Fire at Dusk

(Continued from Tit for Tat.)

Zola arrives at the base of the hill Haspar Knoll sits on and immediately runs into the herb and flower garden. The door opens before she could knock as usual, with Beulah standing in the doorway, having expected her arrival the moment she crossed the tree line. In the window, Lillian’s familiar figure retreats into the kitchen to make tea.

Zola throws herself into Beulah’s arms and hugs the red hag tightly. “Mother Beulah, I’m so glad to see you,” she sighs.

“Welcome home, Daughter Zola,” Beulah greets her softly, closing the door behind her. “Come tell Lillian and I what you have been up to!”

Right on cue, the green hag comes around the doorway to the kitchen with a tray of steaming tea. “It’s been so busy I haven’t even been able to take a peek myself!”

Zola smiles at the fragrant scent of Lillian’s tea, her mind finally accepting that she is home and safe. “Where has Mother Pearl gone?” she asks as she takes a seat in a wicker chair, but at that moment, the hags notice the puffiness of her cheeks and the redness in her eyes.

Lillian stops in her tracks. “Zola! What’s wrong?”

Beulah looks over in surprise as she goes to sit down herself. “Off to see someone from the court about Osarbreach again… What’s happened, Daughter?”

“Oh, is it that obvious?” Zola wonders aloud, rubbing at her cheek. “Well, um, I had a really awful nightmare. Really, really awful.”

Lillian sets the tray down on a low table and pours a cup for Zola and Beulah. “Tell us all about it, deary.” Her voice has taken on the same soothing, caring tone she uses during some of her divination consultations to help put the client at ease. And it works. Of her three mothers, Lillian is always the one to console Zola first whenever she is sad or gets hurt. The other two have their own ways of soothing her, but neither are quite as warm and affectionate as Lillian.

Zola takes a deep breath and tells them about the Sharran fiend attacks on the Dawnlands and how she has been helping the clerics of Selûne fight them off, how she has slain two of these fiends — who call themselves the Heralds of Blade and Ash — with her own hand, and how one of them decided to take revenge on her.

“Zah’ranin the Flesh-eater visited me in a dream last night. They…they came out of my chest and wounded me and ate my innards… I was conscious the whole time and even though it was a dream, it felt so real…” Her voice trails off. She feels the emotions swelling up inside her again.

“Dreadful!” Lillian comments. Beulah remains quiet but the concern is clear on her face.

“And…and when I woke up, this was on my body…”

Zola pulls the neckline of her dress apart to show the mark under her breasts. They both lean in for a look and almost knock their heads into each other. A little frustrated but still with a caring tone, Beulah says, “Stand up, Daughter Zola, and show us properly.”

She does as she is told. “It feels cold, and still does, I don’t know why…”

Both hags stand up with her and lean in, Beulah tracing the mark with her fingers and pressing gently, testing it. “It feels cold, you say? Does it hurt at all?”

Lillian glances up at her. “And this appeared when you awoke? Have you seen this mark before?”

“It doesn’t hurt. Yes, I’ve seen it before. It’s the ‘banner’ of the Heralds of Blade and Ash, they’ve been leaving it almost everywhere they go. And there’s another adventurer in the Dawnlands who has this same mark on his rib — my friend Marto Copperkettle. He too was visited by one of the Heralds in his dreams.”

“It doesn’t feel cold…” Beulah sounds thoughtful as she continues to examine it with scrutiny. She places her hand flat over the mark and closes her eyes, and Zola feels an odd surge within her body. Her blood rushes, her pulse quickens ever so slightly, and a warmth grows in her chest around Beulah’s hand, who appears to be concentrating.

Meanwhile, Lillian cups her face. “Oh, our sweet Zola. What have you gotten yourself into, hm?”

“I don’t know, Mum. I don’t know,” she says, tears welling up in her eyes again. “I’ve been praying to Eilistraee but I hear no answers. I’m scared…”

“It’s okay, dear…”

Beulah opens her eyes with an annoyed expression. “No more tears, Daughter Zola. You are a strong and capable woman. The fact they have done this to you shows as much.”

“She’s upset, Beulah!”

“As am I, Lillian! She is our daughter!”

Lillian shoots her a critical but understanding look before turning back to Zola, running a hand through her thick hair. “You do not need to seek Eilistraee for answers, dear. Hold still—” She plucks a couple of hairs from Zola’s scalp. “Now, you can tell me your questions, dear. But first, Beulah, fetch your needle.”

"I have it already," Beulah says, reaching into the folds of her dress and producing an ancient-looking, very long and fine needle carved from bone, its tip stained black with something. She wipes the needle on her dress as she turns over Zola’s hand. “Sharp scratch,” she says, and pokes it into the young drow’s middle finger, where it stays. She squeezes the finger and slowly turns the hand back over as a small drop of blood seeps out and begins to slowly run an inch down the needle, where it almost appears to collect into a small bead. Once the bead grows to about half an inch in diameter, she removes the needle and squeezes the finger again, and Zola feels the prick wound heal over.

Zola wipes the tears from her eyes with the back of her free hand but otherwise stays still for Beulah. She looks at Lillian. “Um… I-I want to know what purpose these marks have, what the devils plan to do with those who bear them.”

As she asks her questions, Beulah takes the needle, sits back in her own chair again, and performs the little ritual again on herself this time, the collected blood forming into a second bead on the needle. Lillian, meanwhile, tilts her head to one side and runs her long-fingered hand through her own long, white braids, and with a sharp tug, pulls a couple of her own hairs free and begins to carefully and very deftly weave her own and Zola’s hairs together. “I’m afraid nothing good, Zola, dear. The fiends you defeated must indeed be powerful to reach into your dreams while reforming themselves.”

“The mark is like a beacon, Daughter. They will use it to track you, marking you as their target,” Beulah chimes in. “It is not currently active, however, so there is little we can do to remove it right now. However, even that would be a pointless endeavour. As Lillian says, they are capable of branding you from where they lay — they could simply re-new the mark were they to discover it was removed.”

“Yes. I’m afraid there is not much we can do for this, but we can at least help shield you in your dreams dear.”

Zola nods furtively. The fear remains in her but she feels a small wave of relief from finally getting some answers at long last. “Please, I’d like that very much. They don’t visit just once, Marto was visited by the one who branded him very recently.”

Beulah closes a hand over the beads of blood that has collected on the needle and mutters something under her breath, filling the room with the distinct metallic smell of blood. She opens her hand and the two droplets, now seemingly solidified, drop off the needle and into her hand. She stands up again and heads for the kitchen.

“That’s right. They will continue to try and disturb you until they get what they want, dear,” says Lillian.

“But what is it they want?” says Zola, furrowing her brow. “Selûne’s holy artefacts?”

“Perhaps. You said you’ve been helping Selûne? Has anything else happened, anything else said?”

From the kitchen, Beulah shouts out, “ROSEMARY OR—”

“SAGE!”

“In the dream?” Zola asks. “Not really, except that they told me their name and where they came from. Phlegethos, in the Nine Hells.”

“Hmm, I see. Would you mind me seeing the dream, dear? I know it has been scary for you so we do not have to if you do not want to.”

She hesitates. “Showing” Lillian the dream would mean re-living it. But she needs to be brave now, it’s the only way she can get through this. She looks into Lillian’s green eyes and nods with steely determination.

“Okay, sit down dear, that’s it. Close your eyes, I will guide us there.” Lillian pulls another chair to sit herself down directly in front of Zola, the cascade of white braids falling around her as she gets herself comfortable before resting one hand on Zola’s chest over the mark and the other, still holding the strands of hair she was weaving, up to Zola’s forehead, where she rests two fingers.

For Zola, Lillian probing into her mind feels reminiscent of the feeling of drunkenness — the brain swims and turns as this caring and familiar presence enters her consciousness and begins to take some degree of control, not of the body, but of the direction her mind faces. There is a sense of stretching, filling of a space before turning inward, and very quickly, Zola feels herself running…

The dream plays out the same way for Zola, as if experiencing it for the first time all over again, but flashing past in an instant. When the dream ends, she opens her wet eyes to see Lillian before her, lowering her hand from her forehead with a look of sadness on her face. Behind her, Beulah is standing and watching over her shoulder. Zola takes deep, shaky breaths in and out, trying against all odds not to cry.

Lillian looks up at Beulah. “We have a strong Daughter, Beulah,” she says with pride in her voice. The red hag smiles and leans forward to dry Zola’s eyes, and she smiles back at both of them. “Sadly, it doesn’t seem to say exactly what they want, but it is clearly tied to the moon goddess, you are correct. But in any case, you have certainly got them upset. Your association to the Dark Maiden only makes you all the more interesting, I’m afraid.”

She makes a few final adjustments to the weave of hairs, then reaches a hand towards Beulah, who gives her the beads of blood along with a sprig of sage.

Zola mulls her words over. “To think of it, the last time we faced them, Marto was there too. I guess maybe they knew that he and I would be helping the Selûnites protect themselves and the Dawnlands and they want to thwart our plans…”

Beulah answers this time. “Perhaps. It seems they have their teeth set into a particular goal and, to them, you may just be a thread to that end. Or they are simply pissed off with your handling of them so far.”

She steps around Lillian and gestures for Zola to stand up for her. “You are strong, Daughter Zola. And these creatures know that. That is why they are harassing you like this… But you must remain strong. They will continue on until they get what they want or you put a stop to them for good. You and your friends must stay strong. Dance and sing, my daughter, and may their bodies fall before your graceful step.” She smiles a deeply proud smile at Zola and then steps aside for her coven sister.

Lillian comes into view, her eyes clouded over white and her hands raised skyward. Floating in the air between them are the weave of hairs, blood beads, and sage. Zola watches as the leaves detach from the stem and crumble to a fine ash that swirls and settles on the woven strands of hair, and the blood beads align themselves onto the remaining stem. Finally, the weave seems to race and twist, wrapping itself tightly around the beads and stem, holding them together and forming a tiny loop at the top, creating a small red-and-white charm.

The white fades from Lillian’s eyes as she lowers her hands and takes the charm from the air. “In the meantime, dear, this should help prevent some of the terrible dreams,” she says, handing it to Zola who receives it with both hands and an air of deep reverence for the ancient magics she has just witnessed and the power of her mothers. She takes the moon-touched charm Rholor gave to her from under her dress and loops the charm onto its chain, then in a sudden, single move, pulls both Lillian and Beulah into a hug.

“Thank you, both of you. I owe everything about who I am today to you all,” she says with a soft sniffle.

The two hags hug her back tightly, and they remain like that for a while.

“Do you think you could make one for my friend Marto too?” Zola enquires when she pulls away. “Oh, I suppose I'll need to get him here first…”

“He also doesn’t share our bond, Daughter Zola.”

“But we could try something for the boy if he wants to visit,” Lillian adds, nudging Beulah with a stern look, which makes Zola grin. A funny turnaround given that it is usually Beulah who is the one giving such looks. Nonetheless, Zola nods to her.

“I understand. I’ll ask him, maybe he doesn’t even want something like this. But I feel much more at ease knowing that I can sleep better tonight.” She gives them both kisses on the cheek. “Phew! Is there any housework I can help with? Maybe I can prepare dinner for us all when Mother Pearl comes back?”

There is the briefest glance shared between the two.

“Don’t be silly, dear, you’ve been through enough! We’ll arrange food,” Lillian answers quickly.

“Yes, Daughter, you get some rest and clean up for dinner, we will manage everything here,” Beulah adds.

“Alright, alright,” she giggles. It seems Haspar Knoll will be spared from her magnificently awful cooking for another day.

(Meanwhile, in Entr’acte 18…)

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Co-written with the amazing Anthony. Seriously, how does he come up with all these?