This one is appearing about a week or so earlier than it ought... but I found that I needed to write it now.
Spectre, Jeannette, this one's for you. And for Dad and Bert, always in my mind.
Another Step Deeper
There you go Gone from mystery into mystery Walked outside Gone from mystery into mystery
Swimming deeper into mystery
Here I remain
Only seeing where you used to be
Stared at the ceiling
'Til my ears filled up with tears
Never got to know you
Suddenly you're out of here
Gone from daylight into night
Another step deeper into darkness
Closer to the light
Summer moon was nearly down
Mist on the fields
Holy stillness all around
Death's no stranger
No stranger than the life I've seen
Still I cry
Still I beg to get you back again
Gone from daylight into night
Another step deeper into darkness
Closer to the light
--- "Closer to the Light", Bruce Cockburn (from the album Dart to the Heart)
Patricia found herself wandering up to the roof. It was only last night that she and the others had slipped into the stockade, only five--- no, six days, now--- since she had found herself in this whole new land. It was after midnight, so it was the ninth of Mirtul now. A wave of cold washed over her. Sweet Ilmater, not the ninth… it was the first anniversary of Gorion's death. She dropped onto a handy set of steps, feeling the tears overwhelm her because of the suddenness of the revelation. It was just too much on top of the day's other stresses, and she wept silently for ten minutes.
Gradually she calmed enough to resume her survey of the night. It was windless and pleasantly warm, and the moon rode low on the western horizon. Soon it would set, and the stars alone would light the night sky. It had been just such a night last year when Sarevok had set upon them… NO! She would not bring her brother's face to her memory, would not allow him and Bhaal even that much additional victory. She would honor Gorion here and now, but she must put the anger behind her. She wished to remember her father as he had once been, not as the empty shell left behind on the grass.
The grass… the meadow had looked so innocent the next day, once she and Imoen had finished their final act of filial piety. They'd dug him a burial pit with their small folding camp shovels as a labor of love, being careful to cut underneath the grass roots so they could save the sod. The Spring Beauties had been late that year, and when the soil mat was replaced, a galaxy of pale pink stars had made his pall. A fitting tribute to a man who had once walked across many worlds. Patricia wondered if the stone cairn they'd placed at the head of the grave still stood. She hoped so; the two of them had inked in the symbols of Deneir, Mystra, and Tyr on the topmost rock, as well as their father's name and mage symbol. Was Imoen thinking of him tonight as well? She was fairly sure that her sister still lived, as her prayers for her safety never met with the blank wall that one found when the soul had crossed over for good. Loss, loss, there was nothing but loss all around her….
Anomen had come up onto the roof to talk to his deity. He found it easier to talk to the Great Guard on battlements and perimeter lines, anywhere a guard might normally be stationed, and this night was exceptionally fine. He caught sight of a form huddled in the shadows on a staircase. He turned sharply towards it, uncertain who this could be, then caught a faint sob. He relaxed. Nalia, then, mourning for her father out from under her aunt's eyes. He'd leave her be, but stay close enough to keep an eye on her. He moved on to the end of the roof, keeping to the shadows to try to pass unnoticed. He'd been meditating for some minutes when he realized that a voice had begun singing softly. It wasn't Nalia; that was Patricia's voice, he'd heard it humming so early that morning. He strained to catch the words, but it was too faint from here. Slowly, almost unwillingly, he moved closer, until he could hear clearly. "Death's no stranger/ No stranger than the life I've seen/ Still I cry/ Still I beg to get you back again."
The cleric was puzzled. Patricia had been grieved to find Lord de'Arnise dead, but he had not expected this strong a reaction from her. She hadn't known the man, after all. This sounded like an intensely personal grief. Did he dare interrupt? The weeping had stopped. He suddenly realized that he could not imagine Patricia crying over anything. She didn't even weep in pain when wounded. Yet he knew she could feel emotional hurt; he'd seen it being held back tightly just last night, when she'd apologized to him.
The song was repeating now, clearer and stronger, and he saw that she'd risen from the steps. Holding her arms out to the moon, she crossed to the edge of the parapet. Anomen stiffened for a moment, then relaxed as she folded her arms against the top of the low wall, leaning against it. She stopped singing and gazed out over the fields. He was drawn to her silence, and found himself approaching her.
Patricia was slightly startled to hear footsteps behind her. She turned her head to see Anomen approaching her quietly. How long had he been up here? The tears were dried now, so perhaps he wouldn't notice anything amiss. There was no need to burden him with her cares. Let him think she had come merely to enjoy the moon.
He said nothing at first, just leaned his own arms onto the wall and surveyed the night. His mind was racing, trying to find something to say that would be neither offensive nor inane. He recalled something she'd said earlier about heroes.
"Milady?" he began questioningly. "You said today that your greatest heroes had no monuments. I know your father Gorion is dead. Is he one of the people you meant?"
Patricia wanted to answer back coldly, to discourage him from pursuing the subject farther. Instead she found herself replying in a voice that quavered a little, "One year ago tonight he gave himself as a willing sacrifice that I might live. I cannot express how much I miss him, how many times I have longed to hear his voice calling me in to dinner or giving me gentle advice. I miss him all the more now that Imoen has been taken from me too, and I feel that I have somehow failed him…."
Anomen couldn't even breathe. It was exactly how he felt about his mother, who'd always understood him and fostered his dream of joining the Order. He'd always felt that his mother had counted on him to protect his little sister. He'd considered himself a failure for years because he couldn't rescue Moira from her drudge's life, even though it was she who refused to leave. Now that he could hear the same sentiment echoed by someone else, he began to hope that perhaps he wasn't such a failure after all. Perhaps what he felt was a normal part of grief and loss. He ached all over with the pain, both his own and Patricia's.
Finally he cleared his throat and said huskily, "Who else qualifies as your hero?"
"My mother," Patricia answered promptly, glad to shift the subject away from Gorion, to force her grief back into its small corner of her heart. "I have no memories of her at all. As I understand it, she had a hard choice before her. I know none of the details, though I suspect it was a dark tale. All I do know is that she was Delaine's cousin, and Gorion loved her, though he was not my true father. She was ill for a long time, and just as they discovered a remedy, she realized that she was with child. The cure might or might not have killed me, but she refused to take the risk. She died within a week of my birth, and I barely even know her name, because none of them could bear to speak of her final agony. She chose to give me life at the expense of her own. She had months to contemplate her own approaching demise, yet I am told she never wavered. Can you wonder, then, that I honor her? That I feel that sometimes it takes more courage to make a single choice for good than it does to spend a lifetime fighting monsters?"
Anomen felt ashamed. He kept seeing the world in terms of his father's endless rules of behavior: do this; don't do that; that's okay because it's legal, no matter who it hurts. The Order's rules were nearly as strict, and where they discomfited most novices, they had actually made him feel more at home. He was happy as long as he knew what was expected of him. Yet he was beginning to feel that perhaps obedience to the letter of the law was insufficient. Anomen realized that Patricia had just made a point that Moira had been trying to get him to see for some years. Sometimes just obeying a command wasn't enough; you had to look at the whole situation to find the answer that was good as well as lawful. Perhaps… perhaps he needed to change his heart as well as control his thoughts? Was that how the full paladins found the contentment that fairly glowed in their faces, and that he had begun to despair of achieving?
"You don't achieve it," said Patricia, "it's granted to you."
To his horror, Anomen found that he'd spoken his last few thoughts aloud. How had he forgotten her presence? Why on earth was he even discussing faith with this woman at all?
Patricia was beginning to feel as if a huge weight had been removed from her soul. That was it! The answer she'd been seeking for so long! In her turn, she spoke her thoughts aloud, thrilled with her insight. "Anomen, thank you so much. This has reminded me of the long evenings I spent covering the same ground with Papa Gorion. I asked so many of the same questions, spent so much time turning the same problems over in my head. I guess I just got to them faster than you because my training emphasized them. You have given me a great gift tonight. We've talked about a great deal, and I can now remember my father with less grief and more love, because I have been able to listen to someone else's doubts in turn. I feel that I can somehow pass something of his greatness on. He will no longer feel so far away."
She looked up at the sky. "Thank you, Papa, wherever you are. And now I know that I must accept Nalia's offer too. No one else will take care of this place, so I will look after it as you watched over me when I was left alone in the world."
She turned back to Anomen, and her mask had slipped again. She felt a strong sense of cameraderie with the Watcher. They were really both heading down the same path; she was just a bend or two further along. He could see the friendly approval radiating from her face, and felt warmed by it.
"Will you give me your advice on military matters again?" she asked. "You certainly proved yourself today, and I trust you more than anyone else I know here. This keep's going to need to do a lot of rebuilding. Just look at all these broken catapults around us." She stuck her hand out to him. "Deal, friend?"
He smiled back, and pumped her hand with his own. "Deal, friend, on one condition. You must let me partake of Gorion's wisdom more often."
She grinned at him. Anomen found himself more delighted every time he could provoke that expression to appear. "Don't worry, milord. I'll probably make you ill with too many tales!"
He bowed. "As Lady Patricia pleases." He noted her startled look. "A House Regent is accorded noble status here in Amn, though the title would not be hereditary. You will find the servants addressing you as Lady Patricia, unless you would prefer Sister Patricia."
She wrinkled her nose. "No, within my Order that title is reserved for extremely formal occasions. Lady Patricia it is, I suppose, though it's going to sound pretty funny with Contemplata."
"Your family name should not be a cause for ridicule," he said with slight astonishment.
"It's not my family name, it's the name I was given when I entered the novitiate. My mother's last name was Rosehill. Imoen's surname is Delacroix, not that it matters."
Anomen frowned. He decided not to pursue the subject, but perhaps he should ask his sister a few questions. His memory might be bad, but all the same it was a good thing that Patricia did not use that name….
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Robinson's Rule: Shared pain is lessened, shared joy increased.
