People ask me on occasion why one of my powers would ever travel a road or a ship at all. In truth, the answer lies amidst the esoteric principles of the Art. But an answer just as valid, and less arcane, lies in this old saying:
'It is not the destination that matters, it is the journey.'
-Excerpt from Of the Children of Murder
You will come too late...
I awoke with a start, those haunting words echoing in my mind.
At least my enemies are running out of creative dreams with which to trouble my sleep, I thought drily. This was an old dream, an old worry, that I had held since Imoen's capture...but beneath my forced amusement lay the distressing realisation that no, this wasn't the same dream, there was something...different. Something in her face...this was not the Imoen I knew.
I remembered the words I had spoken to Jaheira merely six days earlier, and laughed bitterly.
What in the world was I thinking?
You have no idea, kid, how many times I've asked that question before,
Milei again. You have to give her credit, though. Of all the unwelcome presences in my mind, she was the most benign. And not really that unwelcome, for all my protests to the contrary.
I'll take that as a compliment and refrain from setting fire to your robes.
I was fooling myself, wasn't I?
About me? Well, I'm hardly as evil as all that...
No, silly. About my future. There is no peace for the spawn of Bhaal, is there? Just a lineup of new worries jockeying for position. My siblings, my Father, those that seek to use me, or merely kill me...the danger I pose to others by my mere existence...does it ever end?
The possibility exists. The prophecies are...unclear. Milei's 'voice' took on a graver tone, out of the blue.
I jumped to my feet in startlement, and looked curiously down at my familiar. Just who are you?
Now that would be telling, wouldn't it? Just say that I have a vested interest in keeping you from killing yourself out of despair or stupidity, and leave it at that.
Women and their secrets. Putting aside the perplexing mystery for another time, I rose to my feet and conjured a mage light. Well, sleep is a lost cause. I'm going out. Perhaps the sky and the sea will put me at ease. Perhaps seeing the island on the horizon will reassure me. Only a day away...
Suit yourself. I'm going to sleep.
Oh, joyous day!
Well, if you're going to be like that...
No, no, that's quite all right, dear. I fled the room, closed the door, and headed up top.
There was a knock. Another, more persistent, and then a third to finally draw Yoshimo from his uneasy sleep. Cursing under his breath, he moved to answer the door. On a hunch, he belted his katana at his side.
None of the others would need me this late, and there are far fewer beautiful women on this ship than there are angry sailors recently...short of coin.
He chuckled at his own joke, and then finally opened the door. Standing in it, outlined in the faint light of a crescent moon, was Saemon Havarian, affecting a subdued manner...meaning he didn't dance with every step and sport that insufferable grin. Instead he held a candle and glanced furtively from side to side, as if desperate to get away, get this over with.
The pirate offered no greeting, but spoke immediately. "The outcast oak branch does not die."
Yoshimo would have given his heart, his life, his very soul to be able to deny that he knew the countersign...but those things were no longer his to give. He pulled Yoshimo, his magic, forcing his tongue to speak the dread words against his own will, pulling his lips in a grotesque mockery of speech, that he might say the words he loathed.
"But returns whence it came to seek redress." He spoke the words as though they meant his death. They did. Death of honor, death of body, where lay the difference?
Saemon was unperturbed, and said in a businesslike tone. "You have the ingredients?"
"Hai," said the Kozakuran, reverting to his native tongue in his discomfort. He hesitantly reached over to a table and obtained the bag in question, handing it to Saemon with a grimace. Havarian noticed this, and made reply.
"No complaining at this stage. Too late for either of us to change anything. Besides, this way was your idea in the first place."
"It is still a dishonor."
"I was under the impression that you had left that part of your life behind."
"That, ronin, is where you are wrong." Yoshimo said no more, offering the pirate only a grim glare. Somewhat intimidated, Saemon backed out, closing the door behind him. Yoshimo returned to his bed, thoughts in turmoil. But above all, above thoughts of the deathtrap closing inexorably around him, above worries for newfound friends, even above His constant vigilance, lay thoughts of she for whom he would...had...sacrifice all.
"Tamoko...sister..." And at last there were tears, where there was no one to see. Would she mourn for what he had been? Would anyone?
Had I gone blind, the unmistakable scent of the sea would have told me I had arrived on deck. Since I still had all my faculties of vision, however, the view provided by looking overboard provided more than adequate confirmation of this fact.
Gazing over the water, I imagined I could see the dark shapes of the Nelanther Isles in the distance...and the southernmost of them, Brynnlaw, drew my eyes. We were a day away. A day away from rescuing Imoen and beginning to heal the scars of...whatever Irenicus had done.
Irenicus... Thinking of the confrontation that would inevitably result, I shivered...from the chlll of the night air, perhaps.
Don't fool yourself. It's fear.
Fear it was, then. Nonetheless, we had to face him. With any luck, our meeting would result in his death...he was one person who all the voices in my head agreed deserved to die.
Hm. When I put it like that, I almost sound crazy. Perhaps I am.
Pacing the deck, a familiar voice drifted to my ears, seemingly from above and behind me. I turned and looked up, and my suspicions were confirmed.
Atop a mast, in the crowsnest, I could see Aerie, standing there as she had done every night of her voyage, and in the night air her voice carried. She was singing, in a dialect of Elvish that I recognized as particular to the avariel. Her song spoke of childhood, of joy...and lamented their loss.
Gods, she has a beautiful voice when she sings. I begin to see what that bard in the Flagons saw in her...
At the foot of the mast stood Minsc, the hulking ranger gazing upward with unsleeping eyes like an avatar of Helm himself, taking his duties toward her as seriously as always.
"Well, there are people afraid of heights, so why shouldn't there be people healed by them?", I remarked to myself.
"She should not dwell on the past," came the voice from behind me.
Gods, was no one asleep tonight?,I thought, and resolved then and there to enforce a strict bedtime in future, or else disclaim all hope of functioning durng normal hours.
I turned to Jaheira, approaching out of the moonlit darkness, and spoke. "I don't see it as dwelling as much as memory."
"She has done this every night we have been on this ship. Surely that is dwelling. She cannot grow if she is chained by her past." Impatience mixed with worry tinged the druidess' voice.
I smiled like an indulgent father. "Allow her the luxury. We all have...traumatic events in our recent pasts."
"Indeed we do." She paused and looked over the water in silence for a moment before continuing. "But we do not let them chain us. Someone so focused on the lost joys of their past can miss...can miss their chance for joy in present and future."
"And yet we must still remember...for the past shapes us." I concluded the thought we apparently both shared.
We turned together to lean over the rail and look to the western horizon, towards Arvandor, remembering the lost. Neither of us spoke, and with the silence of our voices, Aerie's mournful song drifted over our heads in accompaniment.
"...remember all forgotten days..."
Lost in thought and memory and mourning, I barely felt her warm hand cover mine on the wooden railing of the ship. The faces of the dead floated before my closed eyes.
A wizened, kindly, smiling face.
Gorion, with your caring ways...you were my real father, no matter who sired me.
A dark-skinned woman, with flowing hair and glowing eyes.
Dynaheir...you hid your true self, but had you lived I have no doubt that you would be someone worth knowing well. The way you took care of Minsc, addled as he was, shows at least that you had a good and kind heart.
A smooth-faced man with brown hair and pointed ears, his eyes holding too many years for his face.
Khalid, with your gentleness, your protection, and your sense of humour...you were always a friend to me. And a lucky man, for she loved you with all her heart. Will I be so lucky? Or am I fooling myself?
I wonder...was that really you, in that dream she told me of? Or merely her hopes embodied in your frame? And why do both of those possibilities scare me so much?
I cannot lie to the dead, nor can I envy them. Nor can I lie to myself.
I love her, I think. You can surely understand why.
I shied at that admission from my own mind. Fine, I admit it. Happy? What in the hells do I do now?
Later. My new favorite word, it seems.
Giving silent thanks that Milei was still asleep, I turned to the last of my ghosts, the last of my faces, and one that grew as I drew ever closer to the island I imagined looming in the night ahead.
A child's face, ever-smiling, eyes as bright as the red of her hair.
Imoen, who I loved as a sister and always made me smile... I blinked back tears, and my thoughts escaped the seal of my lips as a fierce whisper.
"...no, you are alive. You are alive, and I will save you if I have to tear Spellhold down to its foundations."
Jaheira turned to face me, brown eyes glittering with unshed tears. "We will find her, Dallan. We will save those we love who live...and avenge those who have fallen. Of this I have no doubt." An expression of firm resolve crossed her face, replaced in an instant by a tender smile.
She leaned in towards me, smelling of the cool forest glades we both adored. Her lips gently, ever so gently, touched my cheek. And then she stepped back, lifting her hand from mine to touch my shoulder.
"Rest now, Dallan. We reach the island tomorrow." And then she turned and strode off into the darkness, towards the cabins.
Aerie's song soared in exultant hope for the future.
My heart joined it.
No one is truly dead unless they are forgotten.
No one can truly live unless they remember.
-Jaheira, Lady Starfall
