Chapter 9: Scratching the Surface
The last ogre fell to the ground with a sickening thud.
"Is everyone all right?" Imoen shouted.
"Does alive count?" Ember replied, clutching her arm. She hadn't really noticed the pain while they were still fighting - she had been too busy, after all - but now the pain seemed to be intensifying with every moment that passed. Clearly, the half-ogre's blow had broken more than just her bow. She glanced around at her companions: Kivan's breathing was loud and ragged, and Ajantis was limping towards him. She watched as Ajantis placed a hand on Kivan's chest. There was a flash of blue light. When it faded, Kivan was obviously breathing a bit easier; she could no longer hear him from ten paces.
A man and a woman stepped out from behind a large boulder. In the days that had passed since leaving Melicamp in Thalantyr's care, they were the first people Ember and her friends had come across; the ogres had been chasing them, and the group had intervened. Thankfully, they at least appeared to be unharmed.
"Thank you so much for your assistance! We owe you our lives!" the woman exclaimed.
"We could never repay you," The man said. "All I can offer is my healing skills, if you desire," the man said.
"We would appreciate that," Ajantis said.
"I suspected you might. Those ogres did not appear the gentle types. Now, where shall I start..." The man scrutinized each of them before heading for Kivan. He held his hand a couple inches over the elf's chest and murmured softly with closed eyes. "Broken ribs," the man pronounced, then cast a healing spell.
The man continued onward to Ember. "Fractured arm. You should have held still; the bones have twisted out of position."
"I didn't have time to hold still."
"I know, my dear. It doesn't matter; I'll just have to set your arm straight before I can heal it." The man chanted a light healing cantrip, removing the pain and seemingly filling Ember's arm with cool water as he twisted it back into shape. He let go of her arm, nodded with satisfaction, and cast a more powerful spell upon her. The coolness gave way for a warm, tingling sensation as bones and tissue reknit. The warmth flooded through her body, easing minor aches and bruises she had barely noticed were there. Tentatively, she raised her arm; she noted with a smile that it moved and felt as though it had never been injured in the first place.
The healer moved on to Ajantis, concentrating on his badly sprained leg, and finished with Imoen's small cuts and scrapes.
"You have our gratitude," Kivan said.
"If you don't mind my asking," Ajantis said, "why is a healer of your caliber traveling in the wilderness in these unsafe times?"
"Oh, it is a sad tale," the woman said.
The man nodded. "I heal others in penance for what I have done in my past. Many have died because of a foolish act of charity on my part, you see."
"What happened?" Imoen asked, wide-eyed.
"I have a brother, an evil man named Davaeorn. Many have died at his hands, including... including our own father. He lives because I was too weak hearted to kill him when I had the chance. I have heard that he has come to this region, and I hope to meet him one day, to rectify my previous mistake."
"I hope you do find him," Ember said.
"May we ask who your companion is?" Ajantis asked. "Is this gentle lady aiding you in your momentous task?"
"My wife... my wonderful wife," the man said, smiling warmly at the woman, "could not bear to let me travel alone. She has followed me across many rough miles."
"He makes it sound like a chore," the woman said with a chuckle. "Now, I do not have his abilities, but I do see a lot that is hidden. Plain as day, it is to me. Would you care for a little old fashioned palm reading? A little gypsy magic to steer your course straight and true?"
Ember and Imoen looked at each other.
"Aw, what harm can it do?" Imoen said, shoving Ember towards the woman.
"Hey!" Ember protested, then sighed theatrically at her grinning friend. "I guess I am the first volunteer, then. How does this work?" Ember asked the woman.
The woman smiled warmly. "There is no need for alarm. What I offer is not magic in the common sense, but rather a reading of YOU. Nothing to do with summoning energy, just the reading of that which is already there. Give me your palm and I shall demonstrate."
Ember obediently held out her hand to the woman. "Let's have a look now," the woman muttered, tracing the palm's lines with her fingers; the touch was warm and comforting. "Interesting. Though you live the hard life now, your hand tells of a softer existence not long ago. I assume that you have just recently taken to the road?"
"That much is true, yes," Ember said. Pretty harmless so far; anyone could see how fresh those calluses are.
"I thought as much. Lets have a little closer look now. Back down your life line," the woman said, tracing a single long line across Ember's palm. "I see a scholarly influence, and you are well educated. You had a mentor that was a great sage? Perhaps of considerable power as well?"
Ember hesitated before answering. "My foster father Gorion might fit that description."
"You had a resonably happy childhood with him, aside from being a little difficult. My my, but you were quite the little hellion," the woman said with a slight chuckle. "Wonder where that comes from? Let's see what we can't learn about you back before this Gorion." The woman leaned over Ember's hand, studying it even more closely. "Further back I see...I see... Madre de merced!" The woman let go of Ember's hand. "I-see-a-long-and-happy-life-for-you-and-yours," she said hurriedly.
"What? What is it that you saw?"
"I saw nothing! You will live long and enjoy life and we must be going now!" The woman ran off, dragging her confused husband along with her.
---
Ember stared morosely at the mass of greenish black above her. They were many miles from where they'd destroyed the band of ogres, and had set up camp for the night under a cluster of large evergreen trees. The others were fast asleep already, but although her body felt tired, she just couldn't rest.
She could not get the palm-reading woman out of her head. Her stricken expression, the way she had let go of her hand as though it were toxic, the obvious lie she had insisted upon ending her reading with before running away.
The woman must have seen something horrible in her past.
When they were children, she and Imoen had sometimes pretended that their parents were heroes and princesses who had had to give up their babies for a number of extremely dramatic and deeply tragic reasons beyond their control. It was only a game, but part of her had wished that their games might have had a kernel of truth; she had hoped her lost parents were good, kind people who never would have abandoned her willingly.
If she were a regular, tragic orphan, the woman should have looked shocked and called her a poor, poor child. The only explanation was that her parents were truly awful people, or that she herself was awful. Hells, maybe she killed her parents when she was a baby?
Now how could I possibly have done that, she chided herself. Angry at herself and at her inability to let it go and let herself rest, she tossed her blanket aside and stood up from her bedroll. Moving as quietly as she could, she left the cluster of trees. The moon was half full and gave enough light that she could easily make her way to the small river nearby. She sat down on a large, flat rock which jutted into the shallow river. The river was shallow and had a bed of rocks, worn round and smooth by time and current. She stuck her hand into the cold water and fished out a handful of the pebbles, which she sorted into small piles according to shape. She was preoccupied with skipping the flattest stones across the river when she was startled by the sound of Kivan's voice from behind to her.
"You should be sleeping, child," he said quietly.
Dropping the stone in her hand and turning rapidly, Ember found herself looking up into the elf's serious face. "Kivan! Um, shouldn't you be sleeping too?"
"I do not require much rest," Kivan said. "Why are you sitting here?"
"I'm just... thinking."
"About the healer's wife?"
"Yes," Ember admitted. "I just don't understand... why would she react like that? She was so scared! It doesn't make sense - unless she saw something really bad about me!"
"Palm reading is not an accurate discipline."
Ember didn't respond, and for a couple minutes, the only sounds around them were those of running water, distant nocturnal animals, and their breathing.
"Kivan?"
"Yes?"
"Do you think my parents might have been bad people?"
"Does it matter?"
"Doesn't it?"
"Your lineage does not make you. Good men can have evil offspring, and bad men can have gentle offspring. How you were raised is of at least as much importance."
Ember nodded quietly. "That makes sense, I guess."
"What makes you is what you do here and now, not what might have occured two decades ago. You were raised by a good man, and from what I can see, it is apparent in you. Do not let a fortune teller make you forget that."
Ember smiled in the darkness. "Thanks, Kivan. I appreciate that."
"You are welcome. Now, get some rest, child."
The two of them walked back to the camp in silence. Ember lay down on her bedroll and looked at the stars above her as they shone through the loose ceiling of branches. Kivan was right; her past was no different today than it had been yesterday. Palm reader or no palm reader, she was still who she always had been: Gorion's daughter.
And she'd make him proud of her yet.
As Ember drifted off into sleep, she found herself standing outside the gates of Candlekeep. Her father was standing at the gates, a warm yet wistful smile on his face as he blocked the path back inside.
"You cannot go back this way, child," her father told her. "You must go on."
