Soul Mateys
Part Twelve
No, not fight. Never fight.
Andorel stood, frozen in shock and terror as the vines reached out for him. They grabbed him, curling around his neck and torso and lifting him into the air. He struggled, half-heartedly at first, then more seriously as the vines began to pull tighter and tighter. For every struggle, they seemed to constrict more. Andorel cast pleading eyes to Dekaras, who automatically took out a dagger and started to run, reaching for a vial of poison as he did so.
NO!
Dekaras suddenly felt pushed back by a huge hand. She’s killing him! He snarled at Bhaal.
He is killing himself. You cannot fight guilt. You should know this.
I must help him!
Help him find the answer. He knows it, but he must find the path. You know the path as well.
You can’t fight guilt, Dekaras realised, Fighting it only makes it grow.
Well done, servant and son.
“Andorel!” Dekaras shouted. “Stop struggling, it only makes it worse.”
The warrior high above his head grabbed a vine as thick as his arm and wrenched his head round to face the assassin. He relaxed momentarily, and the vines loosened, just a little. Imoen stopped, shivering slightly, her glowing blue eyes watching Dekaras warily, waiting his next move. How do you defeat guilt? He asked himself, and then, in a flood of calm, he saw the answer. Of course. All this was unnecessary.
“You can’t fight guilt, Andorel.” He called. Andorel listened solemnly. “You can only stop guilt one way- by accepting it. Accept what you did and move on.”
Andorel suddenly slumped within the tangle of vines, his eyes closed. Dekaras felt a thrill of cold run through his chest. No, he can’t be...can he? Then, his eyes snapped open again, and there was more sense in them than there had been so far in this scene.
“I’m sorry, Immy.” He said, looking at the vine-covered girl. The vines curled and shuddered, and the girl blinked. “ I’m sorry. It shouldn’t have been...this way.”
The vines around Andorel loosened slightly, and he took a deeper breath. “I will come and rescue you. I will put it all right again. I promise. I’ll come and find you.”
There was a moment of utter stillness. No one moved- Dekaras, Imoen or Andorel. Then Imoen looked upwards at the blue sky.
And smiled. The vines gently lowered Andorel to the ground, but they did not die or shrink- instead they grew, spreading out, questing forth across the entire oval of the Promenade, over the rubble, the silent figures of Andorel’s party, over stands of fruit and silks, and finally crisscrossing the sky to form a canopy overhead.
They stopped there, and Dekaras noticed tiny buds starting to form on the nearest pieces of vine. They swelled and grew, and finally opened. All around the vast market, beautiful huge white flowers unfolded, their petals wiggling and lengthening until all the vines were covered in sweet-scented blooms.
Andorel started to laugh, in surprise, perhaps in hysteria, but definitely in relief.
“Flowers...pretty flowers...” Andorel was still laughing, tears streaming down his face once again, but now they were not tears of grief, exactly. “Oh Immy...that is so...so you.” Imoen smiled once again, raised her hand as if in a greeting, or a farewell, and then disappeared. Andorel watched the spot where she had stood for a few seconds, still smiling, and then he wiped at his eyes. “It will all be all right, Immy. I promise.” Then he turned around. “Vaddy? How did ya get here, anyway? Not that I’m complainin’, I couldn’t have done it without ya.” He reached out a large hand, and squeezed the assassin’s shoulder. “Thanks. I really mean that.”
“You are welcome,” Dekaras said, feeling a little surprised. “But you did most of it yourself, really. And there is nothing much to thank me for, I had to do what I could. After all, it was my fault to begin with.”
“Eh?” Andorel said, frowning. “What d’you mean, ‘your fault’? ‘Course it isn’t.”
Dekaras didn’t reply, not directly. He knew now, what it was he had passed on to Andorel, but he felt reluctant to admit it. Guilt. “Never mind,” he said, his voice a little distant. “It isn’t important anymore, because it is all going to stop now.”
Now Andorel was looking seriously worried, his eyes dark with concern. Which is more than I deserve. Far more.
“Vaddy? You’re not makin’ any sense here.”
“Oh yes, I am.” Dekaras took a deep breath, steeling himself. This wouldn’t be easy. “The Bhaaltaint, Andorel. I share it now, and he wants me, much like he wants you. But you...you are stronger than I am in this regard. Better. I cannot hold him back, not for much longer, and I will not live as a monster. So I will beg you now, even though I normally never beg anything of anybody. End it for me, if I cannot do it myself. Don’t make me live with his leash around my throat. Please.”
“Like buggery I will!” Andorel shouted. “You can get your head stuck too far up your arse sometimes, mate.”
“It is hopeless, Andorel. There is nothing you can do.”
“I don’t believe that!” Andorel said, and started to pace, brow furrowed. For a short while, it had been easy to think, but now, it was hard again. I’m better off without it. Too much thinkin’ makes you stupid. Gorion had always said he was better off just doing what was right, rather than trying to think stuff through. So...time to do what was right. A flash of red caught his eye. Yes...
“Come on, Vaddy, this way.”
Dekaras stared at him, looking utterly baffled. “What are you talking about?”
“The trail of blood is back!” Andorel said, pointing. “Remember?”
“No.” Dekaras shuddered and turned away. Blood...lovely blood...so red...so passionate...stop...stop!
“Com’on, we have to follow it, right?” Andorel tugged at the assassin’s sleeve impatiently.
“No!” Dekaras croaked, hands holding either side of his head. “Don’t make me look at it. Don’t you value your own life?.” ...blood ...kill ...murder ...slaughter ...no...
“No, Vaddy- I value yours.” His friend replied, as the rage finally caught up and swept them both away.
Blood. Yes, there was the smell of blood in the air, Andorel could easily sense it. The half-orc looked around, trying to make sense of where he was. Outside, and it was night time. He could see the vast sky above, stars wheeling overhead like glittering needles. The air was cool, but fresh, and there were familiar smells all around. Grass, earth, horses. And blood. Always the faint smell of blood, underneath everything else.
The grass was high, coming almost up to his knees, and there were no people in the immediate vicinity. He could glimpse campfires in the distance though, and hear the soft murmur of voices. And something else as well. Voices closer by, coming from the hill above him, chanting. Female voices, it sounded like, serious and focused. Andorel frowned, and headed for the sound. He wasn’t sure what was going on here, but he didn’t like the feel of it. It reminded him too much of something...of that dream. Yeah, that was it. That dream, with the people hurting him, and Immy and Gorion in it. The mages in that dream had sounded just like this. Back to the beginning, he thought, and then frowned. He wasn’t sure where the thought had come from, but he felt sure of the rightness of it. This was the beginning...of something. Loosening his sword in its scabbard, Andorel headed up the hill.
The hill was pretty steep, but Andorel moved swiftly, as swiftly as he dared in the darkness. Something was happening up there, he just knew it. Something bad. Then he paused for a moment. There were people coming towards him, but they didn’t seem to see him at all. Guess that’s ‘cos this is a kind o’ dream. A man, and a woman, only shadowy and misty figures, floating and indistinct. He couldn’t make out their faces, not even when they passed by him close enough to touch. “I don’t want to watch it,” said one. “I wish it had not come to pass.”
“It must be so,” said the other. “The law...is clear. The Wychlaran...”
“I know. I know it well. But our son...”
“No.” The second voice was curt, decisive. “From this night, we have no son. There is only a rogue, and rogues must be dealt with.”
The shadowy figures passed, and Andorel could hear the chanting from the top of the hill rising in pitch and volume. And then the screaming started.
Andorel drew his sword and instinctively broke into a run up the hillside, slipping on the dewy grass occasionally. The scream was undoubtedly that of a young boy, and he had a pretty good idea who.
It was hard working, running uphill in full armour, and Andorel’s plate boots were not designed for such a job. By the time he reached the top, he was panting and out of breath. The chanting reached a crescendo and died away.
Too late.
Seven mages stood in a circle, all dressed in dark, midnight colours- black, blue, or deep purple. They looked tired, hair salted with sweat and hanging in untidy twists over their immaculate robes. In the middle of the circle...
Gods, no...
In the middle of the circle was a boy. He was curled up into a ball, and though his body shook, Andorel couldn’t hear any sobbing. He could only see the back of the boy’s head, but he knew who it was. Who else could it be? So this is what happened to you...
“It is done.” One of the witches said, a dark-skinned woman in purple. She looks a bit like Dynaheir. “No longer will you endanger our blessed country with your uncontrolled magicks.”
The huddled boy didn’t reply. It looked to the half-orc like he couldn’t have done even if he wanted to.
“Take him away.” She gestured idly with one beringed hand. Jewels glittered in the moonlight.
“Hey, what ya doing?” Andorel interjected.
The woman slowly looked over to him, apparently unsurprised at seeing him there. It’s a dream, right? No reason for things to make sense. “This boy refused to serve us as a Vremyonni, a hermit mage-crafter. So, we had to remove his magical powers, so that no uncontrolled magic would befoul fair Rasheman.”
“You...” Andorel swallowed, feeling very sick. “You stopped him being a wizard?”
“The process was painful,” The woman replied with feigned regret, “But utterly necessary.”
“That’s like...like chopping off his arms, or poking his eyes out!” Andorel could feel himself start to tremble with anger. So that’s what they did to him.
“If I felt that anyone’s eyes or arms were a threat to Rasheman, I would remove them- even if they were my own.”
I’m not gonna be calm, now. No need to be calm. Andorel gripped his sword tighter. “He’s just a kid!”
“Now, yes, but one day, he will grow up. Then he would be a threat. We see the danger of untamed mages daily in our fights with the Red Wizards.”
“You nearly killed him!”
“He is only one.” She said, with a disgusted gesture, and as the buzzing in Andorel’s ears grew louder and louder, continued. “I defend many. He won’t be missed. His parents care not for a disobedient rogue child.”
Yes, now is your time, my son!
“You stinking bitch!” Andorel screamed, baring his pointed teeth and howling in pure rage as the red mists lowered. He saw the look of shock on the Wychalarn’s face before her head was sent flying across the clearing. He sneered in contempt at the frightened expressions of the rest of the witches, and turned around to face them, sword spinning. In his ears, Bhaal sang and glorified in the whirlwind of death, but he didn’t care. Nobody treats kiddies like that while I’m around, NO ONE!
Andorel spun, slashed, stabbed, kicked and punched. Warm liquids splashed on his face and armour, but he hardly felt it. One last target left- a terrified young witch in black. She started to run, but he grabbed her long black hair, yanked her back and then headbutted her with his metal helmet. She dropped swiftly to the ground.
He dropped his sword with a thud, and panted, wiping the sweat off his forehead.
Good work, my son.
Ah, bugger off, you dead fart. There was a faint chuckle, and then Bhaal was gone from his head.
The half-orc looked down at the young Dekaras, and noticed he had woken up- and was staring up at the warrior with dark eyes.
“Um, sorry if I scared ya, lad.”
