Mara lay in her bed, staring up at the ceiling. Since their return from Elys, her life had become considerably more sedate than she perhaps liked. Aldritch Haytham had pestered her for an interview, which she refused out of principle more than anything. Instead, she’d allowed the seasoned spin artists of the queen’s spymistress’ households to do their work. By which she meant Fred and Twitcher. The two of them had become inseparable from Arthur, who tempered their wild exaggerations and vague threats to Ardan with a reasoned account of their adventure. Dana had been sent for the night they’d managed to retrieve Ranva’s body from the temple to Cailleach. Thankfully, that portal had remained stable once Lyn and Recala agreed to stop arguing. Now, with Dana’s imminent arrival from the Crucible, Mara had found herself completely out of words. What could she say to her? The mage had to reckon with the fact that she’d not known Ranva all that well. Only through the shared peril they’d endured tied her to Dana.
She wriggled angrily with hands held to her face. Solvi and Julie were the closest advisors and they lived in the hermitage. Fred had joined in the rebuilding efforts and seemed to currently live in the half-finished roof of a nearby house. Twitcher was criticizing Captain Rochefort’s crew on their handling of Sanlaters. If Mara listened carefully, she could hear the man’s exasperated sighs. Ardan’s whereabouts had become Arthur’s obsession. He pored over reports from the other nations of sightings or rumours. Both Mara and Marie had informed him that as a master of illusions he was unlikely to be wearing his own face. It had been two weeks without so much as a whisper from the Army. Even Albrecht had been packaged up and sent to his fuming father who, from his correspondence with Mara, was angrier that he’d been impersonated than anything else. Standard Spardali priorities.
And then there was Armin. Where once his voice quipped and sniped with witty insight, now there was only silence. The book he’d taken to reading before they left lay open on the desk, a thin film of dust gathering atop it. Mara wanted to cry, to rend the sheets and curtains in fury at her lot. But nothing would come. For the first time in seventy-two years, she was once again truly alone. And all the tears, screams and protestations seemed insufficient. All that remained were the gaps in her life where her friend had once been. And the squalid silence of her own mind. Within the bowels of that terrible device, she had found herself and the strength to be that person. The fact was poor consolation in the face of a question that plagued her since the loss of Armin. Who was she without him?
A knocking at the door disrupted her melancholy. Mara’s deadpan invitation to enter was met by a slow, shy entrance by an unknown elf woman. She was the same age, if appearance was any indication. Which it rarely was where elves were concerned. She was a dark-skinned woman with her curled hair tied neatly into a loose bun, half-moon spectacles resting on her nose. She wore a grease-stained shirt and baggy overalls, thick work boots and protective gloves looped through a burn-spotted leather belt. A rucksack on her shoulder jangled as she put it down, cracking her back with some relief. Then her eyes noticed Mara’s appearance and repressed something. The mage had seen it many times since her return to Elys, mostly from people with the good sense not to comment. She was convinced that Lyn hadn’t purely because that would require having principles. Or a belief.
“I was told this was Mara’s room.” The guest spoke in a small voice, her eyes sliding over every detail of the room. Her eyes lingered on the book on the desk as Mara slid herself up against the headboard. “My name is Dana. I couldn’t delay once I heard what happened.” Ranva’s daughter introduced herself. Now that Mara’s attention had been engaged fully, the mage noticed an intricate tracery of lighter tones along Dana’s left arm. Historical injury most likely. As her guest noticed the stare, she shifted her arm behind her back. Mara cleared her throat, attempting to get a handle on herself. Whoever that was.
“Yes, I’m Mara. Condolences about your mother. I wish there was more I could have done.” Mara spoke almost automatically, her mind seemingly elsewhere. She fidgeted with the sickle on her lap, once again reminded of its existence.
“You did all someone should do when partaking in someone else’s crusade.” Dana countermanded frostily, a hint of bitter edge to her voice. With her momentary reaction quelled she soothed her features with an apologetic look. Mara could hardly blame her. She sensed history she was not privy to once again manifesting. “I came to offer mine and her apologies. And my condolences. I understand someone died for her choices.” The brown-haired elf observed darkly. She then drew a seat casually from the desk and dragged it to the bedside, seating herself promptly after. “Her end was expected. I didn’t expect her to take someone else.”
“You’ve been misinformed. We were there independently. I wanted to work with her.” Mara corrected, staring into the middle distance as she did so. “She wanted my sora too. I wanted to save him. She likely intended to kill him.” The mage continued as Dana appeared to absorb her words with a thoughtful stare between her boots. “And now, I am faced with the same decision she made. It’s all an absurd cycle, isn’t it?” The three-eyed woman thought aloud, appearing unable to truly appreciate the presence of her conversation partner.
“My mother wasn’t shy about paving her path to peace in the blood of anyone who opposed her.” Dana noted with a curled lip. She then looked up at Mara, who still stared into a void only she could see. “I won’t pretend to know you. Or advise you. But it really is a cycle.” The industrial elf philosophized as she leant back in her chair. Curiously, she left her scarred arm on display. Burn scars, now that Mara could see them closely.
“Forgive me. It seems strange that you’re attending a funeral for someone who you have vitriol for.” Mara opined with an airy voice, looking towards the ceiling. Her throat had begun to hurt after such a short conversation. She must be falling ill. Unsurprising given the amount of travelling she’d been up to.
“I’m here to bury the mother I remember. Not the woman she was at the end.” Dana responded in a surprisingly neutral tone. Her ambivalent interlocutor turned all three eyes on her in that moment, almost laughing at the absurdity in that moment. What little coincidences the world enjoyed working on her. The strong woman opposite her tilted her chin up challengingly, eyes narrowing. Mara held up her hands, fighting back a cough. She took a sip from water far staler than she’d expected.
“It’s ironic. You mourn a woman who was lost. I mourn a man who was found.” She eventually explained herself. With some effort, she slid from the bed and almost fell with how weak she felt. Dana suddenly leapt out of her seat to ensure Mara did not fall, supporting almost her entire weight. “Goodness. I must have been more tired than I thought.” The mage posited with an eye back toward her bed. Her guest however had an entirely different theory, practically carrying Mara from her room with surprisingly little effort. “You’re quite strong. You should meet Solvi and compare notes.” Mara complimented as the two of them made their way down the grand staircase to the dining room.
“I have met Solvi. Two days ago. When, I am assured, you were last checked on.” Dana grumbled as she placed Mara in a seat. The other elf looked up at her now rescuer with confusion, mentally doing the mathematics. That explained it then. She hadn’t eaten a morsel in two days. “Why didn’t anyone check you were eating?” She asked with irritation, more towards perceived neglect Mara hoped. She’d hate to be an imposition. The elf waved an errant hand dismissively, snorting at the very suggestion.
“Everyone’s got their obsessions. They’re all busy. We can hardly expect people to drop their life because I’m having a wobbly.” Mara placated as Geoffrey strutted through the dining hall, directing the staff to lay the table for dinner. He noted his formerly absent guest with an arched eyebrow and a polite inquiry as to whether she actually wanted to eat today. Dana strode up to him, using her impressive stature to cast him in shadow. Mara lifted an arm to wave her down. Such theatrics weren’t necessary. Though he did not consider grief something he could treat, the butler swiftly sent for bread and cheese. Hunger, at least, could be remedied fairly quickly.
Once her food had arrived, Dana sat with her charge even as she tore apart and devoured a whole loaf as if it were as insubstantial as a cloud. Her eyes lingered on Mara’s sharp teeth as they dug into a spare hunk of dried meat the staff had brought. She had to be reminded more than once to pace herself, which she ruefully complied with.
“Are you sure you’re able to attend tomorrow?” Dana asked softly, placing a hand on Mara’s forearm. She almost automatically pulled away as if the cloak and clothing still hid her form. She offered a muted apology as she continued to nibble away at her repast. She was hardly infirm. Forgetting to eat wasn’t uncommon. Mara briefly smiled as she imagined the joke Armin would have made. Something to do with not eating for centuries and being perfectly fine. As mealtime approached, the subjects of the meagre guest list approached the table with hunger in their eyes. Mara and Dana were joined by the countess and several of her local officials. Arthur even emerged from the cocoon of paper and leather bindings he called his bedroom to join them. He looked as wan and anxiety riddled as expected, his mind evidently still possessed by the search for Renaud.
“I’m fine. A good meal and a strong drink and I’ll be back to top form.” Mara dismissed as she stared with hungry eyes at the roast Geoffrey was occupied with expertly carving. Her mind slid involuntarily to surgery, causing her breath to catch. She breathed in deeply, counting as her meal was served. Arthur barely noticed his food as it was placed in front of him. He looked at the table as if he could divine Renaud’s location from the contours of the grain. “I just lost my mind for a little bit.” The elf assured her sceptical new acquaintance.
“Did you see anything useful when you found it again?” Arthur asked gravely. He almost reluctantly began to eat, pawing through his notebook quite suddenly. The mage paused mid bite as she was asked, a look of disapproval taking over. Dana quietly began eating, stare firmly planted at her lap.
“As I’ve told you and every spymaster, lowdown human gangster, purveyor of skulduggery and investigative service this side of the Prismatic Ocean I have no idea where my sora is.” Mara reminded her cleric friend with a barbed tone. She then returned briefly to her meal to finish her bite while Arthur regarded her with a surly expression. It seemed reminders would purchase little peace from the obsessed human. “Ardan is an intelligent man. He fooled literally everyone in his life. He’s not going to be stupid enough to show up in Yanhelm University or my apartment or any of the other places we used to talk at. He even convinced me he was a good man.” Mara stabbed at her meal with that final observation, her face a contorted snarl of hatred. But it was soon soothed away, almost instantly. But Arthur had been a cleric for far too long not to notice the symptoms. He narrowed his eyes at Mara, returning to his meal in suspicious silence.
With her meal complete and her body able to carry her once more, the necromancer found herself tempted to walk the streets of Lureaux. It had become a prolonged pattern that her thoughts now recognized. One that became worse with each cycle. Ephemeral bouts of activity intercepted by a desire to sleep so rapturous that she’d been found napping in a broom closet by a very disgruntled maid. She’d best make use of this phase then.
Mara had begun to scrounge together her fishing supplies from the kind stablemaster’s shed of spares, having promised herself that she’d enjoy something fresh some days passed. With her recent fast, she’d only made the gnawing hunger for life all the more present in her body. As she struggled with a tackle box, she heard the heavy footsteps of a powerfully built man. Turning, she saw a curiously diplomatic Arthur entering the shed with a hand stretched forth.
“Well, you’re not going to find him in here.” Mara said dryly as she finished closing up the tackle box and nesting it under her arm. She’d hoped Dana would have joined her, but the ever-busy elf had determined to finish some designs for Unity, the first sentient artificial entity since Elys. Perhaps she would go visit him one day, if she found the time.
“I’m not here for Renaud.” Arthur corrected curtly. He looked behind him conspiratorially before shutting the shed door, a concerned look overtaking him as he looked to his friend. “I’m here because of you. You have not been yourself lately. And I’m worried that giving you time to process is having a bad effect.” The cleric explained in a soft voice Mara surmised was the voice he used when talking to those in need of his intervention. The mage set the tackle box and rod on a nearby table, her expression a studied neutrality. “You have been too long in the mask. Every single thought that enters your head is on your face that very second.” He added with an understanding smile. One that Mara found distinctly irritating for some unknown reason.
“I’m fine. I have been fine.” Mara reassured tightly, emphatically. She understood the concern, truly. But it was exceptionally irksome to be asked whether she was alright every few minutes. Minutes which had become days, she reminded herself. Slipping in and out of sleep so frequently that the days had ceased to carry meaning. “Once the funeral and Renaud are done with, I shall be hale again. Perhaps the University might even let me keep my job! Oh, I can hear the pompous concerns of parents now.” Mara paced restlessly before coming to a stop and staring at Arthur briefly. Without a word, she grumpily picked up her affects and attempted to push past him. He grabbed her shoulder and shoved her back firmly, determination burning in his eyes.
“You are not dealing with this!” Arthur snarled as he did so. “Your grief will only consume you if you ignore it. Armin-.”
“Don’t!” Mara barked with a finger poised directly under his chin. “Don’t tell me what he would have wanted. I spoke to him. And I watched him die. I heard him get dragged away by that- that thing!” The mage foundered as she attempted to relay what she’d seen in Annun. The robed creature that merely wore the guise of mortal flesh. But the power it had emanated was terrifying, something no mortal mage could hope to achieve. Arthur did not know the horror.
He embraced her regardless, seeing the unchecked terror in her eyes.
“What were his last words to you, then? Did he want you to suffer?” Arthur asked gently, hoping to crack at least some of Mara’s shell. The question seemed to have the opposite of the intended effect as she shoved him away, the area around her eyes a dark purple colour.
“He wanted me to live. To survive.” Mara answered with dreadful surety, which confused Arthur somewhat. “He also asked that I send Ardan back to Annun. He asked me to kill him.” The mage relayed with that same intensity. Arthur, who held no love for Renaud, hung his head in shame as he realised the gravity of their circumstance. His friend had restraint, refusing to kill even the most hateful of people. And now, she felt torn between her duty to Armin’s last wish and her own sentiments for her sora. An unenviable position he would not wish on anyone.
“Why do you call him Ardan, Mara?” Arthur asked with diligent calm. It would not help matters to show his own feelings on the matter. Something of the hatred he felt for Renaud must have entered his expression however, for the elf huffed an exasperated sigh.
“Because it’s easier to think of the man who destroyed everything I valued as separate from Gaius. The man who helped me through my darkest times should not share a name with the creature I saw in that chamber.” Mara answered in a voice choked with emotion, unable to contain the grief that had consumed her. Even now she struggled against it, gasping against the sobs like she was dying. Arthur could tell that his friend knew the opposite to be true. Sustaining the fiction helped her, he supposed. “I know how Twitcher felt now. I used to look at our history as an inspiration. Now, whenever I think of them, I see him. Trying to kill us. Killing Armin. It won’t end until I face him.” Mara looked to Arthur then with eyes so filled with defeat he feared for her. He was too aghast to stop his friend as she once more pushed past him and made some comment about fish not biting after sunset, brushing tears from her cheeks.
The next day dawned as perfectly fit for a funeral. The claws of winter had not yet released their grip and a thick, icy rain poured over the graveyard that once housed the nationalist rally. The statue of Zareth stood in the storm with his cold eyes looking to the south. It seemed so lifeless as the funerary procession moved past him. Dana carried the urn of her mother while Mara carried an urn for Armin. An empty, symbolic gesture that felt meaningless to the overcome mage who bore it. Solvi and Julie held umbrellas aloft for the pair of them as they walked hand in hand to the graves that yawned wide for their occupants. A traditional elvish burial was all they could do to honour the departed as Dana openly wept for the memory of Ranva.
As they climbed the hill against the cold, Mara looked back to see her friends wearing their best garb. Fred had borrowed a fetching black suit, a top hat adorning his head as he led the guests. Solvi wore a suit that miraculously fit her well, hair tied back. Julie felt it only right that she don her IXth Legion armour. An entire regiment had been assigned as escort. Though the vampire queen did not think Renaud low enough to attack a funeral, she was a cautious woman by nature. She and the countess attended as a show of thanks for their sacrifice. Without it, so the papers said, the fearsome Mira Ir Tolves would have returned to wreak havoc upon an unsuspecting world. It hadn’t done that. It hadn’t done anything, Mara thought scornfully.
Arthur had agreed to perform last rites as an act of unity in the face of recent events. He stood in a flowing green cassock before Dana and Mara, braving the worst the elements could throw at him as his beard whipped over his shoulder. In addition to his usual armband, he’d donned the mantle of Sirona which consisted of a living braid of several colourful plants.
Lorana and Merddyn had been called to carry the trees that would be planted over the urns as grave markers. Merddyn now bore a scar on his cheek, having been retrieved from a rock in the Bay of Fangs after Renaud had attacked him. Renata had been considerably worse off, now forced to use her staff as a crutch. She itched idly at her eyepatch, something Fred had been giving copious amounts of advice on up until the procession had begun. Yet more lives changed by the actions of one man. The poorer citizens of Lureaux had also joined in solidarity for those who fell. Mara had expected a defeated people, broken by the loss of their homes and loved ones. Instead, as she followed Arthur, she saw only anger and resolve in their eyes. Even through tears, Mara could see murder coiling itself about their hearts.
A hastily erected tent had been stationed at the grave site. Even with its impressive size, it would not contain the swathes that had come. As Dana and Mara filed into the tent with their burdens, they’d never felt their weight more. The small holes dug for the urns seemed insufficient, lacking somehow. The fact they were needed at all was tragic enough for the mage. Yet here she stood, holding an empty urn in memory of a man who died five centuries prior. She still felt him, regardless. His absence had only grown keener, digging into Mara’s very soul.
“Just as the Lady brings life, so too the Lord must bring death. We stand here in remembrance of Ranva Ver Morn and Armin Van Brenin, mages both and gifted with Gwydion’s wisdom.” Arthur began in a sonorous voice which carried to the spectators who’d began to crowd around the tent. The rites themselves were usually given after the gods were invoked, brought to know their devotees. “Ranva hailed from Renora. Though she was born there, her daughter wishes that she lay next to the sea where she might find peace in its depths. Armin hailed from a country long since passed, the Yandite Empire. He detested it and so Mara, his friend of seventy-two years has asked that he be buried with his kin, under the watchful eyes of Arawn.” The cleric continued with conviction, taking his mantle from his shoulders and, with a swift flex, separating it in two. One half he laid in each grave as a nest the urn might sit upon, muttering spells of protection and rest. “To Ranva I give my blessing for her journey. To Armin, I give my blessing for his journey. Those who remain, present your gifts to the departed.” Arthur spoke the last words with a gentle, sombre tone. He did not wish the spectators to hear him, a tradition to prevent grave robbery. Dana heaved a deep steadying breath, eyes red with tears as she produced a small doll. Mara numbly reached within her black robes and took from them a replica of her mask along with the sickle, repaired as best she could.
“For my mother, I give her the doll she made me. I hope she remembers me and finds comfort with it, as I once did.” Dana sniffed through tears, laying the doll in the grave. As she stood once more, she choked back a sob, as if the wish alone had been insufficient.
“For my friend, I give him the mask he inhabited and the sickle he bore. May the mask remind him of the help he gave me. May the sickle give him a home in the hereafter. You were a better man.” Mara at first spoke with an automatic, suppressed tone that soon broke. The tide of grief that had been held in check until that moment erupted from the recesses of her mind as a river bursting its banks. She found herself unable to stand, a strangled cry of despair escaping her. Solvi stooped, taking her companion into an embrace with soothing words. Arthur smiled sadly as the pair let their grief overcome them before returning to his duty.
“We ask that these souls take their path to Annun with surety and peace, without regret or hesitance. We lay them to rest in remembrance of the light they brought to our lives and in forgiveness of the darkness. We leave this place in faith that they shall remain at rest, in the hope of new life and in the passing of grief. Give us the strength to take them forward as our mentors.” Arthur concluded the proceedings by inviting Mara and Dana to place the urns in their rest. Dana parted with her urn, showing strength as her sorrow expanded beyond her expectations. Mara placed Armin’s urn as if her hands were stuck to it. She sat with her hands upon the urn for a few seconds, staring at his name engraved upon it. Empty, but somehow real. If she removed her hands, his death became real. She grit her teeth against the cold despair that grew in her breast, standing with silent goodbyes as Lorana came forward with the tree that would be his marker.
Neither of the two could bear to see the graves filled, turning away to seek comfort. Mara found it in Solvi’s arms while Dana looked about as a lost soul, sucking sobs escaping her every so often. The mage reached out and brought her fellow mourner into the embrace, holding her close. She wouldn’t countenance someone alone in their grief. Not today.
Once Arthur had placed his blessings for long life and protection upon the trees, Lorana carved fey signets into the wood with a few swift motions of her hand. Merddyn took from his pocket several aulind rings which he hung from the branches of Ranva’s tree. With the final protections in place, Mara and Dana tied the zeffi about the boughs of the graves. They then departed the graves, as was tradition. It was seen as bad luck to remain at the grave once the rituals had been completed.
The pair must have made for a grim sight. The crowd outside parted with bowed heads as they began to return to the manor. Far from bringing closure, Mara felt as if her carefully concealed sorrow had torn itself a ragged hole in her thoughts. Now memories of Armin rose unbidden to her waking mind, possessing every fibre of a firing nest of neurons. Arthur would have told her that this was healthy. A natural part of the process. It felt far from it. It felt like a wound, open and gangrenous. And no salve would bring salvation until the man responsible lay bleeding at her feet. As she walked through the graveyard with Dana, Solvi and Julie at her side, she saw the repaired remains of her combat with the Herald. Hate had possessed her then too. But she had been weak. What wonders would her hatred inflict upon Ardan, now?
“Do you think she found it?” Dana asked morosely to the empty air. Mara looked over to see the melancholy elf staring at her with sullen eyes. The mage thought for a few moments, deciding whether or not to reveal the truth. Deciding against it, she looked to the sky pensively.
“Do not have regrets for the dead. They are at peace.” Mara echoed Ranva, hoping her words would bring comfort to her daughter. They seemed to remove some of the hurt, supply some ointment to her sorrow. But as the sorrow gave ground, a new emotion moved in to occupy it. An emotion that Mara too felt boiling in her chest, reticent to remove itself.
“She may be at peace. But I am not. And I won’t be until I see justice done.” Dana growled with such intensity that Julie looked with concern to Solvi, who subtly shook her head. There could be no reckoning with a hatred so pure, so undiluted. A reminder of a mother’s love had soured to yearning for retribution. A retribution that Mara sorely desired as well, unable to contain herself. She did not know what she would do to Renaud once she found him. She only knew that there must be punishment, a reckoning for all his misdeeds. Not just in the name of those lost and those that remained. But those who remained who did not yet know their tragedy. Somewhere, in the murky depths of time, he would return to reap devastation once again. It was all that was left of her sora, Mara thought with regret. Whether by the sword of justice or Solvi’s axe, he must pay the price.
“If you’d permit me a small detour, I will take you to him.” Mara spoke in a low voice, eyes fixed on the harbour of Lureaux and the Sanlater that lay within it. Solvi and Julie erupted into accusations, recusals and unheeded advice, demanding to know where the wretch had secreted himself. Mara only had eyes for Dana, whose face became a terrible mask of determined fury. The two made a silent pact, one which Renaud in his hideaway would perceive most grievously.
Mara lay in her bed, staring up at the ceiling. Since their return from Elys, her life had become considerably more sedate than she perhaps liked. Aldritch Haytham had pestered her for an interview, which she refused out of principle more than anything. Instead, she’d allowed the seasoned spin artists of the queen’s spymistress’ households to do their work. By which she meant Fred and Twitcher. The two of them had become inseparable from Arthur, who tempered their wild exaggerations and vague threats to Ardan with a reasoned account of their adventure. Dana had been sent for the night they’d managed to retrieve Ranva’s body from the temple to Cailleach. Thankfully, that portal had remained stable once Lyn and Recala agreed to stop arguing. Now, with Dana’s imminent arrival from the Crucible, Mara had found herself completely out of words. What could she say to her? The mage had to reckon with the fact that she’d not known Ranva all that well. Only through the shared peril they’d endured tied her to Dana.
She wriggled angrily with hands held to her face. Solvi and Julie were the closest advisors and they lived in the hermitage. Fred had joined in the rebuilding efforts and seemed to currently live in the half-finished roof of a nearby house. Twitcher was criticizing Captain Rochefort’s crew on their handling of Sanlaters. If Mara listened carefully, she could hear the man’s exasperated sighs. Ardan’s whereabouts had become Arthur’s obsession. He pored over reports from the other nations of sightings or rumours. Both Mara and Marie had informed him that as a master of illusions he was unlikely to be wearing his own face. It had been two weeks without so much as a whisper from the Army. Even Albrecht had been packaged up and sent to his fuming father who, from his correspondence with Mara, was angrier that he’d been impersonated than anything else. Standard Spardali priorities.
And then there was Armin. Where once his voice quipped and sniped with witty insight, now there was only silence. The book he’d taken to reading before they left lay open on the desk, a thin film of dust gathering atop it. Mara wanted to cry, to rend the sheets and curtains in fury at her lot. But nothing would come. For the first time in seventy-two years, she was once again truly alone. And all the tears, screams and protestations seemed insufficient. All that remained were the gaps in her life where her friend had once been. And the squalid silence of her own mind. Within the bowels of that terrible device, she had found herself and the strength to be that person. The fact was poor consolation in the face of a question that plagued her since the loss of Armin. Who was she without him?
A knocking at the door disrupted her melancholy. Mara’s deadpan invitation to enter was met by a slow, shy entrance by an unknown elf woman. She was the same age, if appearance was any indication. Which it rarely was where elves were concerned. She was a dark-skinned woman with her curled hair tied neatly into a loose bun, half-moon spectacles resting on her nose. She wore a grease-stained shirt and baggy overalls, thick work boots and protective gloves looped through a burn-spotted leather belt. A rucksack on her shoulder jangled as she put it down, cracking her back with some relief. Then her eyes noticed Mara’s appearance and repressed something. The mage had seen it many times since her return to Elys, mostly from people with the good sense not to comment. She was convinced that Lyn hadn’t purely because that would require having principles. Or a belief.
“I was told this was Mara’s room.” The guest spoke in a small voice, her eyes sliding over every detail of the room. Her eyes lingered on the book on the desk as Mara slid herself up against the headboard. “My name is Dana. I couldn’t delay once I heard what happened.” Ranva’s daughter introduced herself. Now that Mara’s attention had been engaged fully, the mage noticed an intricate tracery of lighter tones along Dana’s left arm. Historical injury most likely. As her guest noticed the stare, she shifted her arm behind her back. Mara cleared her throat, attempting to get a handle on herself. Whoever that was.
“Yes, I’m Mara. Condolences about your mother. I wish there was more I could have done.” Mara spoke almost automatically, her mind seemingly elsewhere. She fidgeted with the sickle on her lap, once again reminded of its existence.
“You did all someone should do when partaking in someone else’s crusade.” Dana countermanded frostily, a hint of bitter edge to her voice. With her momentary reaction quelled she soothed her features with an apologetic look. Mara could hardly blame her. She sensed history she was not privy to once again manifesting. “I came to offer mine and her apologies. And my condolences. I understand someone died for her choices.” The brown-haired elf observed darkly. She then drew a seat casually from the desk and dragged it to the bedside, seating herself promptly after. “Her end was expected. I didn’t expect her to take someone else.”
“You’ve been misinformed. We were there independently. I wanted to work with her.” Mara corrected, staring into the middle distance as she did so. “She wanted my sora too. I wanted to save him. She likely intended to kill him.” The mage continued as Dana appeared to absorb her words with a thoughtful stare between her boots. “And now, I am faced with the same decision she made. It’s all an absurd cycle, isn’t it?” The three-eyed woman thought aloud, appearing unable to truly appreciate the presence of her conversation partner.
“My mother wasn’t shy about paving her path to peace in the blood of anyone who opposed her.” Dana noted with a curled lip. She then looked up at Mara, who still stared into a void only she could see. “I won’t pretend to know you. Or advise you. But it really is a cycle.” The industrial elf philosophized as she leant back in her chair. Curiously, she left her scarred arm on display. Burn scars, now that Mara could see them closely.
“Forgive me. It seems strange that you’re attending a funeral for someone who you have vitriol for.” Mara opined with an airy voice, looking towards the ceiling. Her throat had begun to hurt after such a short conversation. She must be falling ill. Unsurprising given the amount of travelling she’d been up to.
“I’m here to bury the mother I remember. Not the woman she was at the end.” Dana responded in a surprisingly neutral tone. Her ambivalent interlocutor turned all three eyes on her in that moment, almost laughing at the absurdity in that moment. What little coincidences the world enjoyed working on her. The strong woman opposite her tilted her chin up challengingly, eyes narrowing. Mara held up her hands, fighting back a cough. She took a sip from water far staler than she’d expected.
“It’s ironic. You mourn a woman who was lost. I mourn a man who was found.” She eventually explained herself. With some effort, she slid from the bed and almost fell with how weak she felt. Dana suddenly leapt out of her seat to ensure Mara did not fall, supporting almost her entire weight. “Goodness. I must have been more tired than I thought.” The mage posited with an eye back toward her bed. Her guest however had an entirely different theory, practically carrying Mara from her room with surprisingly little effort. “You’re quite strong. You should meet Solvi and compare notes.” Mara complimented as the two of them made their way down the grand staircase to the dining room.
“I have met Solvi. Two days ago. When, I am assured, you were last checked on.” Dana grumbled as she placed Mara in a seat. The other elf looked up at her now rescuer with confusion, mentally doing the mathematics. That explained it then. She hadn’t eaten a morsel in two days. “Why didn’t anyone check you were eating?” She asked with irritation, more towards perceived neglect Mara hoped. She’d hate to be an imposition. The elf waved an errant hand dismissively, snorting at the very suggestion.
“Everyone’s got their obsessions. They’re all busy. We can hardly expect people to drop their life because I’m having a wobbly.” Mara placated as Geoffrey strutted through the dining hall, directing the staff to lay the table for dinner. He noted his formerly absent guest with an arched eyebrow and a polite inquiry as to whether she actually wanted to eat today. Dana strode up to him, using her impressive stature to cast him in shadow. Mara lifted an arm to wave her down. Such theatrics weren’t necessary. Though he did not consider grief something he could treat, the butler swiftly sent for bread and cheese. Hunger, at least, could be remedied fairly quickly.
Once her food had arrived, Dana sat with her charge even as she tore apart and devoured a whole loaf as if it were as insubstantial as a cloud. Her eyes lingered on Mara’s sharp teeth as they dug into a spare hunk of dried meat the staff had brought. She had to be reminded more than once to pace herself, which she ruefully complied with.
“Are you sure you’re able to attend tomorrow?” Dana asked softly, placing a hand on Mara’s forearm. She almost automatically pulled away as if the cloak and clothing still hid her form. She offered a muted apology as she continued to nibble away at her repast. She was hardly infirm. Forgetting to eat wasn’t uncommon. Mara briefly smiled as she imagined the joke Armin would have made. Something to do with not eating for centuries and being perfectly fine. As mealtime approached, the subjects of the meagre guest list approached the table with hunger in their eyes. Mara and Dana were joined by the countess and several of her local officials. Arthur even emerged from the cocoon of paper and leather bindings he called his bedroom to join them. He looked as wan and anxiety riddled as expected, his mind evidently still possessed by the search for Renaud.
“I’m fine. A good meal and a strong drink and I’ll be back to top form.” Mara dismissed as she stared with hungry eyes at the roast Geoffrey was occupied with expertly carving. Her mind slid involuntarily to surgery, causing her breath to catch. She breathed in deeply, counting as her meal was served. Arthur barely noticed his food as it was placed in front of him. He looked at the table as if he could divine Renaud’s location from the contours of the grain. “I just lost my mind for a little bit.” The elf assured her sceptical new acquaintance.
“Did you see anything useful when you found it again?” Arthur asked gravely. He almost reluctantly began to eat, pawing through his notebook quite suddenly. The mage paused mid bite as she was asked, a look of disapproval taking over. Dana quietly began eating, stare firmly planted at her lap.
“As I’ve told you and every spymaster, lowdown human gangster, purveyor of skulduggery and investigative service this side of the Prismatic Ocean I have no idea where my sora is.” Mara reminded her cleric friend with a barbed tone. She then returned briefly to her meal to finish her bite while Arthur regarded her with a surly expression. It seemed reminders would purchase little peace from the obsessed human. “Ardan is an intelligent man. He fooled literally everyone in his life. He’s not going to be stupid enough to show up in Yanhelm University or my apartment or any of the other places we used to talk at. He even convinced me he was a good man.” Mara stabbed at her meal with that final observation, her face a contorted snarl of hatred. But it was soon soothed away, almost instantly. But Arthur had been a cleric for far too long not to notice the symptoms. He narrowed his eyes at Mara, returning to his meal in suspicious silence.
With her meal complete and her body able to carry her once more, the necromancer found herself tempted to walk the streets of Lureaux. It had become a prolonged pattern that her thoughts now recognized. One that became worse with each cycle. Ephemeral bouts of activity intercepted by a desire to sleep so rapturous that she’d been found napping in a broom closet by a very disgruntled maid. She’d best make use of this phase then.
Mara had begun to scrounge together her fishing supplies from the kind stablemaster’s shed of spares, having promised herself that she’d enjoy something fresh some days passed. With her recent fast, she’d only made the gnawing hunger for life all the more present in her body. As she struggled with a tackle box, she heard the heavy footsteps of a powerfully built man. Turning, she saw a curiously diplomatic Arthur entering the shed with a hand stretched forth.
“Well, you’re not going to find him in here.” Mara said dryly as she finished closing up the tackle box and nesting it under her arm. She’d hoped Dana would have joined her, but the ever-busy elf had determined to finish some designs for Unity, the first sentient artificial entity since Elys. Perhaps she would go visit him one day, if she found the time.
“I’m not here for Renaud.” Arthur corrected curtly. He looked behind him conspiratorially before shutting the shed door, a concerned look overtaking him as he looked to his friend. “I’m here because of you. You have not been yourself lately. And I’m worried that giving you time to process is having a bad effect.” The cleric explained in a soft voice Mara surmised was the voice he used when talking to those in need of his intervention. The mage set the tackle box and rod on a nearby table, her expression a studied neutrality. “You have been too long in the mask. Every single thought that enters your head is on your face that very second.” He added with an understanding smile. One that Mara found distinctly irritating for some unknown reason.
“I’m fine. I have been fine.” Mara reassured tightly, emphatically. She understood the concern, truly. But it was exceptionally irksome to be asked whether she was alright every few minutes. Minutes which had become days, she reminded herself. Slipping in and out of sleep so frequently that the days had ceased to carry meaning. “Once the funeral and Renaud are done with, I shall be hale again. Perhaps the University might even let me keep my job! Oh, I can hear the pompous concerns of parents now.” Mara paced restlessly before coming to a stop and staring at Arthur briefly. Without a word, she grumpily picked up her affects and attempted to push past him. He grabbed her shoulder and shoved her back firmly, determination burning in his eyes.
“You are not dealing with this!” Arthur snarled as he did so. “Your grief will only consume you if you ignore it. Armin-.”
“Don’t!” Mara barked with a finger poised directly under his chin. “Don’t tell me what he would have wanted. I spoke to him. And I watched him die. I heard him get dragged away by that- that thing!” The mage foundered as she attempted to relay what she’d seen in Annun. The robed creature that merely wore the guise of mortal flesh. But the power it had emanated was terrifying, something no mortal mage could hope to achieve. Arthur did not know the horror.
He embraced her regardless, seeing the unchecked terror in her eyes.
“What were his last words to you, then? Did he want you to suffer?” Arthur asked gently, hoping to crack at least some of Mara’s shell. The question seemed to have the opposite of the intended effect as she shoved him away, the area around her eyes a dark purple colour.
“He wanted me to live. To survive.” Mara answered with dreadful surety, which confused Arthur somewhat. “He also asked that I send Ardan back to Annun. He asked me to kill him.” The mage relayed with that same intensity. Arthur, who held no love for Renaud, hung his head in shame as he realised the gravity of their circumstance. His friend had restraint, refusing to kill even the most hateful of people. And now, she felt torn between her duty to Armin’s last wish and her own sentiments for her sora. An unenviable position he would not wish on anyone.
“Why do you call him Ardan, Mara?” Arthur asked with diligent calm. It would not help matters to show his own feelings on the matter. Something of the hatred he felt for Renaud must have entered his expression however, for the elf huffed an exasperated sigh.
“Because it’s easier to think of the man who destroyed everything I valued as separate from Gaius. The man who helped me through my darkest times should not share a name with the creature I saw in that chamber.” Mara answered in a voice choked with emotion, unable to contain the grief that had consumed her. Even now she struggled against it, gasping against the sobs like she was dying. Arthur could tell that his friend knew the opposite to be true. Sustaining the fiction helped her, he supposed. “I know how Twitcher felt now. I used to look at our history as an inspiration. Now, whenever I think of them, I see him. Trying to kill us. Killing Armin. It won’t end until I face him.” Mara looked to Arthur then with eyes so filled with defeat he feared for her. He was too aghast to stop his friend as she once more pushed past him and made some comment about fish not biting after sunset, brushing tears from her cheeks.
The next day dawned as perfectly fit for a funeral. The claws of winter had not yet released their grip and a thick, icy rain poured over the graveyard that once housed the nationalist rally. The statue of Zareth stood in the storm with his cold eyes looking to the south. It seemed so lifeless as the funerary procession moved past him. Dana carried the urn of her mother while Mara carried an urn for Armin. An empty, symbolic gesture that felt meaningless to the overcome mage who bore it. Solvi and Julie held umbrellas aloft for the pair of them as they walked hand in hand to the graves that yawned wide for their occupants. A traditional elvish burial was all they could do to honour the departed as Dana openly wept for the memory of Ranva.
As they climbed the hill against the cold, Mara looked back to see her friends wearing their best garb. Fred had borrowed a fetching black suit, a top hat adorning his head as he led the guests. Solvi wore a suit that miraculously fit her well, hair tied back. Julie felt it only right that she don her IXth Legion armour. An entire regiment had been assigned as escort. Though the vampire queen did not think Renaud low enough to attack a funeral, she was a cautious woman by nature. She and the countess attended as a show of thanks for their sacrifice. Without it, so the papers said, the fearsome Mira Ir Tolves would have returned to wreak havoc upon an unsuspecting world. It hadn’t done that. It hadn’t done anything, Mara thought scornfully.
Arthur had agreed to perform last rites as an act of unity in the face of recent events. He stood in a flowing green cassock before Dana and Mara, braving the worst the elements could throw at him as his beard whipped over his shoulder. In addition to his usual armband, he’d donned the mantle of Sirona which consisted of a living braid of several colourful plants.
Lorana and Merddyn had been called to carry the trees that would be planted over the urns as grave markers. Merddyn now bore a scar on his cheek, having been retrieved from a rock in the Bay of Fangs after Renaud had attacked him. Renata had been considerably worse off, now forced to use her staff as a crutch. She itched idly at her eyepatch, something Fred had been giving copious amounts of advice on up until the procession had begun. Yet more lives changed by the actions of one man. The poorer citizens of Lureaux had also joined in solidarity for those who fell. Mara had expected a defeated people, broken by the loss of their homes and loved ones. Instead, as she followed Arthur, she saw only anger and resolve in their eyes. Even through tears, Mara could see murder coiling itself about their hearts.
A hastily erected tent had been stationed at the grave site. Even with its impressive size, it would not contain the swathes that had come. As Dana and Mara filed into the tent with their burdens, they’d never felt their weight more. The small holes dug for the urns seemed insufficient, lacking somehow. The fact they were needed at all was tragic enough for the mage. Yet here she stood, holding an empty urn in memory of a man who died five centuries prior. She still felt him, regardless. His absence had only grown keener, digging into Mara’s very soul.
“Just as the Lady brings life, so too the Lord must bring death. We stand here in remembrance of Ranva Ver Morn and Armin Van Brenin, mages both and gifted with Gwydion’s wisdom.” Arthur began in a sonorous voice which carried to the spectators who’d began to crowd around the tent. The rites themselves were usually given after the gods were invoked, brought to know their devotees. “Ranva hailed from Renora. Though she was born there, her daughter wishes that she lay next to the sea where she might find peace in its depths. Armin hailed from a country long since passed, the Yandite Empire. He detested it and so Mara, his friend of seventy-two years has asked that he be buried with his kin, under the watchful eyes of Arawn.” The cleric continued with conviction, taking his mantle from his shoulders and, with a swift flex, separating it in two. One half he laid in each grave as a nest the urn might sit upon, muttering spells of protection and rest. “To Ranva I give my blessing for her journey. To Armin, I give my blessing for his journey. Those who remain, present your gifts to the departed.” Arthur spoke the last words with a gentle, sombre tone. He did not wish the spectators to hear him, a tradition to prevent grave robbery. Dana heaved a deep steadying breath, eyes red with tears as she produced a small doll. Mara numbly reached within her black robes and took from them a replica of her mask along with the sickle, repaired as best she could.
“For my mother, I give her the doll she made me. I hope she remembers me and finds comfort with it, as I once did.” Dana sniffed through tears, laying the doll in the grave. As she stood once more, she choked back a sob, as if the wish alone had been insufficient.
“For my friend, I give him the mask he inhabited and the sickle he bore. May the mask remind him of the help he gave me. May the sickle give him a home in the hereafter. You were a better man.” Mara at first spoke with an automatic, suppressed tone that soon broke. The tide of grief that had been held in check until that moment erupted from the recesses of her mind as a river bursting its banks. She found herself unable to stand, a strangled cry of despair escaping her. Solvi stooped, taking her companion into an embrace with soothing words. Arthur smiled sadly as the pair let their grief overcome them before returning to his duty.
“We ask that these souls take their path to Annun with surety and peace, without regret or hesitance. We lay them to rest in remembrance of the light they brought to our lives and in forgiveness of the darkness. We leave this place in faith that they shall remain at rest, in the hope of new life and in the passing of grief. Give us the strength to take them forward as our mentors.” Arthur concluded the proceedings by inviting Mara and Dana to place the urns in their rest. Dana parted with her urn, showing strength as her sorrow expanded beyond her expectations. Mara placed Armin’s urn as if her hands were stuck to it. She sat with her hands upon the urn for a few seconds, staring at his name engraved upon it. Empty, but somehow real. If she removed her hands, his death became real. She grit her teeth against the cold despair that grew in her breast, standing with silent goodbyes as Lorana came forward with the tree that would be his marker.
Neither of the two could bear to see the graves filled, turning away to seek comfort. Mara found it in Solvi’s arms while Dana looked about as a lost soul, sucking sobs escaping her every so often. The mage reached out and brought her fellow mourner into the embrace, holding her close. She wouldn’t countenance someone alone in their grief. Not today.
Once Arthur had placed his blessings for long life and protection upon the trees, Lorana carved fey signets into the wood with a few swift motions of her hand. Merddyn took from his pocket several aulind rings which he hung from the branches of Ranva’s tree. With the final protections in place, Mara and Dana tied the zeffi about the boughs of the graves. They then departed the graves, as was tradition. It was seen as bad luck to remain at the grave once the rituals had been completed.
The pair must have made for a grim sight. The crowd outside parted with bowed heads as they began to return to the manor. Far from bringing closure, Mara felt as if her carefully concealed sorrow had torn itself a ragged hole in her thoughts. Now memories of Armin rose unbidden to her waking mind, possessing every fibre of a firing nest of neurons. Arthur would have told her that this was healthy. A natural part of the process. It felt far from it. It felt like a wound, open and gangrenous. And no salve would bring salvation until the man responsible lay bleeding at her feet. As she walked through the graveyard with Dana, Solvi and Julie at her side, she saw the repaired remains of her combat with the Herald. Hate had possessed her then too. But she had been weak. What wonders would her hatred inflict upon Ardan, now?
“Do you think she found it?” Dana asked morosely to the empty air. Mara looked over to see the melancholy elf staring at her with sullen eyes. The mage thought for a few moments, deciding whether or not to reveal the truth. Deciding against it, she looked to the sky pensively.
“Do not have regrets for the dead. They are at peace.” Mara echoed Ranva, hoping her words would bring comfort to her daughter. They seemed to remove some of the hurt, supply some ointment to her sorrow. But as the sorrow gave ground, a new emotion moved in to occupy it. An emotion that Mara too felt boiling in her chest, reticent to remove itself.
“She may be at peace. But I am not. And I won’t be until I see justice done.” Dana growled with such intensity that Julie looked with concern to Solvi, who subtly shook her head. There could be no reckoning with a hatred so pure, so undiluted. A reminder of a mother’s love had soured to yearning for retribution. A retribution that Mara sorely desired as well, unable to contain herself. She did not know what she would do to Renaud once she found him. She only knew that there must be punishment, a reckoning for all his misdeeds. Not just in the name of those lost and those that remained. But those who remained who did not yet know their tragedy. Somewhere, in the murky depths of time, he would return to reap devastation once again. It was all that was left of her sora, Mara thought with regret. Whether by the sword of justice or Solvi’s axe, he must pay the price.
“If you’d permit me a small detour, I will take you to him.” Mara spoke in a low voice, eyes fixed on the harbour of Lureaux and the Sanlater that lay within it. Solvi and Julie erupted into accusations, recusals and unheeded advice, demanding to know where the wretch had secreted himself. Mara only had eyes for Dana, whose face became a terrible mask of determined fury. The two made a silent pact, one which Renaud in his hideaway would perceive most grievously.
