach roll. Feeling nausea constrict her gut, she turned her face to the side and vomited a thin stream of saliva. “You're awake, are you? Good.” One smooth hand brushed her cheek as the other reached past her chin with a cloth to wipe up the vomitus. For a moment she felt a flash of fear as she recalled the Zith's hand on her hair, and then the feeling faded, replaced by one of contentment and peace. The ache in her feet receded, and when she opened her eyes again, her vision seemed to operate normally. A human healer from the caravan was perched on the side of her bed. His sleeves were rolled up to his shoulders, and she could see clearly a gnosis mark of Rak'keli swirling up his left arm, recognizing it from several of her mother's acquaintances in Nyka who had the same marks. “Do you remember your name?” “A – ah -” Her tongue seemed to stick to the roof her her mouth. “Oh, of course. You'll be wanting water.” He left the room, returning a moment later with a waterskin which he lifted to her lips. She sucked greedily, trying not to choke as water flowed through her mouth and dripped down her chin. “Now. Tell me what your name is.” “Azilis...” She stopped. A thousand words seemed to whirl in a tempest in her mind. “Azilis...” She felt his hands again, this time massaging her temples, and her mind settled. “Azilis Relia Theroulde.” “Good, very good,” said the man, sounding pleased. “How are you feeling, Azilis?” She considered the question. “Like I've been socked in the face by an angry Akalak.” The healer laughed. “You'll be fine, I think. You're in very good condition for what happened to you.” “What...did happen?” “Well, what do you remember?” Azilis frowned. “Just bits and pieces, after going into the woods. Everything before that is fine, though.” “Ah. Another good sign; your memory isn't permanently damaged, I don't think. You overgave by quite a bit, Miss Theroulde.” “I...did?” “Oh, yes. So young and trying to use that much magic? Very ambitious. Very foolhardy, I'd go as far as saying. Your brother too. He's fine, though, you'll be glad to know. He must have been more experienced than you.” She nodded. “Yes, he was.” A hundred questions tried to poise themselves at the tip of her tongue. “Where are we? What happened to the rest of the caravan? How long has it been since the attack? He held up his hands. “Woah, slow down. I'll tell you everything you want to know. You're in the inn of the Gilded Hog. After the attack, we put all the injured into the rooms here, while we took care of the dead. We got off lucky; five dead and four missing. It's been four days since the attack, but you've been asleep for two. Most people are still recovering from their injuries. Not many got away unscathed, you know, not even me.” He smiled at her ruefully and pulled up his other sleeve to show her several angry red claw marks down his right arm. “But how did I...get out of the woods?” “It was your father. He must be a very intelligent man, Miss Theroulde. He searched for a day and a half until he found you and your family. You must have gone very deep into the woods; I hardly know how he did it. Magic, it must have been.” “Yes,” she agreed weakly. A worm of guilt snaked up her body; she had been the one her father trusted to hide her family, and yet she had led them so far into the forest that they all could have died. “What about the rest of my family?” “Well, as I said, your brother overgave, but he'll be just fine. And your father was banged up in the attack, but he'll recover as well.” He paused. “Your sister is missing, Miss Theroulde. I don't know how much you remember of the abduction, but your brother told us what happened.” “She's...gone? Thaelia?” He reached out again, laying his hand on her arm. “We've sent out search parties for the four missing. They should be back by the end of the day today. Perhaps they'll find news of her.” She was too shocked to cry. “Oh.” “And...your mother. She lived through the attack, but presently there are – complications.” Azilis said nothing, just waited for him to continue. “She miscarried her child. I believe the shock of the attack began it, coupled with the escape into the forest. Can you tell me about her condition when you left the campsite? It may make a difference.” “Well, she didn't look very good when we left,” Azilis said, her voice flat. “She was sweating. And her face, it was pale. Very pale.” The words she had heard earlier made sense to her now: her father and the healer hadn't been talking about her. They had been talking about her mother. “What about when you fled into the woods?” “I don't remember.” The healer sighed. “Perhaps someday you will.” “Yes, I – maybe.” She was still staring blankly at nothing when the healer hoisted himself from the bed and left her alone in the white-walled room, and even then she did not cry.

[Azilis Theroulde]

The search party returned that night, bruised and battered, with a bloodstained tatter of Thaelia's nightgown. It was the only sign they had found of any of the four who had vanished that night. “I just don't get it,” Sylvair muttered, perched on the edge of Azilis' bed the next morning. His right foot was bound in a makeshift cast where he had fractured several bones, and he was prone to horrible nightmares that he would not speak of with anyone whenever he closed his eyes, but he had escaped with relatively little damage. “Zith never come this far north. They don't. There was something strange about that attack.” Azilis simply shrugged, too empty to reply. She didn't sleep much, finding that she, too, was stricken with dreams that she barely remembered upon waking but that left her with a vague sense of terror. In the early hours of morning, when the inn was mostly silent, she heard whispers that the caravan had been punished by the gods or that the Zith had somehow been hired to dispose of one of their number. The most prevalent, and believable, theory was that a small band of Zith had wandered far to the north of their usual territory, living in the Syliran wilderness and ambushing groups of travelers to eat and enslave. At ten, she hardly knew which one to believe, or cared much, for that matter. “I don't know, Sylvair,” she replied tonelessly, listening to the muffled sound of footsteps outside the door. It swung open to reveal not the healer, whom she had expected, but her father. His face seemed to have a new web of wrinkles that hadn't been there before, and his gray-blue eyes were shot through with red. She had not spoken to him since the night of the attack. Unsure of what was expected of her, she waited for him to begin, but he didn't say anything. For one horrible moment she thought he might cry. Azilis had never seen her father cry before, and didn't want to now – she knew that something inside her was dangerously close to becoming unstuck, and tears from the man she had always known to be unshakeable might push her over the edge. At last, he sat down next to Sylvair on the edge of her bed. “I came to apologize.” “For...for what, Papa?” she asked. Whatever she had been expecting, it wasn't that. “For telling you to go into the woods, for putting such a responsibility on you. It was hardly fair of me, Azilis, and I wanted you to know that I don't blame you for anything that happened that night. My...” He swallowed and looked away for a moment. “My stupidity is at fault for what has become of all this.” “But Papa,” interjected Sylvair, “you found us -” “And it was I who told you all to run away, didn't I? If I hadn't said that, you all might still be...” He stood up and began to pace the room. “Telling you to hide in the woods, that was a folly. Of course you were going to get lost. It was dark and you were scared. I just wonder how it is you didn't die of overgiving, both of you.” “I'm sorry, Papa,” Sylvair said, his voice small. “We just thought -” Corentin ran his hands through his hands, pulling out several strands. “No, no. I'm not angry at either of you. You both did more than I ever could have expected, and despite the circumstances I'm extremely proud. But I need to know that both of you – especially you, Azilis – forgive me.” There was a moment of silence, and in it Azilis could hear the roar of the fire begun outside to burn the body of a woman who had succumbed to her injuries in the night. Her father's behavior was piercing through her thick fog of apathy, and not in a good way. It unnerved her to hear her father, the man who had led her and guided her and taught her, almost begging her for her forgiveness. Throughout her life, she had looked up to her father as almost a godly figure, a man who could do no wrong. How was it that that man, the one she knew, needed or even wanted an apology from a ten-year-old girl? “I forgive you, Papa,” she said simply. “But I'm old enough to know not to overgive. That wasn't...” A small sigh escaped her lips. “It wasn't all your fault.” “It wasn't anyone's fault, is what it was,” said Sylvair, his voice raised. “Would you both just shut up? You're not making things any better!” With that he stood and made his way to the door, dragging his injured foot behind him. Her father blew out his breath and rocked back and forth several times. “Don't mind Sylvair. He's been angry at everyone. Distrustful. It's how he's bearing this.” “Papa?” “Yes, Azilis?” “Can I play Mama's harp?” He stared at her. “I hardly think now is the time to ask. Why?” “No, no, it's not because I just want to play it, Papa, it's that I think if I did...maybe Mama would get better?” “Oh. I see.” She could see the gears turning in his head. “Why not your own harp?” “Because...” Azilis struggled to tell him what she was thinking. “Just because.” “I think she would enjoy that. What I wonder, though, is whether you're strong enough to play at all.” She sighed. “Just let me do it, Papa. Can you help me up?” “I – I suppose so. Here.” He slipped his hands under her, lifting her and then setting her on her feet. “Better hope the healer doesn't see me letting you do this. How does that feel?” Her head swam for a moment, then cleared. But worse were her feet, which stung when she touched the ground and showed no sign of letting up the pain. “I think – I think you'd better carry me there.” “Azilis -” “My hands are fine, Papa. I won't need my feet to play the harp.” He looked long and hard at her before hoisting her up again, carrying her down to her mother's room as if she were nothing – which she probably was close to, seeing as she hadn't eaten much of anything since before the attack. “She's been in and out of consciousness ever since the attack. I think she's out now, but we'll see.” Her mother's eyes were indeed closed, and her black hair was spread out on the white pillowcase like a dark sunburst. The room stank with the sour tang of blood, and Azilis screwed up her nose. Her father set her down in a chair with peeling white paint in the corner. “I'll be back in a moment with the harp. Alright?” She nodded absently, her eyes trained on her mother. In her mind, she mused over and discarded songs she knew, searching for one that she knew her mother loved. In a few moments, her father returned, holding her mother's resplendent mahogany-wood harp. In the small, sunless room, its burnished-wood surface seemed dull to her eyes. “Set it down here,” she said, her eyes still not moving from the bed. Carefully pulling it up into her lap, she plucked at the strings, tuning and tuning again until the pitches were absolutely perfect. Now was not a time to tolerate imperfection. With her father watching, she positioned her fingers on the strings and opened her mouth to sing. You may go down to Rosemary Faire Every rose grows merry and fine Pick me out then the finest rose there And I will make her a true lover of mine. Tell him to find me an acre of land Every rose grows merry and fine 'Tween the salt water and the sea strand Or he'll never be a true lover of mine. Tell her to make me a carembric shirt Every rose grows merry and fine Made without needle nor needlework Or she'll never be a true lover of mine. Tell him I'll bring it to Rosemary Faire Every rose grows merry and fine When he arrives there'll be nobody there For he'll never be a true lover of mine. It had been her mother's favorite song, this tale of a failed love between a witch-woman and her lover. The harp harmony was sad and bittersweet, setting a backdrop for that which was supposed to be a duet between a man and woman. Azilis, however, sang both parts in a high, ethereal soprano. Her voice was not lovely like her mother's fine, honeyed alto, but it was a passable choral voice, and it was fit for little rolls and dips of ornamentation, the sort Mama liked. Her fingers never once slipped on the strings, and though her voice trembled at times it never broke. When she reached the end, she dragged her fingers slowly across the strings, dragging out the final chord until at last producing the last, ringing note, which faded away into the utter stillness of the room. Nothing happened. Azilis and her father's eyes locked, and he stood, brushing invisible lint off his pants. “That was beautiful, Azilis, but I think -” “Corentin?” It was her mother's voice: raspy and barely audible, but definitely hers. Two sets of blue eyes snapped to the woman's black ones as she fluttered them open. “Mama? Did you – did you hear what I played you?” Her lips curled up in a beatific smile. “Yes, Azilis. It was lovely.” Setting the harp on the floor, Azilis leaned back in the chair as her eyes grew wet with tears, and, at last, let them spill over.

Song: :

There isn't a version of this song on Youtube, but this variant on Scarborough Fair is by Áine Minogue, and is called, predictably, "Rosemary Faire."

[Azilis Theroulde]

They left two days later, concerned that the same Zith that had preyed upon them would return and decimate what was left of the original caravan while they were weak. Azilis was still having trouble walking and her mother's hemorrhaging had made her frail, but they loaded the possessions that hadn't been damaged back into the wagon and sewed up the tattered animal-hide covering where it had been ripped by sharp Zith claws. The family seemed not to acknowledge that Thaelia was gone. None of them spoke her name, but her things still lay as they had been before the attack; no one had pushed her dolls out of the way, and her flute still lay atop one of the boxes as though waiting for her touch. It was as if they were all expecting her to come running back out of the forest at any moment, her raven curls bouncing in the wind and her white teeth gleaming in an ever-present smile. It felt strange to have a pallet to herself, and Azilis took to creeping into her parents' bedroll so that she wouldn't wake in the middle of the night, cold and alone. More than once she awoke in the morning to a wet puddle of blood, her mother's, soaking into her shift. Her mother would look down at it, her eyes dull, and call for her father to come change the padding that she tucked between her legs to catch the blood that was still flowing from her womb. The healer had told them that she would never recover fully from the shock of miscarrying and then being chased by Zith; she would never again carry a child, and any strenuous exercise was likely to start the bleeding again. It was a miracle she had survived this time, he told them, and she would be weak for the rest of her life. That was when her mother's face had gone dark, and Azilis, used to her constant happiness and gaiety, hadn't seen the light come back into it yet. Sylvair, like his mother and sister, was still too weak to ride horseback, but he didn't insist, with his usual bravado, that he would be able to get back up on his horse any day now. Instead, he spent his time brooding in the corner, playing jagged, atonal music on his fiddle. Azilis didn't accompany him; she had taken her old ashwood harp out the night before they left and burned it, watching the strings twist off the frame with a loud pop. Afterwards she couldn't rationalize why she had done it, and when her parents asked she told them it must have been destroyed during the attack. Papa had looked at her strangely but didn't say anything. In the evenings, when the sun melted away behind the faint ripples of mountains in the distance, Papa began to teach Azilis how to use magic in earnest. “After all, if I'm going to be the Auristics professor at the University of Zeltiva, it would be embarrassing if my daughter wasn't well-trained, wouldn't it be?” he said with forced cheer. But Azilis understood what her father was saying wordlessly: he had realized that his daughter felt beyond helpless during the attack. He wanted to give her an edge in any dire situations in the future, and he recognized Azilis' innate capability to use magic. Besides, it took her mind off the grief she felt to channel the energy into bettering her auristic skills. “It's like this,” he told her on the eve of their fourth night traveling again. The scent of salt filled Azilis' nostrils, and the restless rolling of waves in the distance seemed to catch at her and pull her toward it. Zeltiva was below them, a day's journey away, hugging the curve of the shoreline. “This is all part of feeling an aura,” he said, reaching out to tap her on the nose and tug on her ears, eliciting a small giggle from her. “Not just your eyes. You know how to do that. To sense a full, true aura, you have to reach for it with all that you are.” Azilis nodded, realizing how clumsily she had used her Djed up until this point. She had always simply assumed that she was a better-than-average Aurist, but from what her father was telling her, what she had seen until now had been the barest trace of what was possible to see. She closed her eyes, pulling on her source of Djed so sharply that she felt a wrench of pain in her muscles. This time she was determined to succeed. With each second that she concentrated, she felt the minutiae in her own body come to life: the drumming of her heart, the up-and-down motion of her diaphragm as she breathed, the feeling of cool sea air whipping past her cheeks and bringing with it the scent of deep dreams and lost secrets. She imagined that each breath she took propelled the Djed further, up to her eyes, and nose, and ears, until they felt hot with energy. When she finally dared open her eyes, her father's aura burst forth around him, shot through with colors like sunbeams breaking through a bank of clouds. Accompanying the colors were what seemed like a thousand scents and sounds: the smell of fresh ink, the sound of a quill scratching on a page, the pungent odor of an incense she recognized as the kind her father used at the altars of Eyris. Pervading it all was the sound of Thaelia's bell-like laughter. As several tears of amazement escaped her eyes and wet her cheeks, the sea air caught them and carried them down on a swirling current to where the city of Zeltiva lay sleeping, a renascence, waiting for the sun to rise. END

[Kelpie]

Azilis: +2 Harp , +1 Singing, +1 Dagger, +1 Leadership, +2 Auristics Lore: The Difficulties of Travel, Finding Comfort in Song, The Merciless Wilds, Confronting a Zith, The Responsibility of Survival, Overgiving, The Contagious affects of Fear, Speculating about Important Events, Seeing Another Side to a Loved One, How Tragedy Changes Lives and Personalities Mod Note: That was a very riveting story, Azilis. I love your writing, and it all was written beautifully and fluidly. I was a little confused as to what happened with that Zith girl you encountered in the woods, had she taken Thaelia? I gave you Leadership for ensuring the survival of your family, so that's why that's there, hope you don't mind. Please, continue writing, it was lovely!