The shabby apartment that Solvi and Mara had called home had been deserted for weeks when its occupant returned. Dust had settled into the cracks and orifices and had remained there even as the mage inhabited it. The bedding had been moved from her room to the sofa, which had itself been shifted to sit in front of the brazier. The singing summer air was denied entry as the unmoving mound of blankets and pillows refused to open the windows nor indeed the curtains. Stacks of newspapers sat near the door piled in messy approximations of order. Like the stone strata of the archaeological dig, so long ago, the oldest lay at the bottom. Her spell book remained where she’d flung it that dreadful day, gathering dust on the table. Next to it, the broken pieces of Ranva’s wand lay. Mara had recovered them from the unconscious Renaud who, for some reason, had pocketed them.
In this darkened room, lit only by the smouldering charcoal of the brazier through its grate, the only new addition seemed to be the Crook of Arawn. It stood next to the fireplace, where it might remain warm. The ground around it had been cleared away. Another clink of a bottle falling to the ground announced the source of the mess. The mage’s sofa was surrounded by bottles of all shapes and sizes. Far more than two weeks’ casual consumption. Three bottles remained from the trip kind Torstan had taken for her.
Mara’s repose was disturbed by the door. She had yet another visitor. With a groan, a thin blade of light blinding her, she managed to crawl from within the deep well of the armrest. She attempted not to answer, knowing all too well that doing so only agitated them more. The only thing that had left the apartment since her arrival had been a signed statement for the authorities. Which authorities? That was for them to decide. With a rueful, cynical smile she pondered whether Renaud would escape on the strength of the breadth of his crimes alone. Elys wanted him for besmirching their precious Avon Soram. Idhara wanted him for his nationality and riotous speech writing. Gard wanted him for the kidnapping and murders committed on their soil. The High Council of Spardale had attempted to leverage the situation, demanding he answer for the corrupting of their youth. The slavery probably did that, Mara thought to herself as she rummaged through bottles for a swig of numbness.
“Mara? Mara, it’s Solvi!” Came a call through the door. The mage briefly rested her chin on the armrest, eyes staring at the panels of the door. Her attention was soon caught by the grain. The yellow rivers through brown pastures were more interesting than the stabbing pain in her chest she felt as she heard the voice of her companion.
Her ennui was disrupted by a sudden loud bang, a jolt of fear rousing her. She flexed lethargically onto the armrest, dangling her arms over it with an empty stare about her. “I know you said you needed time. But it’s been two months. You can’t hide in there forever.” Solvi muttered through the door. Moments later, there was a jangling of keys and a grating metallic click of the lock. The rustling of papers came next as her tower of news fell. Then a bottle rolled into another as Solvi made her careful way through the apartment. “Do you have any idea how hard it was to wrangle another key out of the landlord? How have you even been paying rent?” Solvi asked with a perplexed expression as she saw Mara dangling over the arm like a boned fish. She then saw the notices beneath the arm. She picked one up curiously with pursed lips, eyes meeting the sullen elf’s. Though she looked much the same, save for a purple-tipped nose and cheeks, her four horns had grown from their stubby former selves. The top pair were ram-like horns as anticipated, lying flat along her head. The lower two seemed to stop at the length of a finger.
“Did you check in with Thomas?” Solvi inquired with a brave attempt at coaxing her roommate to speech. Or anything other than to become the glum, sleepy hermit she’d been content to settle for those last few weeks. Thomas had been the only one Mara had allowed to check her over. The extensive burns, cuts, bruises and fractures she’d sustained had been beyond Arthur’s abilities as a healer.
The mage looked down at her side, under the covers. The angry, dark splotches of damage still remained. A scar was likely the end result. Her cheek had been scarred lightly and she once again feared the mirror. Whenever she deigned to take care of herself, memories of her battle drove her to her knees. She was surprised she had tears left after the hysterics she’d been forced to endure. She no longer felt as if her mind was her own. Not even a sardonic ghost to offer encouragement. How she’d relied on him to protect her. Now, without him she felt empty.
“Did they decide who will prosecute him yet?” Mara asked in a small voice that emanated from the depths of her blankets. Solvi sat on the lip of the pillows, tenderly running her fingers over Mara’s growing hair. The mage took her hand and placed it gently on the sofa, tenacity burning in her eyes.
“Idhara relinquished their claim, you’ll be pleased to know.” Solvi relented with a sigh. She knotted her fingers together, as if her thoughts had overcome her. “Instead, they’ve impanelled a bunch of legal folks from the countries. If they think he’s guilty, he’ll be going to Tessa Dol.” The Orsan continued, her expression the picture of schadenfreude. The prison had been specifically designed to contain one of her own people, perhaps the greatest living mage. Said mage had committed an atrocity, Mara did not know what. That prison now contained hundreds of magic users who’d brought ruin to the world.
Mara grunted in acknowledgement and began to slide into her cocoon once more. She was stopped at the last moment by a firm hand. The three morose eyes slid upward to see an irritated Solvi practically drag her from beneath the covers. Seeing that her companion had not properly dressed beyond night clothes, the Orsan frog-marched her towards her room. The mage tried to resist in vain, but her sorrow-addled mind could not formulate any of the spells she would have used to return to her solitude. Instead, she was practically tossed into the room with an order to dress herself.
After an altogether too long sojourn, with Solvi reminding the mage every few minutes, Mara materialized from within her room wearing the dark clothes she’d often worn to hide herself. The gloves were not present, nor the mask but all else had been put broadly back in its place. It broke the Orsan’s heart as she took Mara under her arm and guided her towards the outside world. Though she did not actively resist, the mage dragged her feet and did not look to their destination. They left the room, Solvi locking the door behind them. She looked over her shoulder at the Miran insignia that had been crudely scrawled onto the wall next to their door. She remembered ruefully paying the landlord for the damage, though pondered why she had to. Even in defeat Renaud’s supporters pompously proclaimed victory.
The two left the building and stepped into the intense sunlight of Yanhelm’s summer. The days where the trees of the memorial park bloomed and sent delicate white petals streaming onto the lower districts. Where the bustle took on a lighter air, when nobody was in a hurry to leave the warmth. After so long in the cold, Solvi dusted her shirt clean of petals and breathed the fresh air. Several people recognized Mara from the newspapers, but few sought to comment on it. Aldrich had been remarkably restrained in his editorialising on the downfall of Renaud. Even as they passed a general store, the papers on display merely made passing mention of the disgraced professor. Even Vice-Chancellor Vorstadt, glowing in his media tour with mutton chops a flutter, failed to attract much notice with his insistence he’d always known Renaud to be a secret scoundrel. The idiot didn’t realise he’d implicated himself as an accomplice, were this new tribunal so inclined.
As they left the district they dwelt in, Mara felt a flutter of anxiety. This was the first time the citizenry of Yanhelm had seen her without her mask and their stares were all the condemnation she needed. Though whether their scorn was for her or for her association with Ardan, she knew not. They passed the ancient ironworks where Solvi had once cowered from the Heldothir. Solvi’s face took a momentarily dark turn before she asserted a good mood over it. They soon turned onto the terraces that housed the tavern Fred so enjoyed frequenting. A crowd had gathered outside its doors, all filing into it with enthusiasm. Given the reputation for watering down its drinks, Mara doubted it was for the innkeeper’s hospitality. Though as her companion made her way towards that crowd, Mara felt confusion overcome her.
“You’re worried about my drinking. So, you take me to a bar?” The elf asked in disbelief, squinting up at the larger woman. She stood directly before the sun making her expression impossible to see fully. Though from what she could see, Solvi wore a large smile as a laugh escaped her. “Suppose it’s never too early to start on evening drinks. My hangover should be gone in an hour or so.” She added with a wry expression as the pair came upon the rear of the crowd. It was only then that Mara recognized the faces within it and a reluctant grin split her features.
Many of her former students and faculty had taken the time on their way home to gather about. Many had family in Easthelm who relayed the events of that day. How Mara had summoned ghosts of their ancestors to fight back against Ardan’s sheer destructive force. Far from the sterile reporting of Haytham’s papers, verging on villainization, the people of Yanhelm had received an embellished tale of heroism similar to the theatrics of eld. Now, they crowded about her eager to shake her hand or ply her with questions about her future career. She responded only with a puzzled expression as she received the questions. The Vice-Chancellor had been very clear that her association with Renaud was toxic to the University’s image. Especially with the rumours that she more than dabbled in necromancy to save them, as the vampire queen had insisted. Given the war debt her banks held, few were inclined to argue. As a result, the mage had become unemployed but thankfully not incarcerated. Though she had the uneasy feeling she’d traded one cell for another where Lyn was concerned.
As the pair entered the inn proper, they were greeted by a cornucopia of congratulations. Fred slapped her on the back, Julie kissing them both on the cheek and embracing them. Arthur had arrived confusingly wearing his best robes. Her parents had arrived from Ruran, ferried there by the carriages that had carried them to the temple months ago. Her confusion mounted still further as Merddyn and Lorana sat at the bar, animatedly discussing the quality of swill they’d been asked to consume. They abruptly stopped seeing their junior enter. She felt their eyes on her as if they were silently deciding who would deliver the bad news. There was no contest as Lorana alighted from her stool and walked towards them. Dana was at her side, a shy smile crossing her features. She now wore the remains of one of her mother’s lavender cloaks as a scarf. A fitting tribute to Mara’s eye.
“Alright you lot!” Lorana shouted over the assembled guests, giving Twitcher and Rochefort a malign glance. Twitcher now wore the Idharan navy’s uniform and saluted sardonically as they were ordered to be quiet. “There’s a bit of pomp off stage. So don’t get too hammered while we’re gone. You, come with me.” The archmage ordered with a finger pointed toward Mara. The mage felt a sinking feeling in her stomach as she realised that she may have crossed more lines than she thought. If Lemuria was getting involved, she’d have to hope that Ardan had room in his cell and a newfound appreciation for quiet.
Lorana led Mara behind the bar, up a secluded staircase to the inn’s modest rooms. Nothing more than a few spare bedrooms, the archmage opened the door to one and shut it as Mara trudged her way through with a resigned expression. She gave her younger charge a quizzical look before making her way to a small table that sat under the window overlooking the bustling streets beyond. The room was as bare and necessary as possible with only a simple single bed and table. A wash basin had been generously supplied mounted in a cabinet and aside from that, the innkeeper hadn’t bothered to pay for carpets. The older elf was strangely wearing her formal robes which set Mara on edge. She usually detested them.
“You’re very fortunate you know.” She began as she poured herself some tea from a metal decanter. Mara’s eyes narrowed as they took in the arcanography upon it, recognizing several spells. What need did she have for keeping whisky warm? Her eccentricities aside, Mara had to admire how the archmage had piled so many useless spells into a single item. “Most people who miss the ceremony aren’t awarded accreditation and have to resit the entire exam.” Lorana grumbled as she rummaged through her impossibly deep bag once again. The horned elf was too confused by her senior’s garbling to notice that she’d failed to replicate the spell.
“I wasn’t aware I sat an exam in the last ten years.” Mara replied dryly as she watched her colleague’s rummaging. Well, not a colleague if she didn’t have a position anymore. Her opposite stalled her search to give her a withering look before she brought forth a slim red box about the size of her sock drawer. Upon it the insignia of the Lemurian University had been carved. The younger elf ran her fingers over the wood with curiosity, her eyes wide. The archmage slapped her hand away, giving her a disapproving look.
“Pomp must be observed before the box opens.” Lorana grunted before clearing her throat and placing her hand on the beautifully gilt golden clasp. “Mara Ver Fatuil, in recognition of your mastery over Arcanomechanics, your revival of the tradition of necromancy and saving our backsides from that megalomaniacal mug, the Archmage’s Council confers upon you the rank of Magister. Now stand up so I can put them on you.” Lorana indicated with her head, opening the clasp to reveal the blue and silver-thread robes that marked her new rank. The young elf looked on with dumbfounded astonishment, mouth slightly agape as she tried to stammer out excuses and denials. The archmage was having none of it, practically yanking her by the collar to her feet with a surprisingly firm grip for an older woman. She then pulled the immaculately pressed robes from the red box and draped them over the dark outfit Mara had insisted on wearing for so many years. After tying loop to button and smoothing the collar, Lorana nodded with approval at her work. “I’ve known failures who wore these robes. People who didn’t merit the ink on their certifications. If I had my way, you’d be in Ilya’s Sanctum tonight.” The archmage asserted warmly, referring to the ceremonial chamber where an archmage received their title. Mara’s eyes widened even further, abject fear at the thought causing her to take a step back. “I’m joking, don’t worry! But the sentiment’s true. If anyone’s earned Magisterial accreditation this year, it’s you.”
“I guess I have to call myself Mara Sor Fatuil now.” Mara giggled weakly, holding her arms aloft to see the robes as if worried they weren’t real. The honorific of Sor had been used by the Solve Macht.
“I’ve also been instructed to offer you a position. You’ve revived necromancy but we’d like it returned to proper study. Given your penchant for elvish ruins, we’re open to letting you spelunk to your heart’s content for a salary. Pending detailed notes.” Lorana pressed on against the waves of disbelief emanating from her younger charge. There was no verbal response, only a tight embrace by Mara of her elder. The cranky archmage managed a smile, returning the warm gesture for a moment before coughing to announce her discomfort. Mara sheepishly disengaged, realising her error. “I’ll take that as a yes. Excellent. Plenty of creepy hovels for you to inspect on the Orsan Isles.” She added before cracking her neck and motioning for her new Magister to follow.
Though the coldness in her chest had not dissipated, and even now fought against the sense of achievement conferred by Lorana, Mara smiled. She smiled for her friends and family who expected it of someone who’d achieved great things. Looking back on the last few months, the mage could not shake the feeling that she’d simply repaired a mistake. A terrible mistake that Armin and so many others had paid dearly for. She resolved to be merry as long as she could as she left the stairwell to rounds of raucous applause. Fred scurried out of the inn and fired his rifle to announce to the crowd outside what had happened. Ostentatious, in her view. But still, Fred had always been nothing if not noisy. As the arms of revelry enfolded themselves about the bar, Mara sat with Solvi and her parents. Lorana joined them to insert a snide witticism when the conversation lulled. Solvi and Julie intended on living in Idhara, though thankfully in a home not at the mercy of the countess. Instead, they had chosen a small fishing village to the south where Julie was available for the Legion but not excessively so. Her Orsan lover had resolved to embrace a peaceful life as a fisher, to which Mara burst out laughing. She couldn’t imagine her burly companion as anything other than a stern-faced Guard officer. Their conversation was interrupted by a drunken Fred dragging Mara from her seat with slurred apologies as he brought her to Arthur and Twitcher, who appeared to be animatedly discussing something.
“Alrigh’. I got the exper’.” Fred burped, sitting his friend down with an insistent glee. Twitcher huffed while Arthur looked to her with a polite enthusiasm. “Arthur n’ Thitcher wan’ed to know. Is they undead? See they got a soul. But no fleshy bits. Like a sk-skelle…bones.” The skitti trailed off, clearly trying to hold back the bleary-eyed tide of sleep that was overwhelming him. In a few short hours he’d gone from tipsy to near blacking out. He’d probably run out of other people’s money soon, Mara thought with an amused smile.
“Depends on whether you see Twitcher as their soul or their chassis. I think the soul’s more important than the chassis. Always has been. Though it's the wrong question. The question is whether undead people see them as one of their own.” Mara opined with a non-committal air. By the strictest definition, they were indeed some form of undead. A ghost in a machine, if one were inclined. “But enough philosophy. What will you be up to without Ardan?” The mage dismissed. The three of them became animated, Fred more through his drink than enthusiasm to Mara’s eye.
“Well, after his rampage there’s the cleaning. People to comfort, buildings to repair. Lives to rebuild. It was easy to lose sight of the damage while we did battle.” Arthur shrugged good-naturedly as he ran his fingers through the braids that sat on his chin. He looked to his skitti friend. “I might grow this a little more. What do you think, Master Seeker?” The cleric inquired with a mocking pompous impression of Renaud.
“Reckon y’face looks good wi’ half of it covered.” Fred replied cheekily as he slipped another mug full of beer down the hatch. “Y’know me, Mara. Same fight, differen’ faces. Migh’ join Dana on ‘er tour.” He pondered before slowly falling backward into his seat. There but a few moments later the skitti began what was likely to be a somnolent journey to a hangover. His friends looked upon their wily drifter with affection before Arthur placed a coat over his snoring, twitching form.
Twitcher looked to their hands for a moment before bringing out their picture of Mira. After a long, contemplative stare while the others were detailing their plans, the Elysian turned to Mara and pressed the rolled-up portrait into her hand.
“I have a life now because of you. Ardan took many lives. You saved mine and many more.” Twitcher began as their eyes searched Mara’s expression. Perhaps their face, which struggled to display complex emotion, had seen on the other elf’s the sadness that yet remained. Or perhaps they had grown that close through the trials they’d faced together. She wasn’t sure. “Keep this as a reminder. I realise now that the woman I venerated died long before I did.” They concluded somewhat morosely. The mage wanted to say something to comfort them, to help them see Mira as she once was. But it would leave her lips as a lie; judgement of a woman she never knew.
“Idhara better treat you well. They’ve gained a fine engineer.” Mara smiled. Where the past had failed them, she would remind them of their future. A bright one, if Rochefort’s glowing report was any indication. One day soon, the designs of Twitcher would be flying above them. Perhaps a sanlater fast enough to make it across the Prismatic Ocean.
After some time talking amongst themselves, the two parties joined their tables. Mara spent an uncomfortable evening in her blue robes as her parents expounded on the many misadventures of her youth. Though it had been decades, her mother remembered every tantrum and comedic accident. Including the time, a young teenage Mara accidentally summoned the spirit of a grouchy potion master. She’d only been trying to help yet somehow left with the recipe for their favourite flapjacks. Her father helpfully inserted tales of how gifted their daughter had been when it came to magic, producing spells of her own accord as a child. Solvi was practically in fits of laughter as the three of them argued over whether Mara had caused a summer of vanishing animals. Apparently, one had been found on the roof of Zareth’s store.
But as the summer evening air began to waft into the establishment and the crowds outside tired of their drunken revelry, Mara excused herself from a vital debate between Solvi and Doran concerning the true nature of expression in art. A subject her father would regale anyone with, truly. The elf promised to wait for the lovers before exiting the inn. Looking about at the throngs of people enjoying their days off with the approach of the summer solstice, the mage elected to test her flight spell once again and half-leap, half-fly to the roof with an unsteady wobble as she landed. With a thankful sigh, she sat herself on the soft thatching and stared out over the city toward the gate, left eye blinded by the setting sun.
“Not a people person either?” Dana’s voice interjected her thoughts, causing Mara to startle and look about. There, sitting next to the chimney pot, the engineer toyed with some mechanical device. After recovering, the mage noticed that it was an arcanometer, similar to the one she’d used to discern the entrance to the temple. Spying the Yanhelm University coat of arms, Mara realised it was actually hers and attempted to get it back with a shout and a swipe of her hand. Dana easily held it aloft, causing the mage to almost slip off the roof entirely. But Dana’s boot was there, hooking herself behind the mage before she could fall. “No wonder you need the flight spell. Balance of a drunken blampie. I’m just improving it to modern specs. I should be charging you for the parts.” Dana explained as she tinkered, allowing her cohort to settle once more against the soft straw of the roof. Cheaper than slates, Mara mused.
“Oh yes! I should be returning this to you.” The Yanhelmer recalled, removing the broken wand from her pocket and offering it up to the pensive Dana. She weighed it in her hand briefly before returning it with a shake of her head.
“Mother gave it to you. Though I should probably fix it up first, come to think of it.” Dana grunted as she returned the wand to under her nose. With an expert eye, she looked over the cracks and frayed edges before taking out a magnifying glass from the tool belt hanging at her hip. “Oh yeah, I can definitely fix this. A little aulind in the cracks, some bracing in the core. Better than new.” She grinned as she placed the pieces in her bags. The mage smiled up at her, sharp teeth on display. Mara opened her mouth to thank the engineer but was abruptly cut off. “So can you control the two halves of your tongue independently or is it more of a reptilian thing?” Dana asked impolitely, seeming to realise her mistake as she awkwardly ended her sentence. The mage snorted with laugher.
“Yes. I can move them separately.” Mara giggled as she demonstrated to Dana, who looked on with rapt interest. Her mouth was even slightly agape before the mage reminded her of the insects up on the roof. She looked sheepish for a moment before looking out to the gate. Memories seemed to grip the engineer, a shudder overcoming her. Mara offered her robes in case she was cold in her work clothes.
“No thank you. I just remembered the tower.” The woman answered with an anxious bite of her lip. Mara briefly felt a surge in the coldness that permeated her, as if icewater were trickling up her spine. She’d forgotten how intense emotions were after the numbness of her seclusion. “While you were dealing with it your way, I dealt with it mine. Went to visit the parent of the guy I killed.” Dana recounted as an uncomfortable tension began to build between them. She paused for a few moments as she parsed the memories, lips pressed into a thin line. “The mother had died in the war. Father made it back the remains of a man. He told me that his boy had always wanted to be a hero. But that’s not the weird part.” The elf relentlessly ploughed on despite Mara’s stunned expression. She could scarcely imagine a more dangerous scenario. Though the Gardish authorities had not viewed it that way. They were heroes, fighting criminals who’d butchered some twenty people. It didn’t sit right with the horned elf. “The weirdest thing was that he wasn’t angry with me. He didn’t rant or scream. Demand my head or prison. Instead, I was told that I should have done a proper job. Killed Renaud.” The curly-haired elf concluded before her eyes turned toward Mara with an almost menacing air. Subconsciously, she began to grasp for the spells needed to defend herself. “Why did he get to live? And I don’t want the right answer. I want the truth.”
Mara sighed and knotted her fingers, staring between her knees as she contemplated the question. There were many reasons, none satisfying to her in that moment. She looked over her shoulder to Dana with something approaching shame.
“I once told Fred that I wouldn’t kill him because I feared a part of myself. But since then, I’ve felt empty and alone. The truth is that I saw far too much of him in me. Now that he’s gone, everything of him has been torn away. Even if he was a monster, he was kind to me. Believed in me. He didn’t think I was hideous. At least, I think he didn’t. I don’t know what to believe any more.” The mage relayed with a dismissive hand gesture. The truth was ephemeral, beyond her grasp. Perhaps Ardan had been right after all, and the slow poison of sentiment had stayed her hand. All the pretty words about accountability were right to her. But they were not the truth.
An arm wrapped itself about her, snapping her out of the whirlpool of thoughts she was content to spiral in. As she’d been content to spiral in for months. Looking over, she saw Dana with a solemn expression sitting beside her. The horned woman looked gravely confused as her cohort attempted a smile.
“I know what it’s like to wrap so much of yourself around someone else, only to lose them. Ranva was my hero. When she left me and father it tore my heart out. He might be there physically, but Renaud left you a long time ago.” Dana soothed before offering the mage a drink. Suspicious, Mara refused with narrowed eyes. The other elf chuckled and took a deep swig herself before replacing the flask. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re hideous. You look quite nice, actually.” The engineer asserted with a cavalier grin. Mara’s face contorted further as her confusion deepened.
“Flattery will not move me to stab Ardan in his sleep on a visit.” The mage rejected absurdly, much to Dana’s amusement. The dark-haired elf stood and gazed toward the exit of the valley, a bright smile on her face. A thought had clearly occurred to her.
“Ardan and his terror are in the past now. We have to try to move on. For her, for him and for ourselves.” Dana advised with a hand in her overalls. “You’re off to the Orsan Isles. Funny, Lorana wanted me there too before I go back to the Crucible. You wouldn’t begrudge me a ride, would you?” She plied with a cheeky grin, offering a hand to Mara. She joined Dana in looking toward the exit of the valley, over the trees that once held Frigg and toward the north where vampires and empire nested. To the west of that, sitting upon an island next to its far larger sister, lay the city of Lemuria and the Archmage’s Council. Perhaps even a hovel or two.
“I think in this journey, I’d be glad of the company.”
The shabby apartment that Solvi and Mara had called home had been deserted for weeks when its occupant returned. Dust had settled into the cracks and orifices and had remained there even as the mage inhabited it. The bedding had been moved from her room to the sofa, which had itself been shifted to sit in front of the brazier. The singing summer air was denied entry as the unmoving mound of blankets and pillows refused to open the windows nor indeed the curtains. Stacks of newspapers sat near the door piled in messy approximations of order. Like the stone strata of the archaeological dig, so long ago, the oldest lay at the bottom. Her spell book remained where she’d flung it that dreadful day, gathering dust on the table. Next to it, the broken pieces of Ranva’s wand lay. Mara had recovered them from the unconscious Renaud who, for some reason, had pocketed them.
In this darkened room, lit only by the smouldering charcoal of the brazier through its grate, the only new addition seemed to be the Crook of Arawn. It stood next to the fireplace, where it might remain warm. The ground around it had been cleared away. Another clink of a bottle falling to the ground announced the source of the mess. The mage’s sofa was surrounded by bottles of all shapes and sizes. Far more than two weeks’ casual consumption. Three bottles remained from the trip kind Torstan had taken for her.
Mara’s repose was disturbed by the door. She had yet another visitor. With a groan, a thin blade of light blinding her, she managed to crawl from within the deep well of the armrest. She attempted not to answer, knowing all too well that doing so only agitated them more. The only thing that had left the apartment since her arrival had been a signed statement for the authorities. Which authorities? That was for them to decide. With a rueful, cynical smile she pondered whether Renaud would escape on the strength of the breadth of his crimes alone. Elys wanted him for besmirching their precious Avon Soram. Idhara wanted him for his nationality and riotous speech writing. Gard wanted him for the kidnapping and murders committed on their soil. The High Council of Spardale had attempted to leverage the situation, demanding he answer for the corrupting of their youth. The slavery probably did that, Mara thought to herself as she rummaged through bottles for a swig of numbness.
“Mara? Mara, it’s Solvi!” Came a call through the door. The mage briefly rested her chin on the armrest, eyes staring at the panels of the door. Her attention was soon caught by the grain. The yellow rivers through brown pastures were more interesting than the stabbing pain in her chest she felt as she heard the voice of her companion.
Her ennui was disrupted by a sudden loud bang, a jolt of fear rousing her. She flexed lethargically onto the armrest, dangling her arms over it with an empty stare about her. “I know you said you needed time. But it’s been two months. You can’t hide in there forever.” Solvi muttered through the door. Moments later, there was a jangling of keys and a grating metallic click of the lock. The rustling of papers came next as her tower of news fell. Then a bottle rolled into another as Solvi made her careful way through the apartment. “Do you have any idea how hard it was to wrangle another key out of the landlord? How have you even been paying rent?” Solvi asked with a perplexed expression as she saw Mara dangling over the arm like a boned fish. She then saw the notices beneath the arm. She picked one up curiously with pursed lips, eyes meeting the sullen elf’s. Though she looked much the same, save for a purple-tipped nose and cheeks, her four horns had grown from their stubby former selves. The top pair were ram-like horns as anticipated, lying flat along her head. The lower two seemed to stop at the length of a finger.
“Did you check in with Thomas?” Solvi inquired with a brave attempt at coaxing her roommate to speech. Or anything other than to become the glum, sleepy hermit she’d been content to settle for those last few weeks. Thomas had been the only one Mara had allowed to check her over. The extensive burns, cuts, bruises and fractures she’d sustained had been beyond Arthur’s abilities as a healer.
The mage looked down at her side, under the covers. The angry, dark splotches of damage still remained. A scar was likely the end result. Her cheek had been scarred lightly and she once again feared the mirror. Whenever she deigned to take care of herself, memories of her battle drove her to her knees. She was surprised she had tears left after the hysterics she’d been forced to endure. She no longer felt as if her mind was her own. Not even a sardonic ghost to offer encouragement. How she’d relied on him to protect her. Now, without him she felt empty.
“Did they decide who will prosecute him yet?” Mara asked in a small voice that emanated from the depths of her blankets. Solvi sat on the lip of the pillows, tenderly running her fingers over Mara’s growing hair. The mage took her hand and placed it gently on the sofa, tenacity burning in her eyes.
“Idhara relinquished their claim, you’ll be pleased to know.” Solvi relented with a sigh. She knotted her fingers together, as if her thoughts had overcome her. “Instead, they’ve impanelled a bunch of legal folks from the countries. If they think he’s guilty, he’ll be going to Tessa Dol.” The Orsan continued, her expression the picture of schadenfreude. The prison had been specifically designed to contain one of her own people, perhaps the greatest living mage. Said mage had committed an atrocity, Mara did not know what. That prison now contained hundreds of magic users who’d brought ruin to the world.
Mara grunted in acknowledgement and began to slide into her cocoon once more. She was stopped at the last moment by a firm hand. The three morose eyes slid upward to see an irritated Solvi practically drag her from beneath the covers. Seeing that her companion had not properly dressed beyond night clothes, the Orsan frog-marched her towards her room. The mage tried to resist in vain, but her sorrow-addled mind could not formulate any of the spells she would have used to return to her solitude. Instead, she was practically tossed into the room with an order to dress herself.
After an altogether too long sojourn, with Solvi reminding the mage every few minutes, Mara materialized from within her room wearing the dark clothes she’d often worn to hide herself. The gloves were not present, nor the mask but all else had been put broadly back in its place. It broke the Orsan’s heart as she took Mara under her arm and guided her towards the outside world. Though she did not actively resist, the mage dragged her feet and did not look to their destination. They left the room, Solvi locking the door behind them. She looked over her shoulder at the Miran insignia that had been crudely scrawled onto the wall next to their door. She remembered ruefully paying the landlord for the damage, though pondered why she had to. Even in defeat Renaud’s supporters pompously proclaimed victory.
The two left the building and stepped into the intense sunlight of Yanhelm’s summer. The days where the trees of the memorial park bloomed and sent delicate white petals streaming onto the lower districts. Where the bustle took on a lighter air, when nobody was in a hurry to leave the warmth. After so long in the cold, Solvi dusted her shirt clean of petals and breathed the fresh air. Several people recognized Mara from the newspapers, but few sought to comment on it. Aldrich had been remarkably restrained in his editorialising on the downfall of Renaud. Even as they passed a general store, the papers on display merely made passing mention of the disgraced professor. Even Vice-Chancellor Vorstadt, glowing in his media tour with mutton chops a flutter, failed to attract much notice with his insistence he’d always known Renaud to be a secret scoundrel. The idiot didn’t realise he’d implicated himself as an accomplice, were this new tribunal so inclined.
As they left the district they dwelt in, Mara felt a flutter of anxiety. This was the first time the citizenry of Yanhelm had seen her without her mask and their stares were all the condemnation she needed. Though whether their scorn was for her or for her association with Ardan, she knew not. They passed the ancient ironworks where Solvi had once cowered from the Heldothir. Solvi’s face took a momentarily dark turn before she asserted a good mood over it. They soon turned onto the terraces that housed the tavern Fred so enjoyed frequenting. A crowd had gathered outside its doors, all filing into it with enthusiasm. Given the reputation for watering down its drinks, Mara doubted it was for the innkeeper’s hospitality. Though as her companion made her way towards that crowd, Mara felt confusion overcome her.
“You’re worried about my drinking. So, you take me to a bar?” The elf asked in disbelief, squinting up at the larger woman. She stood directly before the sun making her expression impossible to see fully. Though from what she could see, Solvi wore a large smile as a laugh escaped her. “Suppose it’s never too early to start on evening drinks. My hangover should be gone in an hour or so.” She added with a wry expression as the pair came upon the rear of the crowd. It was only then that Mara recognized the faces within it and a reluctant grin split her features.
Many of her former students and faculty had taken the time on their way home to gather about. Many had family in Easthelm who relayed the events of that day. How Mara had summoned ghosts of their ancestors to fight back against Ardan’s sheer destructive force. Far from the sterile reporting of Haytham’s papers, verging on villainization, the people of Yanhelm had received an embellished tale of heroism similar to the theatrics of eld. Now, they crowded about her eager to shake her hand or ply her with questions about her future career. She responded only with a puzzled expression as she received the questions. The Vice-Chancellor had been very clear that her association with Renaud was toxic to the University’s image. Especially with the rumours that she more than dabbled in necromancy to save them, as the vampire queen had insisted. Given the war debt her banks held, few were inclined to argue. As a result, the mage had become unemployed but thankfully not incarcerated. Though she had the uneasy feeling she’d traded one cell for another where Lyn was concerned.
As the pair entered the inn proper, they were greeted by a cornucopia of congratulations. Fred slapped her on the back, Julie kissing them both on the cheek and embracing them. Arthur had arrived confusingly wearing his best robes. Her parents had arrived from Ruran, ferried there by the carriages that had carried them to the temple months ago. Her confusion mounted still further as Merddyn and Lorana sat at the bar, animatedly discussing the quality of swill they’d been asked to consume. They abruptly stopped seeing their junior enter. She felt their eyes on her as if they were silently deciding who would deliver the bad news. There was no contest as Lorana alighted from her stool and walked towards them. Dana was at her side, a shy smile crossing her features. She now wore the remains of one of her mother’s lavender cloaks as a scarf. A fitting tribute to Mara’s eye.
“Alright you lot!” Lorana shouted over the assembled guests, giving Twitcher and Rochefort a malign glance. Twitcher now wore the Idharan navy’s uniform and saluted sardonically as they were ordered to be quiet. “There’s a bit of pomp off stage. So don’t get too hammered while we’re gone. You, come with me.” The archmage ordered with a finger pointed toward Mara. The mage felt a sinking feeling in her stomach as she realised that she may have crossed more lines than she thought. If Lemuria was getting involved, she’d have to hope that Ardan had room in his cell and a newfound appreciation for quiet.
Lorana led Mara behind the bar, up a secluded staircase to the inn’s modest rooms. Nothing more than a few spare bedrooms, the archmage opened the door to one and shut it as Mara trudged her way through with a resigned expression. She gave her younger charge a quizzical look before making her way to a small table that sat under the window overlooking the bustling streets beyond. The room was as bare and necessary as possible with only a simple single bed and table. A wash basin had been generously supplied mounted in a cabinet and aside from that, the innkeeper hadn’t bothered to pay for carpets. The older elf was strangely wearing her formal robes which set Mara on edge. She usually detested them.
“You’re very fortunate you know.” She began as she poured herself some tea from a metal decanter. Mara’s eyes narrowed as they took in the arcanography upon it, recognizing several spells. What need did she have for keeping whisky warm? Her eccentricities aside, Mara had to admire how the archmage had piled so many useless spells into a single item. “Most people who miss the ceremony aren’t awarded accreditation and have to resit the entire exam.” Lorana grumbled as she rummaged through her impossibly deep bag once again. The horned elf was too confused by her senior’s garbling to notice that she’d failed to replicate the spell.
“I wasn’t aware I sat an exam in the last ten years.” Mara replied dryly as she watched her colleague’s rummaging. Well, not a colleague if she didn’t have a position anymore. Her opposite stalled her search to give her a withering look before she brought forth a slim red box about the size of her sock drawer. Upon it the insignia of the Lemurian University had been carved. The younger elf ran her fingers over the wood with curiosity, her eyes wide. The archmage slapped her hand away, giving her a disapproving look.
“Pomp must be observed before the box opens.” Lorana grunted before clearing her throat and placing her hand on the beautifully gilt golden clasp. “Mara Ver Fatuil, in recognition of your mastery over Arcanomechanics, your revival of the tradition of necromancy and saving our backsides from that megalomaniacal mug, the Archmage’s Council confers upon you the rank of Magister. Now stand up so I can put them on you.” Lorana indicated with her head, opening the clasp to reveal the blue and silver-thread robes that marked her new rank. The young elf looked on with dumbfounded astonishment, mouth slightly agape as she tried to stammer out excuses and denials. The archmage was having none of it, practically yanking her by the collar to her feet with a surprisingly firm grip for an older woman. She then pulled the immaculately pressed robes from the red box and draped them over the dark outfit Mara had insisted on wearing for so many years. After tying loop to button and smoothing the collar, Lorana nodded with approval at her work. “I’ve known failures who wore these robes. People who didn’t merit the ink on their certifications. If I had my way, you’d be in Ilya’s Sanctum tonight.” The archmage asserted warmly, referring to the ceremonial chamber where an archmage received their title. Mara’s eyes widened even further, abject fear at the thought causing her to take a step back. “I’m joking, don’t worry! But the sentiment’s true. If anyone’s earned Magisterial accreditation this year, it’s you.”
“I guess I have to call myself Mara Sor Fatuil now.” Mara giggled weakly, holding her arms aloft to see the robes as if worried they weren’t real. The honorific of Sor had been used by the Solve Macht.
“I’ve also been instructed to offer you a position. You’ve revived necromancy but we’d like it returned to proper study. Given your penchant for elvish ruins, we’re open to letting you spelunk to your heart’s content for a salary. Pending detailed notes.” Lorana pressed on against the waves of disbelief emanating from her younger charge. There was no verbal response, only a tight embrace by Mara of her elder. The cranky archmage managed a smile, returning the warm gesture for a moment before coughing to announce her discomfort. Mara sheepishly disengaged, realising her error. “I’ll take that as a yes. Excellent. Plenty of creepy hovels for you to inspect on the Orsan Isles.” She added before cracking her neck and motioning for her new Magister to follow.
Though the coldness in her chest had not dissipated, and even now fought against the sense of achievement conferred by Lorana, Mara smiled. She smiled for her friends and family who expected it of someone who’d achieved great things. Looking back on the last few months, the mage could not shake the feeling that she’d simply repaired a mistake. A terrible mistake that Armin and so many others had paid dearly for. She resolved to be merry as long as she could as she left the stairwell to rounds of raucous applause. Fred scurried out of the inn and fired his rifle to announce to the crowd outside what had happened. Ostentatious, in her view. But still, Fred had always been nothing if not noisy. As the arms of revelry enfolded themselves about the bar, Mara sat with Solvi and her parents. Lorana joined them to insert a snide witticism when the conversation lulled. Solvi and Julie intended on living in Idhara, though thankfully in a home not at the mercy of the countess. Instead, they had chosen a small fishing village to the south where Julie was available for the Legion but not excessively so. Her Orsan lover had resolved to embrace a peaceful life as a fisher, to which Mara burst out laughing. She couldn’t imagine her burly companion as anything other than a stern-faced Guard officer. Their conversation was interrupted by a drunken Fred dragging Mara from her seat with slurred apologies as he brought her to Arthur and Twitcher, who appeared to be animatedly discussing something.
“Alrigh’. I got the exper’.” Fred burped, sitting his friend down with an insistent glee. Twitcher huffed while Arthur looked to her with a polite enthusiasm. “Arthur n’ Thitcher wan’ed to know. Is they undead? See they got a soul. But no fleshy bits. Like a sk-skelle…bones.” The skitti trailed off, clearly trying to hold back the bleary-eyed tide of sleep that was overwhelming him. In a few short hours he’d gone from tipsy to near blacking out. He’d probably run out of other people’s money soon, Mara thought with an amused smile.
“Depends on whether you see Twitcher as their soul or their chassis. I think the soul’s more important than the chassis. Always has been. Though it's the wrong question. The question is whether undead people see them as one of their own.” Mara opined with a non-committal air. By the strictest definition, they were indeed some form of undead. A ghost in a machine, if one were inclined. “But enough philosophy. What will you be up to without Ardan?” The mage dismissed. The three of them became animated, Fred more through his drink than enthusiasm to Mara’s eye.
“Well, after his rampage there’s the cleaning. People to comfort, buildings to repair. Lives to rebuild. It was easy to lose sight of the damage while we did battle.” Arthur shrugged good-naturedly as he ran his fingers through the braids that sat on his chin. He looked to his skitti friend. “I might grow this a little more. What do you think, Master Seeker?” The cleric inquired with a mocking pompous impression of Renaud.
“Reckon y’face looks good wi’ half of it covered.” Fred replied cheekily as he slipped another mug full of beer down the hatch. “Y’know me, Mara. Same fight, differen’ faces. Migh’ join Dana on ‘er tour.” He pondered before slowly falling backward into his seat. There but a few moments later the skitti began what was likely to be a somnolent journey to a hangover. His friends looked upon their wily drifter with affection before Arthur placed a coat over his snoring, twitching form.
Twitcher looked to their hands for a moment before bringing out their picture of Mira. After a long, contemplative stare while the others were detailing their plans, the Elysian turned to Mara and pressed the rolled-up portrait into her hand.
“I have a life now because of you. Ardan took many lives. You saved mine and many more.” Twitcher began as their eyes searched Mara’s expression. Perhaps their face, which struggled to display complex emotion, had seen on the other elf’s the sadness that yet remained. Or perhaps they had grown that close through the trials they’d faced together. She wasn’t sure. “Keep this as a reminder. I realise now that the woman I venerated died long before I did.” They concluded somewhat morosely. The mage wanted to say something to comfort them, to help them see Mira as she once was. But it would leave her lips as a lie; judgement of a woman she never knew.
“Idhara better treat you well. They’ve gained a fine engineer.” Mara smiled. Where the past had failed them, she would remind them of their future. A bright one, if Rochefort’s glowing report was any indication. One day soon, the designs of Twitcher would be flying above them. Perhaps a sanlater fast enough to make it across the Prismatic Ocean.
After some time talking amongst themselves, the two parties joined their tables. Mara spent an uncomfortable evening in her blue robes as her parents expounded on the many misadventures of her youth. Though it had been decades, her mother remembered every tantrum and comedic accident. Including the time, a young teenage Mara accidentally summoned the spirit of a grouchy potion master. She’d only been trying to help yet somehow left with the recipe for their favourite flapjacks. Her father helpfully inserted tales of how gifted their daughter had been when it came to magic, producing spells of her own accord as a child. Solvi was practically in fits of laughter as the three of them argued over whether Mara had caused a summer of vanishing animals. Apparently, one had been found on the roof of Zareth’s store.
But as the summer evening air began to waft into the establishment and the crowds outside tired of their drunken revelry, Mara excused herself from a vital debate between Solvi and Doran concerning the true nature of expression in art. A subject her father would regale anyone with, truly. The elf promised to wait for the lovers before exiting the inn. Looking about at the throngs of people enjoying their days off with the approach of the summer solstice, the mage elected to test her flight spell once again and half-leap, half-fly to the roof with an unsteady wobble as she landed. With a thankful sigh, she sat herself on the soft thatching and stared out over the city toward the gate, left eye blinded by the setting sun.
“Not a people person either?” Dana’s voice interjected her thoughts, causing Mara to startle and look about. There, sitting next to the chimney pot, the engineer toyed with some mechanical device. After recovering, the mage noticed that it was an arcanometer, similar to the one she’d used to discern the entrance to the temple. Spying the Yanhelm University coat of arms, Mara realised it was actually hers and attempted to get it back with a shout and a swipe of her hand. Dana easily held it aloft, causing the mage to almost slip off the roof entirely. But Dana’s boot was there, hooking herself behind the mage before she could fall. “No wonder you need the flight spell. Balance of a drunken blampie. I’m just improving it to modern specs. I should be charging you for the parts.” Dana explained as she tinkered, allowing her cohort to settle once more against the soft straw of the roof. Cheaper than slates, Mara mused.
“Oh yes! I should be returning this to you.” The Yanhelmer recalled, removing the broken wand from her pocket and offering it up to the pensive Dana. She weighed it in her hand briefly before returning it with a shake of her head.
“Mother gave it to you. Though I should probably fix it up first, come to think of it.” Dana grunted as she returned the wand to under her nose. With an expert eye, she looked over the cracks and frayed edges before taking out a magnifying glass from the tool belt hanging at her hip. “Oh yeah, I can definitely fix this. A little aulind in the cracks, some bracing in the core. Better than new.” She grinned as she placed the pieces in her bags. The mage smiled up at her, sharp teeth on display. Mara opened her mouth to thank the engineer but was abruptly cut off. “So can you control the two halves of your tongue independently or is it more of a reptilian thing?” Dana asked impolitely, seeming to realise her mistake as she awkwardly ended her sentence. The mage snorted with laugher.
“Yes. I can move them separately.” Mara giggled as she demonstrated to Dana, who looked on with rapt interest. Her mouth was even slightly agape before the mage reminded her of the insects up on the roof. She looked sheepish for a moment before looking out to the gate. Memories seemed to grip the engineer, a shudder overcoming her. Mara offered her robes in case she was cold in her work clothes.
“No thank you. I just remembered the tower.” The woman answered with an anxious bite of her lip. Mara briefly felt a surge in the coldness that permeated her, as if icewater were trickling up her spine. She’d forgotten how intense emotions were after the numbness of her seclusion. “While you were dealing with it your way, I dealt with it mine. Went to visit the parent of the guy I killed.” Dana recounted as an uncomfortable tension began to build between them. She paused for a few moments as she parsed the memories, lips pressed into a thin line. “The mother had died in the war. Father made it back the remains of a man. He told me that his boy had always wanted to be a hero. But that’s not the weird part.” The elf relentlessly ploughed on despite Mara’s stunned expression. She could scarcely imagine a more dangerous scenario. Though the Gardish authorities had not viewed it that way. They were heroes, fighting criminals who’d butchered some twenty people. It didn’t sit right with the horned elf. “The weirdest thing was that he wasn’t angry with me. He didn’t rant or scream. Demand my head or prison. Instead, I was told that I should have done a proper job. Killed Renaud.” The curly-haired elf concluded before her eyes turned toward Mara with an almost menacing air. Subconsciously, she began to grasp for the spells needed to defend herself. “Why did he get to live? And I don’t want the right answer. I want the truth.”
Mara sighed and knotted her fingers, staring between her knees as she contemplated the question. There were many reasons, none satisfying to her in that moment. She looked over her shoulder to Dana with something approaching shame.
“I once told Fred that I wouldn’t kill him because I feared a part of myself. But since then, I’ve felt empty and alone. The truth is that I saw far too much of him in me. Now that he’s gone, everything of him has been torn away. Even if he was a monster, he was kind to me. Believed in me. He didn’t think I was hideous. At least, I think he didn’t. I don’t know what to believe any more.” The mage relayed with a dismissive hand gesture. The truth was ephemeral, beyond her grasp. Perhaps Ardan had been right after all, and the slow poison of sentiment had stayed her hand. All the pretty words about accountability were right to her. But they were not the truth.
An arm wrapped itself about her, snapping her out of the whirlpool of thoughts she was content to spiral in. As she’d been content to spiral in for months. Looking over, she saw Dana with a solemn expression sitting beside her. The horned woman looked gravely confused as her cohort attempted a smile.
“I know what it’s like to wrap so much of yourself around someone else, only to lose them. Ranva was my hero. When she left me and father it tore my heart out. He might be there physically, but Renaud left you a long time ago.” Dana soothed before offering the mage a drink. Suspicious, Mara refused with narrowed eyes. The other elf chuckled and took a deep swig herself before replacing the flask. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re hideous. You look quite nice, actually.” The engineer asserted with a cavalier grin. Mara’s face contorted further as her confusion deepened.
“Flattery will not move me to stab Ardan in his sleep on a visit.” The mage rejected absurdly, much to Dana’s amusement. The dark-haired elf stood and gazed toward the exit of the valley, a bright smile on her face. A thought had clearly occurred to her.
“Ardan and his terror are in the past now. We have to try to move on. For her, for him and for ourselves.” Dana advised with a hand in her overalls. “You’re off to the Orsan Isles. Funny, Lorana wanted me there too before I go back to the Crucible. You wouldn’t begrudge me a ride, would you?” She plied with a cheeky grin, offering a hand to Mara. She joined Dana in looking toward the exit of the valley, over the trees that once held Frigg and toward the north where vampires and empire nested. To the west of that, sitting upon an island next to its far larger sister, lay the city of Lemuria and the Archmage’s Council. Perhaps even a hovel or two.
“I think in this journey, I’d be glad of the company.”
