The Mask of Mara - Chapter 21

Mara’s room had taken on a dire affectation in the absence of its occupant’s activities. The books had been piled high, writing materials hidden in draws and desks. The bed which normally lay in an unmade heap fell in a creaseless sheet upon Mara’s resting form. The approximation of blood Geoffrey had been working on sat in spelled containers to preserve it, while one of its fellows hung attached to Mara’s arm with a rubber tube. With the destruction of her mask, Mara had been furnished with a veil by Lorana. Though a fire burned merrily in the grate, there was a chill in the air as Mara drew laboured breaths from deep within the pillow pile she rested upon. Arthur, who sat near the bed tending to his patient, welcomed the party in with a smile whilst offering a bowl of broth with a tube in it to the inclement Mara. At least she breathed less raggedly than when she’d returned to the manor.

Arthur placed the broth to the side as Mara sipped the barest sum before a cough rent her throat in the most disquieting way. Solvi did not know much about medicine but knew enough that awake was not always preferable. Especially to the patient.

“Can ya talk?” Fred inquired with a cheeky twitch of his whiskers, sidling over to the fire and parking himself before it. For a man with fur, Solvi thought, he was exceptionally susceptible to the cold. The tall Orsan woman settled for seating herself in the chair that Geoffrey normally used to reach up when changing the blood bottles. Mara, rather than answering, shook her head.

“We only knew she’d woken up because she had an anxiety attack.” Arthur chuckled to himself. Mara’s head turned towards him in what Solvi chose to believe was an incredulous glare. “Geoffrey and I almost had a panic attack of our own when she stopped breathing. Turns out she was just holding her breath.” Arthur relayed with enthusiasm, waves of relief practically emanating off him. When several members of the group looked clueless at this suggestion, Solvi cleared her throat awkwardly.

“When she gets like this, she breathes in to slow her heart. It also helps her focus on bodily sensations rather than the spiral.” Solvi explained with an eye fixed on Mara’s reactions. She seemed curiously static, as if her mind had woken but her body hadn’t. “I used to do it after the war. Wish she knew the sleep spell though.” Solvi giggled at Mara, who slowly nodded her head in response. Numerous times Solvi had heard the drumming of artillery outside her windows. The fact it was not real didn’t prevent its painful percussive alarms from waking her every so often.  

The group continued to share the events of the past few days with Mara, who nodded every so often or lifted her finger for clarification. It was not the most efficient method of communication but after almost an hour, Mara had finally understood all that the Herald had wrought. She attempted to take a steadying breath, only for it to be consumed with coughing once more.

“No matter what they’re up to, we’ll put a stop to it. You get your rest.” Julie reassured, a hand on both Solvi and Mara’s shoulders. “And I’ll fetch you some tea for that cough.” She offered with consternation as yet another spasm gripped Mara. The mage nodded weakly as Geoffrey entered the room through the forest of legs and holstered weapons that comprised the party for a man of his stature.

“Only small amounts of tea. We don’t want to upset your constitution.” Geoffrey reprimanded in his stern bedside manner. He briefly pretended to be analysing one of the bottles of synthetic blood before turning almost casually. He then in one smooth motion removed the adhesive keeping the tube in place and needle. Mara gasped and hacked once more with pain, hand going to the bleeding in her elbow. Arthur stopped her with reassurances and a firm grip. “Sorry about that but it’s better if unexpected. And if you aren’t looking. Best let nature take its course now.” Geoffrey soothed, applying a dab of healing magic to the profusely bleeding forearm. Mara hissed yet allowed the magic to take effect. She then looked about and tore her wrist from Goeffrey’s grasp, the arm vanishing under the sheet moments later. Out of respect, many of her compatriots had turned to allow the doctor to get on with his duties. Solvi’s eyes however had gravitated to the dark blood with sympathy plain on her face. Julie had not seen what lay under the mage’s robes and now looked with deep concern. Geoffrey seemed preoccupied with preparing Mara’s medicines, so it fell to Arthur to explain the strange happenings.

“Geoffrey had to make some blood that matched the unique physiology. It serves the same purpose but is considerably darker.” Arthur offered, rather than lying. Julie seemed to accept this explanation; her eyes were no longer fixed upon where the grey-fleshed arm had been moments before. Arthur imagined she was now grateful for the veil.

A while longer and the party felt the call of duty once again. One by one they left until Solvi and Arthur remained. His shift would not end for a while yet. Though, upon Solvi’s request, he went to change the broth for something a little more substantive.

“You were brave, back in the cemetery.” Solvi complimented with a small smile. Mara’s head shifted on the pillow. Their eyes met through the veil and Solvi heaved a shaking sigh. “You have no idea how worried I was. And how relieved I am you’re alive. I had thought that we’d spent our allotted bravery in this life, that we’d never need to take up arms again.” The Orsan woman then took the small carving Fred had saved and regarded it contemplatively. Mara reached out with a weak hand, running her gloved fingers over its contours. “I ran from my mother. But even in my old age I’m becoming like her. You wouldn’t be in this bed if I had gone with you. But like a good Benti, I let another risk death in my stead.” Solvi placed the carving on the table next to Mara’s bed, eyes closed to hold back her dismay. Mara grunted as she pulled herself upright, despite Solvi’s protestations. She wearily dragged the other woman into a half-embrace. She then pulled away, shaking her head once again and pointing to herself. Solvi recovered herself somewhat, gruffly wiping at her eyes. Mara then gave Solvi a light punch on the shoulder, clearly stifling a cough as even that exertion was too great. It was only natural. She hadn’t eaten properly in days.

Just then, a flustered Maddie appeared in the doorway with her cheeks rosy and her winter coat soaked from snowfall. She still wore her sabre on her hip, as if she needed such implements. Both Mara and Solvi turned at once to stare at the vampire, Solvi with active hostility at her intrusion. Mara, as ever, was impossible to read.

“Sorry. I heard Mara was awake. And I wanted to speak with her privately.” Maddie explained her intrusion with some tactless bite to her voice. Solvi stood up reluctantly and began to move from the room, glowering at Maddie as she did so. She returned the look with dispassionate dignity, seating herself where Solvi had been moments before. Before even beginning to speak, she unbuckled her sabre and cast it to the floor beside her. Mara sat upright, her back braced against the headboard of her bed. Outside, a brief conversation was heard between Solvi and Arthur who was likely returning from his errand.

“I understand her anger. Truly, I do. But you still breathe because of what you learned on the mountain.” Maddie began casually, opening her coat slightly as the fire began to warm her. “If you expect apologies for that, you’ll be sadly out of luck.” She spoke with less restraint than Mara had expected, a fact the mage expressed with a derisive sigh. Maddie’s eyes flicked over the veil with frustration before the vampire collected her thoughts. “Well, if it improves your mood, you’re not on the hook for that little breaking and entering.” Maddie assured as she flicked through a pocketbook, barely looking at the elf before her. If she found the lack of responses concerning, she didn’t show it. “You seem very calm considering all that your friends most likely told you.” She eventually jabbed with a note of impatience. Mara replied with a look so frosty that Maddie could feel it through the veil.

“My past is not your ammunition.” Mara croaked through cracked lips and ragged throat. She sounded far older than her years. Maddie rolled her eyes, scoffing before standing to leave. Mara did nothing to stop her. She encouraged it with a dismissive hand motion. As Maddie left, she paused at the doorway with a pert turn of the heel.

“Incidentally, your medical care was on the empire too. Do try not to need more.” Maddie pithily seethed on her way out. Mara chose not to respond, instead eagerly welcoming Arthur and Solvi back to the room. Arthur carried a tray of thin soup and tea, a roll of bread should she be able to eat it. Mara made a valiant effort regardless, head turned to the snows outside as her friends talked about lighter matters.

Mara made great strides in her recovery over the following days. She regained the ability to eat and frequently visited Twitcher in the library. She had to hobble around on Lorana’s staff for a while until Solvi put her woodworking skills to use and fashioned a cane. She seemed mostly whole, back to her sardonic reclusive self. Solvi often spied a different Mara when she thought herself alone. The mage would frequently stare out of the windows, sometimes for half an hour or so. Solvi had suggested to Lorana that she intervene but was told, in no uncertain terms, to stop mithering a grown woman going through something. She knew that they were there.

It was approaching sunset just after a late lunch that Mara hobbled into the gardens of her own accord. She admired the colours of the sky through her veil, idly toying with one of the many perforations in her clothes. She’d tried to change clothes since but found her body was not complying with anything lately. Blasted mound of flesh wasn’t worth the substances used to forge it. Even now it registered a complaint with every pore as she limped to the hermitage set at the rear of the hedge maze. Lorana had taken to using the low cottage as a refuge from others, as she was wont to do. Mara found her pace quickening as she saw the thatched roof and squat stone chimney belching thin smoke into the cold Idharan evening. A short while longer and she came upon the cottage.

It was an old building, perhaps older than the manor itself. Wrought of stone and mortar, the cottage’s thick walls welcomed Mara’s frigid form. Ivy crawled along its textured surface, withering now as the seasons changed. The cottage had a red door with a black painted metal knocker for a handle. Lorana’s familiar sat upon the entrance to the house, crooning as it saw Mara approaching. It then shrieked a pre-determined signal to Lorana within, who had most likely set up charms and hexes to deter the determined diplomat that stalked the gardens. As Mara reached for the ring, it turned in place and opened to Mara’s consternation.

“I thought you were past showing off.” Mara croaked to her mentor as she entered the quaint interior the cottage boasted. Within it was as cosy as the mage had hoped. A kitchen area sat with a pot merrily simmering the supper, logs burning beneath the stove. Across a comparatively modest hardwood table set with accoutrements not of Lorana’s choosing, a lounge with a sofa and comfortable armchairs surrounded a fireplace piled high with logs. Lorana herself sat in one of these armchairs, scribbling on her spell book with a stylus. Most likely checking her equations, Mara mused.

“Convenience is conceit in the eyes of the guileless.”  Lorana quipped in response without looking up from her book. She pointed with her stylus to the chair across from herself imperiously. “Sit.” She commanded with the negligent authority of one used to power. “I’m old and impatient. I don’t have time for doors.” Lorana sniffed. Mara suppressed a laugh not because she respected her mentor’s opinion but because it hurt. Lorana looked up as she reached over, pulling a cork from a bottle she’d stowed next to her chair. “Nothing? My wit must be eroding while I wend my way to the grave.” The archmage pondered aloud. She took a mug and sniffed it momentarily before pouring the contents of her bottle into it. She then offered the bottle neck first to Mara, wiggling it under her nose. The younger elf shook her head. “Suit yourself. Now, what’s all this about?” Lorana shrugged, bottle clanking next to the other two she’d drained since arriving.

“While asleep I had many strange dreams.” Mara began awkwardly. Lorana tutted over her cup as she sipped her beverage of choice. “A lot of them were as a result of Armin paying visits. Inserting himself into pre-existing dreams. But one recurred. The cemetery.” Mara dutifully recounted. She watched her senior’s eyes carefully for any sign of recognition. The only thing she saw were the eyes of a studied liar, used to holding their cards to their chest. That or her mentor was already tipsy at this early hour. “The Herald said something that persists in my mind.” Mara shifted as discomfort held every inch of her body taut. “He said that I cast wrong. That I was too talentless to see the real problem.” The mage concluded, an unspoken memory passing between the two mages. Back before Mara chose Renaud as her sora. Mara’s head shifted downwards, unable to look the archmage in the eye.

“The best liars will always tell the truth at first.” Lorana sighed placing her cup to one side and shutting the spell book on her lap. “You are far from talentless. But your casting is indeed flawed.” The archmage observed before knotting her fingers together. Mara noticed the silvery bracer poking its way out of her sleeve. She still wore it after all this time. Mara smiled beneath her veil. “You have always focused on the intellectual side of magic to the detriment of all else. Magic is a living force of nature. It cannot be bent with secret phrases or words. You have marched into its home and made demands. It needs more than that.” Lorana explained. Her student shook her head vigorously, fists clenching in her lap.

“No. I know that. Magic needs drive. A reason for being. The farmer who sets his stove to the flame with magic has clear purpose in their mind. The power of a mage is a measure of their intellect and their ambition, their desire to change the world. We express ourselves with the movements, words and totemic objects so the spells we weave can form.” Mara iterated the lessons she herself had given hundreds of times across Gard, irritation making her words sharper than intended. She took a moment, holding a hand up apologetically. “I do everything right. Why aren’t I as strong as Renaud?” Mara beseeched in a reedy voice, having expended its clarity in one conversation. She then noticed a hole in her sleeve. She quickly gripped either side of the tear, hiding the pale scarred flesh beneath.

“Because you’re not doing everything right.” Lorana asserted with a firm voice. Mara looked up, veil doing little to hide the air of confusion between them. The archmage took up her wine once more and took a deep drink, draining the mug in a long draught. “After I lost the children, the school…. Everything.” Lorana reminisced in a voice filled with sorrow, barely held in check by the intervening years. “I couldn’t use magic. The art had left me. All zest for life lay in smouldering ruins. I wanted to withdraw from the world, but my anger drove me to vengeance at all costs. The dissonance destroyed me.” Lorana’s eyes were red with tears, a look of disdain distorting her features. “I had to let go. If I did not relinquish one of those desires, losing my art would be the least of my concerns. So, I did. I chose revenge over withdrawal. And we all ponder whether that was the right choice.” The archmage sighed, referring to when her vendetta had been unleashed upon the Orsana. Unseelie fey let loose onto towns and cities, allowed to wreak whatever twisted delights they saw fit to visit upon their denizens.

“The law granted us clemency. Our consciences did not.” Mara agreed, leaning over to take the bottle from its resting place. She nursed a sip contemplatively before coughing with disgust. “Gideons Garters why are you drinking furniture polish?” Mara wheezed out after a few expletives. Her discomfort seemed to lighten Lorana’s darkened mood as the sadness was once again replaced by a dour expression. She looked to Mara with a soft, almost endeared expression as she considered her next words.

“We cannot change the past, though it marks us all the same. We simply move beyond its reach.” She advised in perhaps the gentlest voice she’d used in decades. For that fact, Mara didn’t immediately dismiss it as trite nonsense. The silence between them grew before Mara shrugged at the advice of her elder.

“I don’t think moving on is exactly the easiest thing to do.” Mara observed with a sardonic edge to her voice.

“Do you think I’d be my saccharine sunny self if that weren’t the case?” Lorana replied sarcastically, refilling her mug as she did so. “Moving the power of creation is a lot easier when you’re not burdened by the past. But removing the burden is work in and of itself.” She observed whilst taking another long sip of wine from her cup. Or what Mara hoped was wine given its red colouring. By the strength of its taste, Mara doubted it was something people drank for fun.

“You lacked purpose and found one. I have purpose.” Mara thought aloud, prompting Lorana to hold a finger aloft for a moment before finishing her drink of wine.

“I had too many competing desires. The dissonance was my downfall. Many things can cloud your mind. And I’m not clergy so I can’t tease out what your problem is.” Lorana elaborated before standing to tend to her supper. The smell that reached Mara’s nose was at once both curious and enticing. She followed her mentor to the pot to see concerningly tender cubes of meat melting into thick red broth. Lorana took a fine powder from the counter and sniffed it before applying a heady amount. The archmage noticed her friend’s curiosity and leaned back, allowing Mara a clearer view into the strange contents. “Bissup and doran stew with sechwyn. Idharans swear by it, but it looks a little thick with the fat coming off bissup meat.” Lorana examined critically, staring at the contents of the pot with a practiced eye. Though Mara did not spend much time with Lorana outside of her duties in Lemuria, the rumours were rampant that she was Sirona’s own hand in the kitchen. She could take the most unpalatable ingredients and turn them into something even the most squeamish could eat. Incredibly experimental though, if this recent offering was any indication.

“I think I’ll stick to whatever Geoffrey’s staff come out with. He told me I might be able to eat meat again soon.” Mara relayed with enthusiasm, Lorana giving her a mischievous look from over her pot ladle. Mara bade her mentor goodbye, thanking her for the advice as she limped to the door.

“Would those cravings be from the severe necrotic poisoning you have?” Lorana asked without turning her head. Mara whipped about, hand going to her veil. “I’m an archmage. You thought I couldn’t sense it? Whatever it’s done to you, it can’t be worse than that absurd getup.” Lorana continued without looking away from her stew. Mara fidgeted with her gloves, as if debating removing them. She eventually settled for staying a tad longer.

“Can I be cured?” Mara asked with halting, hopeful tones to her voice.

“Curatives can be many things. If you mean returning you to your old self with nary a hair out of place, then no. Antithetical to the earlier conversation, you see. If you mean returning your strange biology back to the average elf, also no. If you mean allowing healing magic to no longer burn you, then yes.” Lorana ran through the mental list, taking a ladle of her stew and tasting for seasoning. Mara was unsure why stew was more important than a conversation but didn’t question the woman’s strangeness. It would be a tad hypocritical. “I’ll work on a method to do that. I could use a project while I sit here, bored out of my gods damned mind.” Lorana griped through her machinations.

“Since I’m on the mend, why not head back to the Council? I’m sure they need you.” Mara teased with a mischievous air. Lorana’s shoulders locked for a moment before she soothed herself.

“Well, it’s getting late you should go get some meat to sate your cravings.” Lorana shooed Mara out of the door, the ladle threatening to spank her for her insolence as she did so.

Mara found herself in the cold of the Idharan night. The cold breeze was especially biting as it flowed over the holes in her outfit. She made a mental note to ask Geoffrey to repair them when next she was able to remove her reserved robe.

Mara returned to the manor with a considerably lighter step. As light as the steps of someone with an improperly working knee could be, Mara supposed. It was somewhat ironic in her mind that after rejecting Lorana in favour of Renaud, she’d come to resemble the archmage more than her actual sora. She even had the limp now. Hopefully temporary, she sighed through the pain of walking up the manor steps. They really should have employed some manner of ramp when building the place.

While Mara waited for the answers to her cravings, she chose to visit Twitcher in the library as usual. The hours were ephemeral as the ancient automaton regaled her with tales of their youth, of the splendour of Elys before the Godswar. Mara always tried to steer them from speculation as to what four thousand years of time and the undead had likely done to the crown of their empire. Or indeed attempt to debate them regarding slavery. A necessary evil to establish the wonders of their time, apparently. The mage thought better of pressing for a change that would happen naturally.

Opening the door to the library, Mara was surprised to find no Twitcher in their nest of books but rather Armin in his manifested form perusing the titles with interest. The ghost looked up to see who his visitor was and beamed. Standing from his bowed stance, he walked to Mara with a gracious air as he excitedly waggled the sickle before him.

“I can finally read! Manipulate the world! What a glorious gift you have given me.” Armin chuckled, demonstrating his new prowess by flipping the page of a nearby book with the tip of Frigg’s sickle. Given the grunt of effort that came from him, it cost considerably more for him than a mortal hand. “I wished to thank you earlier, but the dream realm is devilishly imprecise.” Armin shrugged as he placed his new toy on the table, huffing a little from his paranormal parchment predations.

“You’re my oldest friend. The least I could do was give you some small taste of life.” Mara nodded, modestly accepting the spectre’s thanks.  “If I weren’t constrained in terms of tools, I’d have given you a gauntlet or something. Though I suspect if we gave you more power, something would explode.” Mara teased, running her fingers along the length of the sickle’s blade. It had turned into quite the fearsome tool. Layers of modifications reinforced each other, enhancing the whole. One of the few creations she was proud of, Mara briefly considered not returning it to Frigg. Or at least asking her permission to keep it.

“Ah no, that was Ardan. He was the one who liked explosions.” Armin retorted with a devious smirk before his thoughts seemed to take him elsewhere. Mara allowed him the moment before he seemed to come back to himself with a vindicated air. “Hope they never find you, cad.” Armin said mockingly into the middle distance.

“I thought he was dead?” Mara asked as she placed her walking stick against the table. With a relieved sigh, she sat herself in one of the formal wooden chairs and laid her leg over one arm. Armin gave her a concerned look as the mage looked up from the chair with an expectant air, hands meshed on the opposite arm to her leg.

“Ah well that’s a more difficult subject. The Yandites presumed he was dead. Because by all accounts he very much should be.” Armin managed an awkward chuckle, taking up the sickle to heave a chair out for himself. Mara wasn’t quite sure why since his backside wouldn’t actually touch it. “When Ardan’s reign of terror came to an end, he fled to the tower of his archmage mentor, Bernard Blackwing. Why yes, he was a human and Ardan was a huge hypocrite!” Armin chided the memory of his contemporary with a gleeful superiority. Mara felt that he wasn’t simply mocking Ardan. Some of the bile seemed reserved for himself. “Bernard however had seen what his student had become. Knowing he couldn’t kill Ardan and his gaggle of vengeful groupies alone, he gathered them into his study and tore open a portal to Annun. Everyone fell into it and, present company excluded, you don’t survive that.” Armin finished his tale with a shrug, as if the matter were obvious. Mara tilted her head; the mire of medications Geoffrey had given her meddling with her ability to think clearly.

“So, you think he’s still out there?” Mara asked with confusion before her demeanour snapped to elation, having solved the puzzle in her mind. “Oh! You think he leads the Sunburst Army, right? I seem to recall you saying their beliefs were similar.” The mage excitedly theorized, pausing once her exuberance taxed her ailing body. Healing spells were potent, but not that potent she thought ruefully.

“I don’t know what to think. The man was a slimy kopran at the best of times.” Armin demurred with a pained expression, his mind once more upon the cursed moments of his living self. “I’m not actually sure he believed in anything. He seemed more interested in hurting as many Yandites as he could. There was no ethos, no principle. Just raw, untamed rage with all he beheld that was not his own.” Armin commented with a dry disposition, not prepared to allow his own feelings into the mix. Ardan had given no warning, no proclamations or threats. He simply destroyed. Even Armin, Mara knew, who saw himself as nothing more than a selfish opportunist, believed in more than that.

“That sounds more like a later historian’s take away than your own.”  Mara observed, looking over to the door as Solvi entered with Julie on her arm. Armin, connected to Mara by more than history alone, sensed the pang of guilt, the passing of regret through her mind. He attempted to garner her attention, prodding her with the handle of the sickle. When she turned to look, he allowed the orange flaming orbs of his eyes to disconnect and float freely. The mage snorted with laughter, barely coughing in penance for her levity.

“My mother always did say I had excellent hindsight.” Armin jested, returning the orbs to their sockets. Mara was briefly concerned for the comfort of their new arrivals but remembered that Solvi was a soldier and Julie a chevalier. They’d seen worse than a bored ghost’s antics.

The two of them sat opposite Mara and Armin, who turned their attention to the couple. Julie, with a look of barely contained excitement, procured a box from her bag and placed it before them. To Mara’s surprise, Solvi looked shy for the first time in a long time. She looked to Julie for reassurance, the other woman resting her head on her much larger companion.

“Solvi and I have made you something. You seemed sad after waking up.” Julie explained, tapping the stout wooden box’s locking mechanism. With a whisper of magic, the lock clicked open. Solvi turned the container to face the spooky pair, Armin holding the sickle in preparation to prod whatever it was. Mara placed her gloved hands on the lid with some anxiety before opening it.

Within, sitting on a purple pillow, a freshly restored mask sat waiting for her. Carved from segaris wood, the mask was loosely inspired by the contours of the face beneath. The mask melded seamlessly into the expressionless mouth of its old self. The dark wood had been lacquered and inlaid with aulind filigree to better allow enchantment. The detail that attracted a small laugh from Mara was that this mask, unlike her old design, included four straps.

“I wanted to give you a fearsome skull. But Solvi said your country doesn’t like necromancers. So, we wink at the necromancy only.” Julie grinned as Mara slipped the mask beneath her veil. With a few metallic clicks, a questing hand ensured it fit properly before pulling the veil from her face. Julie, despite herself, gasped at the unintended effect.

Beneath the veil, the larger uncovered holes allowed those around the table to see her true eyes. The pale flesh surrounding them was laced with dark veins that pulsed weakly, though she appeared to have eyelashes much like the average elf. The element that had disturbed Julie was the blackened whites the Herald had first seen, glowing white irises lending an eerie quality to the person behind the mask.

“More of you will take some getting used to.” Solvi smiled as she looked directly into Mara’s eyes. The mage turned to Armin who pinched his chin in mock thought. She returned her gaze to Julie who seemed to have controlled herself. In fact, a new emotion played about the chevalier’s face. An insatiable curiosity had manifested in the other woman’s eyes.

“This mask fits tightly, how will I eat?” Mara asked, the lower jaw of the mask working in time with the lips beneath. The mage seemed taken aback by the sensation before her hands tested the mechanism experimentally. “Oh, that’s very clever. I’m going to eat a whole side of yotul with this.” Mara grinned through her enthusiasm.

Mara's room had taken on a dire affectation in the absence of its occupant's activities. The books had been piled high, writing materials hidden in draws and desks. The bed which normally lay in an unmade heap fell in a creaseless sheet upon Mara's resting form. The approximation of blood Geoffrey had been working on sat in spelled containers to preserve it, while one of its fellows hung attached to Mara's arm with a rubber tube. With the destruction of her mask, Mara had been furnished with a veil by Lorana. Though a fire burned merrily in the grate, there was a chill in the air as Mara drew laboured breaths from deep within the pillow pile she rested upon. Arthur, who sat near the bed tending to his patient, welcomed the party in with a smile whilst offering a bowl of broth with a tube in it to the inclement Mara. At least she breathed less raggedly than when she'd returned to the manor. Arthur placed the broth to the side as Mara sipped the barest sum before a cough rent her throat in the most disquieting way. Solvi did not know much about medicine but knew enough that awake was not always preferable. Especially to the patient. Can ya talk? Fred inquired with a cheeky twitch of his whiskers, sidling over to the fire and parking himself before it. For a man with fur, Solvi thought, he was exceptionally susceptible to the cold. The tall Orsan woman settled for seating herself in the chair that Geoffrey normally used to reach up when changing the blood bottles. Mara, rather than answering, shook her head. We only knew she'd woken up because she had an anxiety attack. Arthur chuckled to himself. Mara's head turned towards him in what Solvi chose to believe was an incredulous glare. Geoffrey and I almost had a panic attack of our own when she stopped breathing. Turns out she was just holding her breath. Arthur relayed with enthusiasm, waves of relief practically emanating off him. When several members of the group looked clueless at this suggestion, Solvi cleared her throat awkwardly. When she gets like this, she breathes in to slow her heart. It also helps her focus on bodily sensations rather than the spiral. Solvi explained with an eye fixed on Mara's reactions. She seemed curiously static, as if her mind had woken but her body hadn't. I used to do it after the war. Wish she knew the sleep spell though. Solvi giggled at Mara, who slowly nodded her head in response. Numerous times Solvi had heard the drumming of artillery outside her windows. The fact it was not real didn't prevent its painful percussive alarms from waking her every so often. The group continued to share the events of the past few days with Mara, who nodded every so often or lifted her finger for clarification. It was not the most efficient method of communication but after almost an hour, Mara had finally understood all that the Herald had wrought. She attempted to take a steadying breath, only for it to be consumed with coughing once more. No matter what they're up to, we'll put a stop to it. You get your rest. Julie reassured, a hand on both Solvi and Mara's shoulders. And I'll fetch you some tea for that cough. She offered with consternation as yet another spasm gripped Mara. The mage nodded weakly as Geoffrey entered the room through the forest of legs and holstered weapons that comprised the party for a man of his stature. Only small amounts of tea. We don't want to upset your constitution. Geoffrey reprimanded in his stern bedside manner. He briefly pretended to be analysing one of the bottles of synthetic blood before turning almost casually. He then in one smooth motion removed the adhesive keeping the tube in place and needle. Mara gasped and hacked once more with pain, hand going to the bleeding in her elbow. Arthur stopped her with reassurances and a firm grip. Sorry about that but it's better if unexpected. And if you aren't looking. Best let nature take its course now. Geoffrey soothed, applying a dab of healing magic to the profusely bleeding forearm. Mara hissed yet allowed the magic to take effect. She then looked about and tore her wrist from Goeffrey's grasp, the arm vanishing under the sheet moments later. Out of respect, many of her compatriots had turned to allow the doctor to get on with his duties. Solvi's eyes however had gravitated to the dark blood with sympathy plain on her face. Julie had not seen what lay under the mage's robes and now looked with deep concern. Geoffrey seemed preoccupied with preparing Mara's medicines, so it fell to Arthur to explain the strange happenings. Geoffrey had to make some blood that matched the unique physiology. It serves the same purpose but is considerably darker. Arthur offered, rather than lying. Julie seemed to accept this explanation; her eyes were no longer fixed upon where the grey-fleshed arm had been moments before. Arthur imagined she was now grateful for the veil. A while longer and the party felt the call of duty once again. One by one they left until Solvi and Arthur remained. His shift would not end for a while yet. Though, upon Solvi's request, he went to change the broth for something a little more substantive. You were brave, back in the cemetery. Solvi complimented with a small smile. Mara's head shifted on the pillow. Their eyes met through the veil and Solvi heaved a shaking sigh. You have no idea how worried I was. And how relieved I am you're alive. I had thought that we'd spent our allotted bravery in this life, that we'd never need to take up arms again. The Orsan woman then took the small carving Fred had saved and regarded it contemplatively. Mara reached out with a weak hand, running her gloved fingers over its contours. I ran from my mother. But even in my old age I'm becoming like her. You wouldn't be in this bed if I had gone with you. But like a good Benti, I let another risk death in my stead. Solvi placed the carving on the table next to Mara's bed, eyes closed to hold back her dismay. Mara grunted as she pulled herself upright, despite Solvi's protestations. She wearily dragged the other woman into a half-embrace. She then pulled away, shaking her head once again and pointing to herself. Solvi recovered herself somewhat, gruffly wiping at her eyes. Mara then gave Solvi a light punch on the shoulder, clearly stifling a cough as even that exertion was too great. It was only natural. She hadn't eaten properly in days. Just then, a flustered Maddie appeared in the doorway with her cheeks rosy and her winter coat soaked from snowfall. She still wore her sabre on her hip, as if she needed such implements. Both Mara and Solvi turned at once to stare at the vampire, Solvi with active hostility at her intrusion. Mara, as ever, was impossible to read. Sorry. I heard Mara was awake. And I wanted to speak with her privately. Maddie explained her intrusion with some tactless bite to her voice. Solvi stood up reluctantly and began to move from the room, glowering at Maddie as she did so. She returned the look with dispassionate dignity, seating herself where Solvi had been moments before. Before even beginning to speak, she unbuckled her sabre and cast it to the floor beside her. Mara sat upright, her back braced against the headboard of her bed. Outside, a brief conversation was heard between Solvi and Arthur who was likely returning from his errand. I understand her anger. Truly, I do. But you still breathe because of what you learned on the mountain. Maddie began casually, opening her coat slightly as the fire began to warm her. If you expect apologies for that, you'll be sadly out of luck. She spoke with less restraint than Mara had expected, a fact the mage expressed with a derisive sigh. Maddie's eyes flicked over the veil with frustration before the vampire collected her thoughts. Well, if it improves your mood, you're not on the hook for that little breaking and entering. Maddie assured as she flicked through a pocketbook, barely looking at the elf before her. If she found the lack of responses concerning, she didn't show it. You seem very calm considering all that your friends most likely told you. She eventually jabbed with a note of impatience. Mara replied with a look so frosty that Maddie could feel it through the veil. My past is not your ammunition. Mara croaked through cracked lips and ragged throat. She sounded far older than her years. Maddie rolled her eyes, scoffing before standing to leave. Mara did nothing to stop her. She encouraged it with a dismissive hand motion. As Maddie left, she paused at the doorway with a pert turn of the heel. Incidentally, your medical care was on the empire too. Do try not to need more. Maddie pithily seethed on her way out. Mara chose not to respond, instead eagerly welcoming Arthur and Solvi back to the room. Arthur carried a tray of thin soup and tea, a roll of bread should she be able to eat it. Mara made a valiant effort regardless, head turned to the snows outside as her friends talked about lighter matters. Mara made great strides in her recovery over the following days. She regained the ability to eat and frequently visited Twitcher in the library. She had to hobble around on Lorana's staff for a while until Solvi put her woodworking skills to use and fashioned a cane. She seemed mostly whole, back to her sardonic reclusive self. Solvi often spied a different Mara when she thought herself alone. The mage would frequently stare out of the windows, sometimes for half an hour or so. Solvi had suggested to Lorana that she intervene but was told, in no uncertain terms, to stop mithering a grown woman going through something. She knew that they were there. It was approaching sunset just after a late lunch that Mara hobbled into the gardens of her own accord. She admired the colours of the sky through her veil, idly toying with one of the many perforations in her clothes. She'd tried to change clothes since but found her body was not complying with anything lately. Blasted mound of flesh wasn't worth the substances used to forge it. Even now it registered a complaint with every pore as she limped to the hermitage set at the rear of the hedge maze. Lorana had taken to using the low cottage as a refuge from others, as she was wont to do. Mara found her pace quickening as she saw the thatched roof and squat stone chimney belching thin smoke into the cold Idharan evening. A short while longer and she came upon the cottage. It was an old building, perhaps older than the manor itself. Wrought of stone and mortar, the cottage's thick walls welcomed Mara's frigid form. Ivy crawled along its textured surface, withering now as the seasons changed. The cottage had a red door with a black painted metal knocker for a handle. Lorana's familiar sat upon the entrance to the house, crooning as it saw Mara approaching. It then shrieked a pre-determined signal to Lorana within, who had most likely set up charms and hexes to deter the determined diplomat that stalked the gardens. As Mara reached for the ring, it turned in place and opened to Mara's consternation. I thought you were past showing off. Mara croaked to her mentor as she entered the quaint interior the cottage boasted. Within it was as cosy as the mage had hoped. A kitchen area sat with a pot merrily simmering the supper, logs burning beneath the stove. Across a comparatively modest hardwood table set with accoutrements not of Lorana's choosing, a lounge with a sofa and comfortable armchairs surrounded a fireplace piled high with logs. Lorana herself sat in one of these armchairs, scribbling on her spell book with a stylus. Most likely checking her equations, Mara mused. Convenience is conceit in the eyes of the guileless. Lorana quipped in response without looking up from her book. She pointed with her stylus to the chair across from herself imperiously. Sit. She commanded with the negligent authority of one used to power. I'm old and impatient. I don't have time for doors. Lorana sniffed. Mara suppressed a laugh not because she respected her mentor's opinion but because it hurt. Lorana looked up as she reached over, pulling a cork from a bottle she'd stowed next to her chair. Nothing? My wit must be eroding while I wend my way to the grave. The archmage pondered aloud. She took a mug and sniffed it momentarily before pouring the contents of her bottle into it. She then offered the bottle neck first to Mara, wiggling it under her nose. The younger elf shook her head. Suit yourself. Now, what's all this about? Lorana shrugged, bottle clanking next to the other two she'd drained since arriving. While asleep I had many strange dreams. Mara began awkwardly. Lorana tutted over her cup as she sipped her beverage of choice. A lot of them were as a result of Armin paying visits. Inserting himself into pre-existing dreams. But one recurred. The cemetery. Mara dutifully recounted. She watched her senior's eyes carefully for any sign of recognition. The only thing she saw were the eyes of a studied liar, used to holding their cards to their chest. That or her mentor was already tipsy at this early hour. The Herald said something that persists in my mind. Mara shifted as discomfort held every inch of her body taut. He said that I cast wrong. That I was too talentless to see the real problem. The mage concluded, an unspoken memory passing between the two mages. Back before Mara chose Renaud as her sora. Mara's head shifted downwards, unable to look the archmage in the eye. The best liars will always tell the truth at first. Lorana sighed placing her cup to one side and shutting the spell book on her lap. You are far from talentless. But your casting is indeed flawed. The archmage observed before knotting her fingers together. Mara noticed the silvery bracer poking its way out of her sleeve. She still wore it after all this time. Mara smiled beneath her veil. You have always focused on the intellectual side of magic to the detriment of all else. Magic is a living force of nature. It cannot be bent with secret phrases or words. You have marched into its home and made demands. It needs more than that. Lorana explained. Her student shook her head vigorously, fists clenching in her lap. No. I know that. Magic needs drive. A reason for being. The farmer who sets his stove to the flame with magic has clear purpose in their mind. The power of a mage is a measure of their intellect and their ambition, their desire to change the world. We express ourselves with the movements, words and totemic objects so the spells we weave can form. Mara iterated the lessons she herself had given hundreds of times across Gard, irritation making her words sharper than intended. She took a moment, holding a hand up apologetically. I do everything right. Why aren't I as strong as Renaud? Mara beseeched in a reedy voice, having expended its clarity in one conversation. She then noticed a hole in her sleeve. She quickly gripped either side of the tear, hiding the pale scarred flesh beneath. Because you're not doing everything right. Lorana asserted with a firm voice. Mara looked up, veil doing little to hide the air of confusion between them. The archmage took up her wine once more and took a deep drink, draining the mug in a long draught. After I lost the children, the school. Everything. Lorana reminisced in a voice filled with sorrow, barely held in check by the intervening years. I couldn't use magic. The art had left me. All zest for life lay in smouldering ruins. I wanted to withdraw from the world, but my anger drove me to vengeance at all costs. The dissonance destroyed me. Lorana's eyes were red with tears, a look of disdain distorting her features. I had to let go. If I did not relinquish one of those desires, losing my art would be the least of my concerns. So, I did. I chose revenge over withdrawal. And we all ponder whether that was the right choice. The archmage sighed, referring to when her vendetta had been unleashed upon the Orsana. Unseelie fey let loose onto towns and cities, allowed to wreak whatever twisted delights they saw fit to visit upon their denizens. The law granted us clemency. Our consciences did not. Mara agreed, leaning over to take the bottle from its resting place. She nursed a sip contemplatively before coughing with disgust. Gideons Garters why are you drinking furniture polish? Mara wheezed out after a few expletives. Her discomfort seemed to lighten Lorana's darkened mood as the sadness was once again replaced by a dour expression. She looked to Mara with a soft, almost endeared expression as she considered her next words. We cannot change the past, though it marks us all the same. We simply move beyond its reach. She advised in perhaps the gentlest voice she'd used in decades. For that fact, Mara didn't immediately dismiss it as trite nonsense. The silence between them grew before Mara shrugged at the advice of her elder. I don't think moving on is exactly the easiest thing to do. Mara observed with a sardonic edge to her voice. Do you think I'd be my saccharine sunny self if that weren't the case? Lorana replied sarcastically, refilling her mug as she did so. Moving the power of creation is a lot easier when you're not burdened by the past. But removing the burden is work in and of itself. She observed whilst taking another long sip of wine from her cup. Or what Mara hoped was wine given its red colouring. By the strength of its taste, Mara doubted it was something people drank for fun. You lacked purpose and found one. I have purpose. Mara thought aloud, prompting Lorana to hold a finger aloft for a moment before finishing her drink of wine. I had too many competing desires. The dissonance was my downfall. Many things can cloud your mind. And I'm not clergy so I can't tease out what your problem is. Lorana elaborated before standing to tend to her supper. The smell that reached Mara's nose was at once both curious and enticing. She followed her mentor to the pot to see concerningly tender cubes of meat melting into thick red broth. Lorana took a fine powder from the counter and sniffed it before applying a heady amount. The archmage noticed her friend's curiosity and leaned back, allowing Mara a clearer view into the strange contents. Bissup and doran stew with sechwyn. Idharans swear by it, but it looks a little thick with the fat coming off bissup meat. Lorana examined critically, staring at the contents of the pot with a practiced eye. Though Mara did not spend much time with Lorana outside of her duties in Lemuria, the rumours were rampant that she was Sirona's own hand in the kitchen. She could take the most unpalatable ingredients and turn them into something even the most squeamish could eat. Incredibly experimental though, if this recent offering was any indication. I think I'll stick to whatever Geoffrey's staff come out with. He told me I might be able to eat meat again soon. Mara relayed with enthusiasm, Lorana giving her a mischievous look from over her pot ladle. Mara bade her mentor goodbye, thanking her for the advice as she limped to the door. Would those cravings be from the severe necrotic poisoning you have? Lorana asked without turning her head. Mara whipped about, hand going to her veil. I'm an archmage. You thought I couldn't sense it? Whatever it's done to you, it can't be worse than that absurd getup. Lorana continued without looking away from her stew. Mara fidgeted with her gloves, as if debating removing them. She eventually settled for staying a tad longer. Can I be cured? Mara asked with halting, hopeful tones to her voice. Curatives can be many things. If you mean returning you to your old self with nary a hair out of place, then no. Antithetical to the earlier conversation, you see. If you mean returning your strange biology back to the average elf, also no. If you mean allowing healing magic to no longer burn you, then yes. Lorana ran through the mental list, taking a ladle of her stew and tasting for seasoning. Mara was unsure why stew was more important than a conversation but didn't question the woman's strangeness. It would be a tad hypocritical. I'll work on a method to do that. I could use a project while I sit here, bored out of my gods damned mind. Lorana griped through her machinations. Since I'm on the mend, why not head back to the Council? I'm sure they need you. Mara teased with a mischievous air. Lorana's shoulders locked for a moment before she soothed herself. Well, it's getting late you should go get some meat to sate your cravings. Lorana shooed Mara out of the door, the ladle threatening to spank her for her insolence as she did so. Mara found herself in the cold of the Idharan night. The cold breeze was especially biting as it flowed over the holes in her outfit. She made a mental note to ask Geoffrey to repair them when next she was able to remove her reserved robe. Mara returned to the manor with a considerably lighter step. As light as the steps of someone with an improperly working knee could be, Mara supposed. It was somewhat ironic in her mind that after rejecting Lorana in favour of Renaud, she'd come to resemble the archmage more than her actual sora. She even had the limp now. Hopefully temporary, she sighed through the pain of walking up the manor steps. They really should have employed some manner of ramp when building the place. While Mara waited for the answers to her cravings, she chose to visit Twitcher in the library as usual. The hours were ephemeral as the ancient automaton regaled her with tales of their youth, of the splendour of Elys before the Godswar. Mara always tried to steer them from speculation as to what four thousand years of time and the undead had likely done to the crown of their empire. Or indeed attempt to debate them regarding slavery. A necessary evil to establish the wonders of their time, apparently. The mage thought better of pressing for a change that would happen naturally. Opening the door to the library, Mara was surprised to find no Twitcher in their nest of books but rather Armin in his manifested form perusing the titles with interest. The ghost looked up to see who his visitor was and beamed. Standing from his bowed stance, he walked to Mara with a gracious air as he excitedly waggled the sickle before him. I can finally read! Manipulate the world! What a glorious gift you have given me. Armin chuckled, demonstrating his new prowess by flipping the page of a nearby book with the tip of Frigg's sickle. Given the grunt of effort that came from him, it cost considerably more for him than a mortal hand. I wished to thank you earlier, but the dream realm is devilishly imprecise. Armin shrugged as he placed his new toy on the table, huffing a little from his paranormal parchment predations. You're my oldest friend. The least I could do was give you some small taste of life. Mara nodded, modestly accepting the spectre's thanks. If I weren't constrained in terms of tools, I'd have given you a gauntlet or something. Though I suspect if we gave you more power, something would explode. Mara teased, running her fingers along the length of the sickle's blade. It had turned into quite the fearsome tool. Layers of modifications reinforced each other, enhancing the whole. One of the few creations she was proud of, Mara briefly considered not returning it to Frigg. Or at least asking her permission to keep it. Ah no, that was Ardan. He was the one who liked explosions. Armin retorted with a devious smirk before his thoughts seemed to take him elsewhere. Mara allowed him the moment before he seemed to come back to himself with a vindicated air. Hope they never find you, cad. Armin said mockingly into the middle distance. I thought he was dead? Mara asked as she placed her walking stick against the table. With a relieved sigh, she sat herself in one of the formal wooden chairs and laid her leg over one arm. Armin gave her a concerned look as the mage looked up from the chair with an expectant air, hands meshed on the opposite arm to her leg. Ah well that's a more difficult subject. The Yandites presumed he was dead. Because by all accounts he very much should be. Armin managed an awkward chuckle, taking up the sickle to heave a chair out for himself. Mara wasn't quite sure why since his backside wouldn't actually touch it. When Ardan's reign of terror came to an end, he fled to the tower of his archmage mentor, Bernard Blackwing. Why yes, he was a human and Ardan was a huge hypocrite! Armin chided the memory of his contemporary with a gleeful superiority. Mara felt that he wasn't simply mocking Ardan. Some of the bile seemed reserved for himself. Bernard however had seen what his student had become. Knowing he couldn't kill Ardan and his gaggle of vengeful groupies alone, he gathered them into his study and tore open a portal to Annun. Everyone fell into it and, present company excluded, you don't survive that. Armin finished his tale with a shrug, as if the matter were obvious. Mara tilted her head; the mire of medications Geoffrey had given her meddling with her ability to think clearly. So, you think he's still out there? Mara asked with confusion before her demeanour snapped to elation, having solved the puzzle in her mind. Oh! You think he leads the Sunburst Army, right? I seem to recall you saying their beliefs were similar. The mage excitedly theorized, pausing once her exuberance taxed her ailing body. Healing spells were potent, but not that potent she thought ruefully. I don't know what to think. The man was a slimy kopran at the best of times. Armin demurred with a pained expression, his mind once more upon the cursed moments of his living self. I'm not actually sure he believed in anything. He seemed more interested in hurting as many Yandites as he could. There was no ethos, no principle. Just raw, untamed rage with all he beheld that was not his own. Armin commented with a dry disposition, not prepared to allow his own feelings into the mix. Ardan had given no warning, no proclamations or threats. He simply destroyed. Even Armin, Mara knew, who saw himself as nothing more than a selfish opportunist, believed in more than that. That sounds more like a later historian's take away than your own. Mara observed, looking over to the door as Solvi entered with Julie on her arm. Armin, connected to Mara by more than history alone, sensed the pang of guilt, the passing of regret through her mind. He attempted to garner her attention, prodding her with the handle of the sickle. When she turned to look, he allowed the orange flaming orbs of his eyes to disconnect and float freely. The mage snorted with laughter, barely coughing in penance for her levity. My mother always did say I had excellent hindsight. Armin jested, returning the orbs to their sockets. Mara was briefly concerned for the comfort of their new arrivals but remembered that Solvi was a soldier and Julie a chevalier. They'd seen worse than a bored ghost's antics. The two of them sat opposite Mara and Armin, who turned their attention to the couple. Julie, with a look of barely contained excitement, procured a box from her bag and placed it before them. To Mara's surprise, Solvi looked shy for the first time in a long time. She looked to Julie for reassurance, the other woman resting her head on her much larger companion. Solvi and I have made you something. You seemed sad after waking up. Julie explained, tapping the stout wooden box's locking mechanism. With a whisper of magic, the lock clicked open. Solvi turned the container to face the spooky pair, Armin holding the sickle in preparation to prod whatever it was. Mara placed her gloved hands on the lid with some anxiety before opening it. Within, sitting on a purple pillow, a freshly restored mask sat waiting for her. Carved from segaris wood, the mask was loosely inspired by the contours of the face beneath. The mask melded seamlessly into the expressionless mouth of its old self. The dark wood had been lacquered and inlaid with aulind filigree to better allow enchantment. The detail that attracted a small laugh from Mara was that this mask, unlike her old design, included four straps. I wanted to give you a fearsome skull. But Solvi said your country doesn't like necromancers. So, we wink at the necromancy only. Julie grinned as Mara slipped the mask beneath her veil. With a few metallic clicks, a questing hand ensured it fit properly before pulling the veil from her face. Julie, despite herself, gasped at the unintended effect. Beneath the veil, the larger uncovered holes allowed those around the table to see her true eyes. The pale flesh surrounding them was laced with dark veins that pulsed weakly, though she appeared to have eyelashes much like the average elf. The element that had disturbed Julie was the blackened whites the Herald had first seen, glowing white irises lending an eerie quality to the person behind the mask. More of you will take some getting used to. Solvi smiled as she looked directly into Mara's eyes. The mage turned to Armin who pinched his chin in mock thought. She returned her gaze to Julie who seemed to have controlled herself. In fact, a new emotion played about the chevalier's face. An insatiable curiosity had manifested in the other woman's eyes. This mask fits tightly, how will I eat? Mara asked, the lower jaw of the mask working in time with the lips beneath. The mage seemed taken aback by the sensation before her hands tested the mechanism experimentally. Oh, that's very clever. I'm going to eat a whole side of yotul with this. Mara grinned through her enthusiasm.