Post by Velania Kalugina on Sept 26, 2022 19:44:28 GMT
Following on from the events of the Heralds of Blades and Ash story
Travelling to hell to save High Diviner Rholor Vuzehk came at a great cost. After returning to the Dawnlands, Marto and Velania went their separate ways. Months later, both of them are still hurt, and still healing, and there is much that has been left unsaid…
Co-written with Marto Copperkettle 🪓
The steady gait of a light-footed halfling climbs up the pristine marble steps of the Temple of Selune. It has been some time since Marto was last in Daring Heights, and even longer since he last graced these hallowed halls with his presence. His heart is hammering a steady and loud rhythm in his chest, not for the effort of climbing the stairs but for the off-chance that he might run into any number of people he has not seen in almost two months.
A small warm breeze tickles the back of his head, lifting his shorter hair up in an encouraging caress. Marto shakes his hands, letting the nervous energy that’s been building within him go. He is being silly, there’s no reason to be nervous. Probably overthinking. If anything he should have come around a month ago. Maybe. But now is as good a time as ever to reach out and not regret it.
At least he hopes.
Pushing the heavy doors open just enough so he can slip inside, Marto is surprised to see he has arrived in the middle of a service. Ears burning from the gazes that turn to look at him, he quickly ducks his head, makes a beeline for one of the pews nearest the door, and softly settles into its wooden frame, letting Melissa’s voice cover his soft “Excuse me’s” and “Sorry’s”.
With its muted lighting, simple white and silver stone walls, and soft candlelight, the temple has always exuded an air of tranquillity. It is immediately obvious why someone might enter to seek solace… or remain here to escape. Melissa speaks for ten minutes more, and during this time, there is no glimpse of Velania. At the end of the ceremony, Melissa delivers a series of final blessings, to which the congregation gives the usual responses in Common.
Then, from a hidden place, a lone voice strikes up a note, singing an ancient prayer in Celestial. It is joined by another, in close polyphony, and then a third. The three voices sing high and interweave in a complex, asymmetric rhythm. The effect is sad, stirring and beautiful, and the three voices seem to resonate across the temple hall, with a power not of this world.
The congregation listens in awed silence, and once the song is over, people gradually stand and filter out of the temple, some beginning muted conversations. Melissa stands at the doors to say farewell to them as they leave.
It is then that Velania emerges from behind a panel off to the side of the hall, talking quietly but casually with two other acolytes – evidently, the three of them were the singers. Mid-sentence, her gaze falls upon Marto sitting at the back of the temple. She pauses, blinks, and one side of her mouth curls up into a wry smile. Breaking from looking his way, she whispers a brief farewell to her fellow singers and clasps her hands together. She steps towards Marto smoothly and slowly.
Finally seeing her Marto stands up, well aware that he was one of the last people in the temple. He gives a small wave along with a dip of his head and a tentative smile as he takes a few steps towards her. “Hi, Velania,” he says. There’s a slight pause, almost like he doesn’t know how to continue, then, “That’s some beautiful singing you and the others did. The acoustics in here are really something.”
“Ten percent practice, ninety percent Thaumaturgy,” she replies with a grin. It is obviously a familiar and well-worn joke. Then she glances up and around the hall. “They designed it perfectly for the acoustics in here. I never cease to marvel at that.” She breaks out of her musings and comes to focus. “Marto…” She opens her arms to embrace him. “It’s wonderful to see you. How are you?”
He hesitates, and Velania clearly sees it, but he recovers quickly, a warm smile preceding his words as Marto steps in to embrace her. “I am doing better, Velania. Much better.” His hands rub gentle circles on her back before he lets go, understanding the discomfort that can come from hugging someone half your height. “And you? I hope you’ve been taking your own time to rest…” he says, blue eyes searching her face a little.
If she feels anything awkward about the hug, it is not apparent in her face or body language. “Rest: yes. And I’ve been improving. Well… getting used to it all, anyway. Day at a time…” She pauses.
Although Velania is wearing formal vestments for a service, there is an air of informality about her. Her hair is thrown back into a tousled and casual ponytail, with strands falling loose about her face. Her cheeks and forehead are mildly sunburned and she lacks her iridescent aura of moonlight. She glances at the floor between them suddenly. “So… are you on your way anywhere right now… or…”
“Not today, no,” Marto says. He gestures to his pristine waistcoat embroidered with leaves in threads of green and gold. “No, I just came in from New Hillborrow, changing when I got into the Four Fair Winds. Tomorrow I’ll be busy, but not today.” His clear blue eyes lift up to her face. “I wanted to check in with you though, since I’m in town, see how you’re doing and… well,” he shifts from foot to foot a little, nervous, “was wondering if you had some time to have some tea with me? My treat.”
“Tea? Yes, I would love to…” she says, meeting his gaze. In the muted lighting of the temple, her cool, moonstone-green irises are bright and powerful, and swirl with all the power of the night sky. She pulls at the hem of her silvery robe. “…let me go and get rid of this, and meet you outside in a couple of minutes?” She hesitates a moment, before nodding nervously and hurrying away into a side chamber.
Shortly after, she emerges from the temple to find Marto outside. She wears a summer dress that combines lavender with moonlight. She has retied her hair and probably run her fingers through it hurriedly, though it is already promising to fall loose again before long. “So, do you have a place in mind?”
“We could go to Paradise Frost, grab something to go and walk around? Or we could go to the Fair Winds and have a proper sit-down tea there. The Theatre doesn’t have anything yet, else I’d suggest we go there, since it’s closest.” Marto opens his arms as if presenting the two options for Velania in his hands. “Which would you prefer?”
“Hmm. It’s a beautiful evening. I like the idea of walking a bit. So Paradise Frost? And we can always find somewhere outside to sit if we feel like it. Maybe there are places in the city you haven’t been past in a while that you’re curious to see.”
As they walk, Velania indicates a couple of buildings where the invasion damage has been repaired. “How is the rebuilding going in New Hillborrow? I can imagine there’s still plenty to do, over there.”
Marto nods. “There is. It’s been keeping me busy, in a good way. I’ve taken up learning Sylvan too, in my downtime, when I’m not helping rebuild houses or barns or the like. It’s been nice being around people whose biggest worry is whether we can get the crops planted again before the harvest.” He chuckles. “With BB there, I think we’ve managed to get the new seeds in the ground quick enough so her growing magic can yield at least a decent crop this year.”
Velania nods earnestly as Marto talks about New Hillborrow. “I’ve been there, believe it or not. Wondering how the crops will fare. My parents are farmers over in Turmish, central Faerûn. When I was younger, I used to be so bored and want to escape! But since I visited the Turning Fields, I’ve realised I kind of miss elements of that life. It’s hard work, but like you say, the worries are measurable in a way they never are in Daring Heights.” She smiles at hearing about BB. “I have never even been to New Hillborrow! It would be wonderful to meet her some day.”
“You would get along well with her,” Marto says. He looks around, noting the bright lights of certain shops and he smiles. “I’m glad to see the people here have been recovering well too.”
There’s a block or two where neither really say much. Marto seems to be debating what to say next for the latter half of their walk up Castle Road before they turn west into a smaller street, taking the quickest way they can to the patisserie. When they’re on the quieter street, he finally speaks. “Did you end up visiting An’Ahkrim in the end?”
At the mention of An’Ahkrim, her expression passes to and fro between a sad smile and concern. She opens her mouth to answer, rethinks, and starts again. “I did. He’s alive, and in hiding. He’s become a woodsman, if you can believe it” – she raises an eyebrow at Marto – “working on a log cabin in the Angelbark.”
Marto keeps his thoughts to himself for the moment. Velania continues.
Her expression darkens. “Whatever happens, it’s… it’s going to be hard for him. He’s an exile, a fugitive, with a lot of blood on his hands. There aren’t many people who will ever forgive him… and even fewer who will believe his change is sincere. All he’s got in this world is a gruff angel watching him from afar.” She looks at Marto pensively. “I’m out of my depth trying to offer pastoral care to someone who isn’t even sure if they have a soul.”
Marto is quiet for a long time as he tries to think of what he wants to say. They’re nearly at the patisserie when he slows down a little. “Out of all of the Heralds, he was the only one who made a choice to change. The others… The rest of them were beyond saving.” His eyes stay steadily forward. “No matter what anyone else believed otherwise.”
At his last comment, Velania’s glance darts toward him momentarily. She purses her lips and nods, knowing who he is referring to.
Even with the slightly slower pace they arrive at Paradise Frost quicker than either would have thought. Putting a pin in that conversation, Marto holds the door for Velania as the two step inside to order their tea and a simple treat to enjoy with it. Marto orders an Earl Grey Tea Latte with a dash of lavender flavour added, and an extra chewy ginger cookie the size of his hand. Curious to try the drink, Velania asks for the same thing, but a version with oat milk, and asks for a piece of heavy banana loaf to go with it.
When they step out of the cafe, refreshments in tow, Velania inclines her head thoughtfully. “As you say, the others were all set on their path. Committed to it. He is not, and of course that is what makes life complicated. He’s suffering at the moment.” Her voice lowers, more out of concern than secrecy. “It’s a strange place to be, feeling sorry for a killer. Concealing his existence. But there I am, and I don’t really know how I got there…”
“Do you not believe he can or is trying to change?” Marto asks, taking a tentative sip of the warm and frothy drink.
She exhales. “I do. Well… I don’t know. Well… maybe I do…” Her face is a distant frown. “Well… let me put it like this: The head claims to seek justice, but all the heart ever finds is revenge. I don’t know what I think, but I know revenge isn’t the way – or at least, it’s not my way.” She glances at Marto as they meander through the Castleside streets. “Maybe he is; maybe he can. You know about as much of him as I do: What do you think?”
There’s a nod from Marto as he takes another sip of his tea. “After what could have happened when we visited Themis, revenge has been the furthest thing from my mind.” He holds up a finger, like a teacher might when correcting a student. “No, that’s a lie. It was before then. Probably from the moment I slayed Adhyël. Even when I tried to face off against An’Ahkrim before the final battle he didn’t fight. He merely defended himself.”
His brow has drawn together, creating a deeper and deeper divot over his eyes. Marto takes a hearty bite of the cookie he bought and chews, thinking.
“Yes,” she says. “He was on the cusp by then. I’m glad I never saw him hurting any of us. I think that would…” She rapidly changes tone. “Well, the person punishing him most at the moment is himself. It’s one of those awful things to watch, but I just hope he can ride it out. I guess.” She buries her face in her tea. Again, an awkward silence creeps back between them as they walk.
“Marto, I’m so grateful you were there to see Themis. Like you, I was worried about what… was going to happen. I think the two of us being there to de-escalate… well, that made the difference.” She looks down at the ground, and almost shudders.
A hand comes to rest on Velania’s side. Marto’s touch is tentative but warm – gentle, even. “I was worried I’d have to fight her. For a moment there… I was ready to do it. I’m glad it didn’t come to that.” He looks up at her, a small grateful smile on his face.
Velania accepts his gesture and smiles cautiously back. “Me too. Thank the gods we didn’t. She was ready for it. I really think she was… but I think she’s started to mellow now. Je’Sathriel gave her a stern word or two.”
“Hmm. Good. At least she’s listening to someone,” Marto says, taking his hand back.
She makes a gesture of glancing at the road ahead. “How is the Sylvan going, then? Is it easy? Fun? Any reason for that language in particular?”
“It’s interesting, yes. Very different, but very fun. I’ve always had an interest in all things fey, and I’ve wanted to learn their language for a while, to better learn their magic,” he says with an ease of lightness that hasn’t been there until now.
“I’m impressed!” Velania’s face lights up with genuine enthusiasm, mirroring the interest she can clearly sense in Marto. “Sometimes I come across old texts in Sylvan and a few words look a little like Elvish, but not enough to properly make anything out. You’ll have to give me some pointers, some time…”
A cart clatters loudly up the road behind them, and she hurriedly diverts their path into a side street. They seem to be zig-zagging across the neighbourhood aimlessly, but each street brings a new fascination.
“Have you seen much of the Feywild?” she asks. Marto nods, mid bite of his cookie. “I haven’t been nearly enough. I almost did recently. To visit Zola – for her birthday. But then… Fort Ettin happened.” She shrugs blankly, almost apologetically. “So I’ve been taking it easy here instead. I haven’t been nearly as productive as you, what with learning a whole new language, and building.” She brushes a lock of hair back and stares into the distance in the sky. “But it’s been a gentle summer at least…”
Marto can see the things she isn’t saying and his expression leaks out the momentary elation he had for talking about things. He lets out a soft sigh. “Gentle in some ways, yes. Harsher in others. And certainly… challenging.”
He finishes off the cookie he bought and takes another hearty swig of his still very hot tea, swirling the velvety liquid in his mouth as he thinks. Eventually he swallows and sighs. “I feel bad for just leaving her to her own… choices. But who am I to tell someone else what’s a good or bad decision, when you can look at where mine have gotten me? She’ll do whatever she wants and maybe I’ll be there for her. I’m not sure… we’ll see if the time comes and she asks for it.”
Velania doesn’t need to ask to know who ‘she’ is. While Marto has been alluding to his hurt and regret, and the conflicted feelings he has regarding their friend, Velania has listened to his words with understanding in her expression.
Then there’s a shift and Marto looks up to Velania, a strange look in his eyes. “So. An’Ahkrim the woodsman.”
“Hah,” she snorts wryly, and there’s almost a relief spreading across her face, even though talking about the Herald is scarcely an easier subject than them talking about Zola. “Like I said, he’s working on his own cabin. He’s actually done a very good job so far. But he’s traded in those fancy robes for one flannel shirt – just one. He’s dirt poor, and very much a solitary person now; all a far cry from how the Heralds lived, or so I imagine. I think he finds it all extremely humbling, but a part of him is embracing this new life. No… not embracing. Accepting. For now, at least.”
There’s a short flash of emotions across Marto’s face before he just nods. “It’s not easy living off the land alone. Humbling sounds like it’s a good thing for him though. If he can survive the winter then…” He shrugs. Velania nods with pursed lips, showing her understanding that the first winter is always the toughest.
She cups her warm tea in two hands and watches the path ahead of them. “The physical stuff, I think he is coping with. The emotional stuff… that’s a struggle. Feelings were more of an intellectual concept to him before, nothing more. I don’t think he really had any feelings, as a Herald.” She frowns at Marto. “Maybe none of them did. Maybe that’s why they did what they did. That’s a chilling concept, don’t you think?”
“They had feelings, just ones that we who have souls wouldn’t or couldn’t fully comprehend,” Marto says, his tone flat. There’s a small sigh as his gaze lifts up to the sky. “At least that’s roughly how Adhyël put it to me. It’s hard to understand someone truly and completely when their core self is so… different from your own.” Marto blinks and it’s like a shudder overtakes him as he comes back down to the earth.
“I’m sorry Velania, for what I did to you in Phlegethos. I… I know I wasn’t of my own mind, I know that but my heart–” Marto places his right hand over her chest, “it still struggles to accept it.”
Upon hearing Adhyël’s name, a response is forming on her lips. But as Marto mentions what happened in Phlegethos, the woman beside him is struck by a thunderbolt. Her jaw drops, and her gaze drifts to the middle distance, somewhere over Marto’s shoulder. Her heart pounds ferociously, and she is sure he can feel it. She clamps her hand over his, holding it in place. Although he is stronger than her, there’s a sense that all her power is in her grip.
She shakes her head once and turns to meet his eyes. Her face is dark and the brightness of her green eyes is muted, and there is an incredible sadness in her voice. “It was painful. And terrifying. You and Sorrel… I thought that was it for me, for a moment. And I didn’t feel ready…” She laughs bitterly. “Not in a place like that…”
She exhales heavily and her eyes glimmer. “I won’t lie: that’s a shock I’m still processing, just like you are… But that was them, Marto. It wasn’t you.”
Her grip tightens for a moment before she releases it. “What broke my heart wasn’t that. Not really. It’s that I kind of felt like we’d lost you, somehow. I’d always seen a strong, brave fearless you, but after that moment…” She wipes her cheeks and laughs to herself. “They really got into our heads, didn’t they? In a way, it’s like we’re still fighting them…”
All he can do is nod. Though the nightmares have receded and the pain in his ribs is lessening with each day he has spent in New Hillborrow, helping the people, it’s still there. He is still there, in his shadow…
Marto turns to face Velania fully, closing his eyes tight, gripping his emotions tightly, holding onto the tears that he feels pricking at his eyes. “I was ready to sacrifice everything. I truly thought I was beyond saving after that. But then, when you said ‘I still need you’–” his voice breaks a little and he stops, clearing his throat and opening his eyes, “it was enough.”
She inclines her head with understanding. “A part of me was so angry in that moment,” she confesses. “Hurt and angry. But you know what pulled me back? It was knowing that it was exactly what he wanted. He craved that power over us – and over you. He wanted you to feel like you weren’t worth anything to anyone else but him…”
She sighs long and hard and glances up at the early evening sky. The light over Daring Heights is softer and pinker, and the street where they have stopped is flooded with intense golden sunlight. It glances off the tear tracks on her face, and a defiant final burst of the sun’s warmth wraps itself over them. “That’s why I said it, Marto. And it was true: I did need you. But not to give your life for someone else. Never that…”
She clasps his hands tightly but he can feel a tremor in her grip. “All I’d ever want is for you to live for yourself.”
He is silent for a long time before he says in a low, husky voice, “I’m tryin’. Every day I am tryin’ to do just that.”
She breaks into a small, tentative smile. “I can see that… and I’m happy. Really happy for you. I’m trying to do the same. It’s not easy, is it… maybe we’ll get there eventually?”
“I see that too, Velania. I see it very well…” He pauses, but then continues on. The floodgates have opened at this point and he knows that she will not judge him, not half so harsh as he has done so to himself, at least. “I’m sorry I left afterwards. I became too accustomed to you picking up the pieces of our group. It was unfair and unkind and I see how much it all has been laid at your feet. That’s not what you deserve. Not after Phlegethos. Not after Gadenthor. Not after Coll…”
“No, Marto…” Velania shakes her head, frowning at him. “You don’t need to apologise for that. Please. You needed to. And I… well… I can’t blame anyone else for getting the impression that I had myself together, really.”
Her voice is thick with emotion. “I wasn’t able to share what was going on with him anyway.” She clears her throat and swallows hard. “Do me a favour, though, Marto?”
The young knight brings a rough hand up to Velania’s face, gently wiping at the tear-filled rivers that have fallen, seeing a little more than what she is able to say to him. His hands are rougher from the work he’s done – rebuilding a village is no easy task – but his touch is a comfort. Marto doesn’t smile, but his eyes are calmer. The clouds that have lingered from his turmoil are beginning to be blown away to make room for clearer blue skies.
“If I can, I will,” he tells her softly.
She looks at him almost sheepishly. “If you ever see me looking serene and angelic, and speaking calmly like I am the one looking out for everyone, can you call me out on that? Chances are I’m lying to myself as much as I’m lying to everyone else, and I probably need to quit that. Just remind me I’m probably a mess and that’s alright…”
“I might put it slightly differently…” Marto half grins up at her, tilting his head to the side in an unconsciously charming way, “…but I can do that for you, Velania. Yes.”
She meets his grin with one of her own, and there is warmth and relief in her eyes. “However you put it, it would help me a lot.”
She blinks and wipes her face again, then looks around them and chuckles in surprise. “Look at this, both of us having a tear-filled heart-to-heart almost in broad daylight. I hope we haven’t startled any passers-by.”
Marto also starts a little, then chuckles. “After what this town has been through, two friends speaking of their feelings should be the least startling thing,” he says. Reaching into a pocket, he takes out a handkerchief and holds it out to Velania.
She takes it gratefully. “Thank you for coming to find me today,” she says, using the handkerchief right away. “I’m glad to see you again, Marto. Really glad. You look well.” She smiles with affection.
She startles suddenly and looks up at the dusky, cloudless sky, turning a deeper blue with every passing minute. “Oh. It’s almost sunset. There is a peaceful spot on the city wall where you can get the most beautiful view. If we hurry, we can watch it.”
“Watch what?” he asks, picking up his pace to match Velania’s quick steps.
“You’ll see,” she says, hurrying down the street toward the west wall. Ahead of them, the sun is sinking in the sky to kiss the tops of the Sunset Spines. It is minutes from bursting into flame on the horizon, where it will flood the sky with a magnificent orange and mauve, and the mountaintops with gold.
Travelling to hell to save High Diviner Rholor Vuzehk came at a great cost. After returning to the Dawnlands, Marto and Velania went their separate ways. Months later, both of them are still hurt, and still healing, and there is much that has been left unsaid…
Co-written with Marto Copperkettle 🪓
The steady gait of a light-footed halfling climbs up the pristine marble steps of the Temple of Selune. It has been some time since Marto was last in Daring Heights, and even longer since he last graced these hallowed halls with his presence. His heart is hammering a steady and loud rhythm in his chest, not for the effort of climbing the stairs but for the off-chance that he might run into any number of people he has not seen in almost two months.
A small warm breeze tickles the back of his head, lifting his shorter hair up in an encouraging caress. Marto shakes his hands, letting the nervous energy that’s been building within him go. He is being silly, there’s no reason to be nervous. Probably overthinking. If anything he should have come around a month ago. Maybe. But now is as good a time as ever to reach out and not regret it.
At least he hopes.
Pushing the heavy doors open just enough so he can slip inside, Marto is surprised to see he has arrived in the middle of a service. Ears burning from the gazes that turn to look at him, he quickly ducks his head, makes a beeline for one of the pews nearest the door, and softly settles into its wooden frame, letting Melissa’s voice cover his soft “Excuse me’s” and “Sorry’s”.
With its muted lighting, simple white and silver stone walls, and soft candlelight, the temple has always exuded an air of tranquillity. It is immediately obvious why someone might enter to seek solace… or remain here to escape. Melissa speaks for ten minutes more, and during this time, there is no glimpse of Velania. At the end of the ceremony, Melissa delivers a series of final blessings, to which the congregation gives the usual responses in Common.
Then, from a hidden place, a lone voice strikes up a note, singing an ancient prayer in Celestial. It is joined by another, in close polyphony, and then a third. The three voices sing high and interweave in a complex, asymmetric rhythm. The effect is sad, stirring and beautiful, and the three voices seem to resonate across the temple hall, with a power not of this world.
The congregation listens in awed silence, and once the song is over, people gradually stand and filter out of the temple, some beginning muted conversations. Melissa stands at the doors to say farewell to them as they leave.
It is then that Velania emerges from behind a panel off to the side of the hall, talking quietly but casually with two other acolytes – evidently, the three of them were the singers. Mid-sentence, her gaze falls upon Marto sitting at the back of the temple. She pauses, blinks, and one side of her mouth curls up into a wry smile. Breaking from looking his way, she whispers a brief farewell to her fellow singers and clasps her hands together. She steps towards Marto smoothly and slowly.
Finally seeing her Marto stands up, well aware that he was one of the last people in the temple. He gives a small wave along with a dip of his head and a tentative smile as he takes a few steps towards her. “Hi, Velania,” he says. There’s a slight pause, almost like he doesn’t know how to continue, then, “That’s some beautiful singing you and the others did. The acoustics in here are really something.”
“Ten percent practice, ninety percent Thaumaturgy,” she replies with a grin. It is obviously a familiar and well-worn joke. Then she glances up and around the hall. “They designed it perfectly for the acoustics in here. I never cease to marvel at that.” She breaks out of her musings and comes to focus. “Marto…” She opens her arms to embrace him. “It’s wonderful to see you. How are you?”
He hesitates, and Velania clearly sees it, but he recovers quickly, a warm smile preceding his words as Marto steps in to embrace her. “I am doing better, Velania. Much better.” His hands rub gentle circles on her back before he lets go, understanding the discomfort that can come from hugging someone half your height. “And you? I hope you’ve been taking your own time to rest…” he says, blue eyes searching her face a little.
If she feels anything awkward about the hug, it is not apparent in her face or body language. “Rest: yes. And I’ve been improving. Well… getting used to it all, anyway. Day at a time…” She pauses.
Although Velania is wearing formal vestments for a service, there is an air of informality about her. Her hair is thrown back into a tousled and casual ponytail, with strands falling loose about her face. Her cheeks and forehead are mildly sunburned and she lacks her iridescent aura of moonlight. She glances at the floor between them suddenly. “So… are you on your way anywhere right now… or…”
“Not today, no,” Marto says. He gestures to his pristine waistcoat embroidered with leaves in threads of green and gold. “No, I just came in from New Hillborrow, changing when I got into the Four Fair Winds. Tomorrow I’ll be busy, but not today.” His clear blue eyes lift up to her face. “I wanted to check in with you though, since I’m in town, see how you’re doing and… well,” he shifts from foot to foot a little, nervous, “was wondering if you had some time to have some tea with me? My treat.”
“Tea? Yes, I would love to…” she says, meeting his gaze. In the muted lighting of the temple, her cool, moonstone-green irises are bright and powerful, and swirl with all the power of the night sky. She pulls at the hem of her silvery robe. “…let me go and get rid of this, and meet you outside in a couple of minutes?” She hesitates a moment, before nodding nervously and hurrying away into a side chamber.
* * *
Shortly after, she emerges from the temple to find Marto outside. She wears a summer dress that combines lavender with moonlight. She has retied her hair and probably run her fingers through it hurriedly, though it is already promising to fall loose again before long. “So, do you have a place in mind?”
“We could go to Paradise Frost, grab something to go and walk around? Or we could go to the Fair Winds and have a proper sit-down tea there. The Theatre doesn’t have anything yet, else I’d suggest we go there, since it’s closest.” Marto opens his arms as if presenting the two options for Velania in his hands. “Which would you prefer?”
“Hmm. It’s a beautiful evening. I like the idea of walking a bit. So Paradise Frost? And we can always find somewhere outside to sit if we feel like it. Maybe there are places in the city you haven’t been past in a while that you’re curious to see.”
As they walk, Velania indicates a couple of buildings where the invasion damage has been repaired. “How is the rebuilding going in New Hillborrow? I can imagine there’s still plenty to do, over there.”
Marto nods. “There is. It’s been keeping me busy, in a good way. I’ve taken up learning Sylvan too, in my downtime, when I’m not helping rebuild houses or barns or the like. It’s been nice being around people whose biggest worry is whether we can get the crops planted again before the harvest.” He chuckles. “With BB there, I think we’ve managed to get the new seeds in the ground quick enough so her growing magic can yield at least a decent crop this year.”
Velania nods earnestly as Marto talks about New Hillborrow. “I’ve been there, believe it or not. Wondering how the crops will fare. My parents are farmers over in Turmish, central Faerûn. When I was younger, I used to be so bored and want to escape! But since I visited the Turning Fields, I’ve realised I kind of miss elements of that life. It’s hard work, but like you say, the worries are measurable in a way they never are in Daring Heights.” She smiles at hearing about BB. “I have never even been to New Hillborrow! It would be wonderful to meet her some day.”
“You would get along well with her,” Marto says. He looks around, noting the bright lights of certain shops and he smiles. “I’m glad to see the people here have been recovering well too.”
There’s a block or two where neither really say much. Marto seems to be debating what to say next for the latter half of their walk up Castle Road before they turn west into a smaller street, taking the quickest way they can to the patisserie. When they’re on the quieter street, he finally speaks. “Did you end up visiting An’Ahkrim in the end?”
At the mention of An’Ahkrim, her expression passes to and fro between a sad smile and concern. She opens her mouth to answer, rethinks, and starts again. “I did. He’s alive, and in hiding. He’s become a woodsman, if you can believe it” – she raises an eyebrow at Marto – “working on a log cabin in the Angelbark.”
Marto keeps his thoughts to himself for the moment. Velania continues.
Her expression darkens. “Whatever happens, it’s… it’s going to be hard for him. He’s an exile, a fugitive, with a lot of blood on his hands. There aren’t many people who will ever forgive him… and even fewer who will believe his change is sincere. All he’s got in this world is a gruff angel watching him from afar.” She looks at Marto pensively. “I’m out of my depth trying to offer pastoral care to someone who isn’t even sure if they have a soul.”
Marto is quiet for a long time as he tries to think of what he wants to say. They’re nearly at the patisserie when he slows down a little. “Out of all of the Heralds, he was the only one who made a choice to change. The others… The rest of them were beyond saving.” His eyes stay steadily forward. “No matter what anyone else believed otherwise.”
At his last comment, Velania’s glance darts toward him momentarily. She purses her lips and nods, knowing who he is referring to.
* * *
Even with the slightly slower pace they arrive at Paradise Frost quicker than either would have thought. Putting a pin in that conversation, Marto holds the door for Velania as the two step inside to order their tea and a simple treat to enjoy with it. Marto orders an Earl Grey Tea Latte with a dash of lavender flavour added, and an extra chewy ginger cookie the size of his hand. Curious to try the drink, Velania asks for the same thing, but a version with oat milk, and asks for a piece of heavy banana loaf to go with it.
When they step out of the cafe, refreshments in tow, Velania inclines her head thoughtfully. “As you say, the others were all set on their path. Committed to it. He is not, and of course that is what makes life complicated. He’s suffering at the moment.” Her voice lowers, more out of concern than secrecy. “It’s a strange place to be, feeling sorry for a killer. Concealing his existence. But there I am, and I don’t really know how I got there…”
“Do you not believe he can or is trying to change?” Marto asks, taking a tentative sip of the warm and frothy drink.
She exhales. “I do. Well… I don’t know. Well… maybe I do…” Her face is a distant frown. “Well… let me put it like this: The head claims to seek justice, but all the heart ever finds is revenge. I don’t know what I think, but I know revenge isn’t the way – or at least, it’s not my way.” She glances at Marto as they meander through the Castleside streets. “Maybe he is; maybe he can. You know about as much of him as I do: What do you think?”
There’s a nod from Marto as he takes another sip of his tea. “After what could have happened when we visited Themis, revenge has been the furthest thing from my mind.” He holds up a finger, like a teacher might when correcting a student. “No, that’s a lie. It was before then. Probably from the moment I slayed Adhyël. Even when I tried to face off against An’Ahkrim before the final battle he didn’t fight. He merely defended himself.”
His brow has drawn together, creating a deeper and deeper divot over his eyes. Marto takes a hearty bite of the cookie he bought and chews, thinking.
“Yes,” she says. “He was on the cusp by then. I’m glad I never saw him hurting any of us. I think that would…” She rapidly changes tone. “Well, the person punishing him most at the moment is himself. It’s one of those awful things to watch, but I just hope he can ride it out. I guess.” She buries her face in her tea. Again, an awkward silence creeps back between them as they walk.
“Marto, I’m so grateful you were there to see Themis. Like you, I was worried about what… was going to happen. I think the two of us being there to de-escalate… well, that made the difference.” She looks down at the ground, and almost shudders.
A hand comes to rest on Velania’s side. Marto’s touch is tentative but warm – gentle, even. “I was worried I’d have to fight her. For a moment there… I was ready to do it. I’m glad it didn’t come to that.” He looks up at her, a small grateful smile on his face.
Velania accepts his gesture and smiles cautiously back. “Me too. Thank the gods we didn’t. She was ready for it. I really think she was… but I think she’s started to mellow now. Je’Sathriel gave her a stern word or two.”
“Hmm. Good. At least she’s listening to someone,” Marto says, taking his hand back.
She makes a gesture of glancing at the road ahead. “How is the Sylvan going, then? Is it easy? Fun? Any reason for that language in particular?”
“It’s interesting, yes. Very different, but very fun. I’ve always had an interest in all things fey, and I’ve wanted to learn their language for a while, to better learn their magic,” he says with an ease of lightness that hasn’t been there until now.
“I’m impressed!” Velania’s face lights up with genuine enthusiasm, mirroring the interest she can clearly sense in Marto. “Sometimes I come across old texts in Sylvan and a few words look a little like Elvish, but not enough to properly make anything out. You’ll have to give me some pointers, some time…”
A cart clatters loudly up the road behind them, and she hurriedly diverts their path into a side street. They seem to be zig-zagging across the neighbourhood aimlessly, but each street brings a new fascination.
“Have you seen much of the Feywild?” she asks. Marto nods, mid bite of his cookie. “I haven’t been nearly enough. I almost did recently. To visit Zola – for her birthday. But then… Fort Ettin happened.” She shrugs blankly, almost apologetically. “So I’ve been taking it easy here instead. I haven’t been nearly as productive as you, what with learning a whole new language, and building.” She brushes a lock of hair back and stares into the distance in the sky. “But it’s been a gentle summer at least…”
Marto can see the things she isn’t saying and his expression leaks out the momentary elation he had for talking about things. He lets out a soft sigh. “Gentle in some ways, yes. Harsher in others. And certainly… challenging.”
He finishes off the cookie he bought and takes another hearty swig of his still very hot tea, swirling the velvety liquid in his mouth as he thinks. Eventually he swallows and sighs. “I feel bad for just leaving her to her own… choices. But who am I to tell someone else what’s a good or bad decision, when you can look at where mine have gotten me? She’ll do whatever she wants and maybe I’ll be there for her. I’m not sure… we’ll see if the time comes and she asks for it.”
Velania doesn’t need to ask to know who ‘she’ is. While Marto has been alluding to his hurt and regret, and the conflicted feelings he has regarding their friend, Velania has listened to his words with understanding in her expression.
* * *
Then there’s a shift and Marto looks up to Velania, a strange look in his eyes. “So. An’Ahkrim the woodsman.”
“Hah,” she snorts wryly, and there’s almost a relief spreading across her face, even though talking about the Herald is scarcely an easier subject than them talking about Zola. “Like I said, he’s working on his own cabin. He’s actually done a very good job so far. But he’s traded in those fancy robes for one flannel shirt – just one. He’s dirt poor, and very much a solitary person now; all a far cry from how the Heralds lived, or so I imagine. I think he finds it all extremely humbling, but a part of him is embracing this new life. No… not embracing. Accepting. For now, at least.”
There’s a short flash of emotions across Marto’s face before he just nods. “It’s not easy living off the land alone. Humbling sounds like it’s a good thing for him though. If he can survive the winter then…” He shrugs. Velania nods with pursed lips, showing her understanding that the first winter is always the toughest.
She cups her warm tea in two hands and watches the path ahead of them. “The physical stuff, I think he is coping with. The emotional stuff… that’s a struggle. Feelings were more of an intellectual concept to him before, nothing more. I don’t think he really had any feelings, as a Herald.” She frowns at Marto. “Maybe none of them did. Maybe that’s why they did what they did. That’s a chilling concept, don’t you think?”
“They had feelings, just ones that we who have souls wouldn’t or couldn’t fully comprehend,” Marto says, his tone flat. There’s a small sigh as his gaze lifts up to the sky. “At least that’s roughly how Adhyël put it to me. It’s hard to understand someone truly and completely when their core self is so… different from your own.” Marto blinks and it’s like a shudder overtakes him as he comes back down to the earth.
“I’m sorry Velania, for what I did to you in Phlegethos. I… I know I wasn’t of my own mind, I know that but my heart–” Marto places his right hand over her chest, “it still struggles to accept it.”
Upon hearing Adhyël’s name, a response is forming on her lips. But as Marto mentions what happened in Phlegethos, the woman beside him is struck by a thunderbolt. Her jaw drops, and her gaze drifts to the middle distance, somewhere over Marto’s shoulder. Her heart pounds ferociously, and she is sure he can feel it. She clamps her hand over his, holding it in place. Although he is stronger than her, there’s a sense that all her power is in her grip.
She shakes her head once and turns to meet his eyes. Her face is dark and the brightness of her green eyes is muted, and there is an incredible sadness in her voice. “It was painful. And terrifying. You and Sorrel… I thought that was it for me, for a moment. And I didn’t feel ready…” She laughs bitterly. “Not in a place like that…”
She exhales heavily and her eyes glimmer. “I won’t lie: that’s a shock I’m still processing, just like you are… But that was them, Marto. It wasn’t you.”
Her grip tightens for a moment before she releases it. “What broke my heart wasn’t that. Not really. It’s that I kind of felt like we’d lost you, somehow. I’d always seen a strong, brave fearless you, but after that moment…” She wipes her cheeks and laughs to herself. “They really got into our heads, didn’t they? In a way, it’s like we’re still fighting them…”
All he can do is nod. Though the nightmares have receded and the pain in his ribs is lessening with each day he has spent in New Hillborrow, helping the people, it’s still there. He is still there, in his shadow…
Marto turns to face Velania fully, closing his eyes tight, gripping his emotions tightly, holding onto the tears that he feels pricking at his eyes. “I was ready to sacrifice everything. I truly thought I was beyond saving after that. But then, when you said ‘I still need you’–” his voice breaks a little and he stops, clearing his throat and opening his eyes, “it was enough.”
She inclines her head with understanding. “A part of me was so angry in that moment,” she confesses. “Hurt and angry. But you know what pulled me back? It was knowing that it was exactly what he wanted. He craved that power over us – and over you. He wanted you to feel like you weren’t worth anything to anyone else but him…”
She sighs long and hard and glances up at the early evening sky. The light over Daring Heights is softer and pinker, and the street where they have stopped is flooded with intense golden sunlight. It glances off the tear tracks on her face, and a defiant final burst of the sun’s warmth wraps itself over them. “That’s why I said it, Marto. And it was true: I did need you. But not to give your life for someone else. Never that…”
She clasps his hands tightly but he can feel a tremor in her grip. “All I’d ever want is for you to live for yourself.”
He is silent for a long time before he says in a low, husky voice, “I’m tryin’. Every day I am tryin’ to do just that.”
She breaks into a small, tentative smile. “I can see that… and I’m happy. Really happy for you. I’m trying to do the same. It’s not easy, is it… maybe we’ll get there eventually?”
“I see that too, Velania. I see it very well…” He pauses, but then continues on. The floodgates have opened at this point and he knows that she will not judge him, not half so harsh as he has done so to himself, at least. “I’m sorry I left afterwards. I became too accustomed to you picking up the pieces of our group. It was unfair and unkind and I see how much it all has been laid at your feet. That’s not what you deserve. Not after Phlegethos. Not after Gadenthor. Not after Coll…”
“No, Marto…” Velania shakes her head, frowning at him. “You don’t need to apologise for that. Please. You needed to. And I… well… I can’t blame anyone else for getting the impression that I had myself together, really.”
Her voice is thick with emotion. “I wasn’t able to share what was going on with him anyway.” She clears her throat and swallows hard. “Do me a favour, though, Marto?”
The young knight brings a rough hand up to Velania’s face, gently wiping at the tear-filled rivers that have fallen, seeing a little more than what she is able to say to him. His hands are rougher from the work he’s done – rebuilding a village is no easy task – but his touch is a comfort. Marto doesn’t smile, but his eyes are calmer. The clouds that have lingered from his turmoil are beginning to be blown away to make room for clearer blue skies.
“If I can, I will,” he tells her softly.
She looks at him almost sheepishly. “If you ever see me looking serene and angelic, and speaking calmly like I am the one looking out for everyone, can you call me out on that? Chances are I’m lying to myself as much as I’m lying to everyone else, and I probably need to quit that. Just remind me I’m probably a mess and that’s alright…”
“I might put it slightly differently…” Marto half grins up at her, tilting his head to the side in an unconsciously charming way, “…but I can do that for you, Velania. Yes.”
She meets his grin with one of her own, and there is warmth and relief in her eyes. “However you put it, it would help me a lot.”
* * *
She blinks and wipes her face again, then looks around them and chuckles in surprise. “Look at this, both of us having a tear-filled heart-to-heart almost in broad daylight. I hope we haven’t startled any passers-by.”
Marto also starts a little, then chuckles. “After what this town has been through, two friends speaking of their feelings should be the least startling thing,” he says. Reaching into a pocket, he takes out a handkerchief and holds it out to Velania.
She takes it gratefully. “Thank you for coming to find me today,” she says, using the handkerchief right away. “I’m glad to see you again, Marto. Really glad. You look well.” She smiles with affection.
She startles suddenly and looks up at the dusky, cloudless sky, turning a deeper blue with every passing minute. “Oh. It’s almost sunset. There is a peaceful spot on the city wall where you can get the most beautiful view. If we hurry, we can watch it.”
“Watch what?” he asks, picking up his pace to match Velania’s quick steps.
“You’ll see,” she says, hurrying down the street toward the west wall. Ahead of them, the sun is sinking in the sky to kiss the tops of the Sunset Spines. It is minutes from bursting into flame on the horizon, where it will flood the sky with a magnificent orange and mauve, and the mountaintops with gold.