Shine On - the aftermath to Wish You Were Here
Mar 19, 2023 15:01:35 GMT
Jaezred Vandree, Lykksie, and 3 more like this
Post by stephena on Mar 19, 2023 15:01:35 GMT
Derthaad, Kavel, Lykksie, Sorrel, Velania, and Zola
Following the events of Wish you Were Here as recounted by Kavel and Sorrel
Yhsa’s voice is restrained, professional again. Carefully neutral. Her Sending filters into Sorrel’s mind almost politely.
“Cargo inbound. Delivery to Port Ffirst. Approximately midnight tomorrow if the weather holds. New Port. The Delphian. Confirm.”
“Confirmed,” Sorrel wishes there was more nuance to the sending spell. Some way of emphasising syllables. She’d even settle for some way of including emotion. Perhaps the image of a smiling face or an angry face.
She gets to her feet, accidentally knocking the table in her haste. “Sorry to spill the tea,” she holds out a placating hand. “They’re arriving tomorrow night. Midnight. If you are still behind me, shall we meet back here an hour before? The ship - the Delphian it’s called - will be punctual.”
“Of course,” says the Goliath, “I’ll be there.”
“We’ll all be there,” Zola affirms with a small, crooked smile.
--
The Delphian is smaller than the usual vessels that enter Port Ffirst, built for speed and discretion instead of carrying capacity or defensive and offensive capabilities. The crew manning her are more than able to take care of that bit, Sorrel is sure. The wood of her hull is stained the same almost- black as the case that Yhsa handed over the bracers in - the same almost-black of the doors and beams in the Palace of Persuasion - and her black sails might as well have been cut from the same cloth as Callimar’s cloak.
From where they’re waiting further up the pier, the party watches as the harbour master oversees the docking and checks some papers. The procedure is over and done with faster and smoother than your average docking in New Port. Gold and steel is the best carrot and stick anywhere in the world and Kantas is no different.
His business concluded, the harbour master walks away and the gangplank is extended. A familiar cloaked figure disentangles herself from the shadows and boards the ship, quickly disappearing from view. Seconds stretch into long minutes, but nothing happens. Velania looks at Sorrel, her in-drawn breath enough of a question before the words even leave her mouth. Sorrel shakes her head almost imperceptibly. She can’t see them (it wouldn’t be up to the standards of the House if she could) but she can feel the loaded crossbows aimed at them from the ship.
“Not yet.”
Finally, there’s a flash of light in their direction as someone briefly uncovers a lantern on deck. One of the crew flashes a couple of hand signals before the lantern is covered again. Sorrel gets to her feet.
As they approach, the familiar figure appears on deck again, this time with the hood of her cloak pulled back. Specialist Al’Astor walks down the gangplank with the smooth, controlled movements of a killer on their best behaviour and stops very precisely in a spot that both welcomes them onboard and blocks their access to the ship.
“Specialist,” she says softly.
Sorrel meets her gaze steadily. The pause becomes uncomfortable. “Specialist,” she almost whispers finally. “As I said last time, if you have returned without your master things will not go well.”
There’s a hint of a savage grin at the corner of Yhsa’s mouth but she hides it quickly.
“Yes, you said. I found it peculiar then and I still do. You speak as if I have any say in where he goes, or when, or why. Perhaps you have been out in the cold too long. Perhaps you’ve forgotten how hierarchy works.” She pauses as well, somehow managing to mimic the silence Sorrel created a moment ago. Then she speaks again, deliberately pitching her voice to carry.
“And why do you refer to him as my master, Specialist? Tell me, is Callimar Daevion'lyrn no longer your master?”
There is a sudden, absolute stillness from the deck of The Delphian as the entire crew stops moving. They hold their breath as one, awaiting the answer.
“What the Dean of the Dark College is to me he knows full well,” Sorrel’s eyes blazed. “It cannot be summed up in a single word. You play with pronouns as if you understand their meaning, specialist. You have absorbed your weapons training but you have not been listening to your trainers. Your behaviour on these shores is clumsy and brutish. I am surprised the House sent someone so indelicate on a job of such complexity but no doubt there are reasons. I imagine you volunteered, presumably to test yourself against me. If that obsesses you, I will give you that satisfaction, but not today. Clearly Callimar still enjoys his provocations. I must speak with the Dean. Where is he?”
The savage grin returns, less well-concealed this time. Yhsa seems to be savouring the insults hurled her way like a very fine year of Tuskan brandy. She ducks her head a little, takes a small step closer and leans in, a look of immense delight and satisfaction in her eyes.
“He’s not here, Specialist. He’s where he belongs - in the gardens of paradise. He doesn’t have time for you anymore.” Before Sorrel can reach for a knife, before she can raise a fist or even contemplate the number of ways this woman deserves to die, Yhsa has raised a single finger in a condescending bid for her to wait.
“Now, I know you want to be rash - it’s what you do, after all - but let me be very clear; if you touch me your sisters don’t walk off that ship.”
When Sorrel clenches her jaw hard enough that you could hear her teeth crack across the Tritooth Wharf but makes no further move, Yhsa smiles.
“Good girl. I’m glad to see you do remember how to listen to your superiors. Now, I’m going to board that ship and give the order to offload the cargo, and you can stay here and… sulk.”
She takes a step back. “We’ll kill each other one day, Sorrel Darkfire. But not tonight.”
Sorrel’s pain overwhelms her. The one person who she trusted - the elegant drow who shaped her obedience to the House and truly saw her for the first time - has, like everyone else, let her down. She coils to strike. If she dies fighting this… thing that sliced her brother’s throat and scorns her service to Callimar, would that not be a fitting end to a discarded life?
“I don’t have any other plans tonight,” she hisses. “Why wait?”
She has no time or range to draw a bow, and a rapier is a weapon of respect, too good for this preening fool. The venom dagger and the halo knife hiss from concealed sheaths as she drops to one knee then hurls her full weight forward at a sharp enough angle to send both of them tumbling into the water-
Except she is halted mid-air by a force pulling her backwards by her cloak, and she lands on her arse on the wooden boardwalk with a dull thud. Sorrel looks up - Zola, whilst still holding onto Sorrel’s dark cloak with her left hand, unsheathes Castor with her right in rapid motion and points it at Yhsa.
With the tension still taut in the air, the sword dancer lowers the tip of her blade to point at the serrated dagger Yhsa has immediately drawn in response to Sorrel and flicks her wrist, gesturing for the tiefling to put it away. “There will be no bloodshed here tonight,” Zola declares calmly, her one amber eye flickering back and forth between Sorrel on the ground and Yhsa before her.
Behind them, at the edge of the boardwalk, there is a tiny whisper of moonlight as Velania’s eyes glimmer in the dark. She casts no spell, but her hands hang relaxed and ready to weave magic. She watches Sorrel as closely as she watches Yhsa. Too many unsheathed weapons here. Too many heightened emotions. She can hear the soft clicks and tensing springs of crossbows aimed at them from the deck of the ship - but something about the whole stand-off is… wrong.
Yhsa shifts her weight to her back leg, ready to spring at a moment’s notice, baring her teeth at Zola briefly before turning her gaze back to Sorrel. She hisses a little, almost like a rabid fox. “Wrong move, Specialist. Did you want the cargo or not?”
“It doesn’t sound like you have the authority to deny her, Specialist,” Velania calls out from the darkness. Her tone is stern and edged with disapproval. “Perhaps it would behove you to remember that whatever grievances you hold about positions within the House, you stand between a sister and her family. There will be another time for all of this.”
“Judging by the aim of the archers,” affirms Derthaad, “they don’t seem to care whether you walk that plank or not. And judging by the letter, the cargo, as you so bluntly put it, is more valuable than you.” He then levels his gaze at Yhsa, his voice as stern as Velania’s. “Be professional, follow up on the deal and let the sisters walk.”
“Yes!” Kavel yells from back where he’s stood in the dark with Velania. “Let us just get on with it!” With that the Goliath’s breathing quickens, he squats low, and propels himself skyward with his powerful legs bringing him in an arc down to where Sorrel, Zola and Yhsa stood, causing the wooden berth to tremble and creak as he lands. “Let’s have no nonsense. Bring out the sisters.”
Sorrel cannot speak. The screaming in her head flatlines into a ringing that in turn fades into silent emptiness. Time slows. Above them all, in the dark sky clouds part for a moment. Pale moonlight spills over them, bathing them in serene silver.
She doesn’t so much hear the voice as feel it.
“The past is the past. You have family still.”
“Says the goddess who has fought her sister for all eternity.” Sorrel can’t help the thought flitting through her mind.
She sighs, rises to her feet, bows her head to her friends in gratitude and respect then turns to Yhsa. “You were dead the moment your blade touched my brother’s throat. It will be interesting to see what you do with the short time you have left. For now, do your job and go. The faster you leave, the more time you have to live. Hurry up now.”
Yhsa deliberates for a moment longer before sheathing her dagger. She swallows her pride with extreme reluctance - it looks to be going down about as well as three-day-old coffee. She seems to consider a parting shot but a final look at the gleam in Zola’s amber eye stops her. She turns on her heel and boards the ship.
“Send them out,” she tells a deckhand, “and set sail. Get us the fuck away from this shithole.”
Activity resumes on deck. Moorings are loosened and sails unfurled, even as three figures are escorted out onto the deck and led to the gangplank. They’re wrapped up tightly, covered, hidden, protected, by their grey travel cloaks. They’re all of the same height, but they move differently.
The one in front moves carefully and gently, like someone who has perfected the art of walking quietly through a temple so as not to disturb the people at prayer and contemplation. The one in the back walks with a step that is hard to conceal, closer to the professionals escorting her off the ship.
The one in the middle is visibly thinner than the other two. She walks like a deer in the forest, trembling and aware that she’s being hunted by something with very sharp teeth. She sets one foot on the wooden dock and freezes with a sharp intake of breath. She extends a pale, thin hand from inside the cloak and pulls her hood back. Sorrel catches a brief glimpse of bright white hair and silver eyes, before the young woman’s gaze zeroes in on her.
“Sister!”
It escapes her as a cross between a gasp and a sob. She closes the distance without warning and throws her arms around Sorrel.
If she had unleashed a mind splintering spell at Sorrel, she would have caused less psychic overload. Sorrel’s eyes dart wildly between her friends and these three sisters. In her moment of utmost confusion, it’s her friends they come to rest on, the unspoken pleading in them so clear…. What am I supposed to do now?
Velania has silently drawn closer, and stands a few feet behind her. As Sorrel’s gaze reaches Velania, she sees the priestess studying her carefully, emanating a steady and gentle sense of calm. The corner of her mouth curls slightly, and while locking eyes with Sorrel, she gives a small, encouraging nod towards the women.
The first sister off the ship, the graceful one, pulls her hood back as well and sighs apologetically.
“Lyra, she might not want- oh, well.” She looks at Sorrel with a tired and hesitant smile. “Sorry. She.. feels things very strongly sometimes.”
The third sister hangs back, keeping her hood up. She watches the crew of The Delphian make ready, and doesn't look away until the gangplank has been hauled and the ship pushed away from the dock. After that she turns to the odd assembly on the pier, paying careful attention to Kavel and Zola. Her face is wary, her posture tense and her hands clench at empty air in want of a weapon.
The first sister walks over to where Sorrel is still trapped in the embrace of what must be a disguised boa constrictor. There’s something about the way she moves that is oddly reminiscent of Velania, somehow.
“Hi,” she says softly, clearly mindful of the absurd situation Sorrel is currently trying to mentally overcome. “I’m Vega.” She hesitates for just a second before adding, “Darkfire. Vega Darkfire.”
Sorrel surveys these strangers, a handful of words on rough parchment brought to life and these shores by her first sworn enemy for, what? Possibly a year? A couple of weeks ago she had a backpack, a girlfriend and some money and worried she was overburdened. Then she bought a horse. That’s where it all started, she thinks. She should never have bought the horse. Mammals coalesce.
“Sorrel Darkfire, at your service and your family’s,” she bows, stops, looks up at them. “I suppose Elsa’s letter means I am your family.” She checks her friends are nearby, draws comfort from their presence. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I have no idea who you are. I have no idea what’s going on. I have no idea what to do next. What is happening here? And where will it end? I will do what has to be done, but please tell me who I am.”
Vega listens, nodding both empathetically and emphatically as Sorrel begs for answers. Such a Velania. Cleric written all over her. Finally, she adopts a very special face unique to resolved older sisters all over the world and closes the distance. Gently but firmly she pries Lyra off of Sorrel with one hand. The other she places on Sorrel’s shoulder, squeezing carefully.
“We know very little. But what we do know, we will share with you, unreservedly. As for who you are.. I doubt that can be summed up in a single word. Certainly, you are many things, to many different people.”
Lyra finally lets herself be pulled away from Sorrel, instead leaning into Vega. Her eyes are bright and distant, scanning the sky for stars thousands of miles away. Her mouth moves as she whispers to herself, clinging to her sister’s side.
“Chosen. Strong. Broken. Holy. Killer. Starborn. Runner. Impossible. Abandoned. Found. Daughter. Warrior. Saviour. Sinner.” The list goes on and on.
Vega shushes Lyra and smiles at Sorrel again, hesitant and hopeful.
“Perhaps we can start with ‘sister’?”
--
While the sisters are having their reunion, Derthaad leans over to Velania and whispers: "Hey Velania. I'm no religious person but, from whatever knowledge I have, doesn't Selûne have three versions of her avatar?"
Velania casts her attention over each sister in turn, an eyebrow raised in curiosity at the poetry in Lyra’s list. It has the form of a prophecy, she thinks to herself. She replies discreetly. “The Maiden, the Mother, the Elder; those are her three most favoured ones. Although her forms are as many as the moon has positions in the sky. Might I ask what you are reading from this moment, Derthaad?”
“It seems he and I are thinking the same thing,” Zola chimes in. “Three sisters, white of hair. It can’t be a mere coincidence…” Her voice trails off, and she tilts her chin up to gaze at the night sky. She needn’t say much more, they’d already seen the new form of her spirit shroud when they fought the ogres in the forest: three drow women, manifestations of the sacred moon.
“There’s a reason Je’Sathriel is not allowed to help with this. This…is a holy mission Selûne wants Sorrel to undertake.”
The shift in her stance is negligible but it’s enough to give away that the third sister is listening intently to their conversation, her wary face now closer to a scowl.
Derthaad nods at Zola’s statement. “I have dealt with enough godly issues these past months to know that something clearly seems afoot here. I’m starting to get the handle on how gods generally work and thus I agree with Zola, this is all too coincidental for Selune to not have a great deal of influence in all of this.”
Velania nods to them and pitches her voice at the same discreet volume, but ensures there is no attempt to hide their discussion: anyone who chooses to listen can hear her words. Her gaze roams skyward as she regards the moon. “I feel it too: there is divine intent here. The Moonmaiden does seek our service, in some way.”
--
Sorrel can hear her friends murmuring but can’t make out the words. They’re probably amused at the sociopathic Sorrel Darkfire suddenly having a family arrive by courier. She smiles at Vega.
“Please forgive my incivility,” she says carefully. “The idea that I have three… sisters… is very new to me. I am struggling to… normalise the idea. Vega, and Lyra…” she turns to the third. “And I don’t think I caught your name… um… sister?”
The third sister doesn’t say anything, just fixes her with a stare. Sorrel knows it well, deep in her bones. Like recognizing like. Why should I tell you? What do you even care? I’ve done this before. No one stays. Everyone leaves. Why would you be different?
Vega shoots her a stern Big Sister Look. The younger woman sighs and rolls her eyes.
“I’m Aries,” she mutters.
Sorrel likes Aries instantly. She suspects they’ll end up in a fist fight at the very least, and is almost certain they’ll exchange at best three words a week.
Her kind of girl.
“Vega, Lyra, Aries. Welcome to Port Ffirst. I am Velania, and this is Derthaad, Zola, Kavel. We accompanied our dear friend Sorrel to ensure that everything went… smoothly on the docks. Perhaps this is not the wisest place to linger. Might we take you to a more congenial place for you to sit and relax and get to know your sister?”
“Oh, yeah, that’s probably what I should have said,” Sorrel winces. “Thank you Velania.”
“If everyone wishes,” interjects Derthaad, “I can teleport everyone back to Daring Heights.”
Lyra raises her head from where she’s been resting it in the crook of Vega’s neck and stares blankly west.
“They have a temple there,” she mumbles.
“We do indeed,” replies Velania kindly. “I serve at the temple of Selûne, and all are welcome there, but there are a number of other gods also represented in Daring Heights should you prefer.”
Zola steps forward. “I’ve booked us a room at a teahouse nearby. Something warm to fill our stomachs sounds nice, yes? We shouldn’t linger here too long, Port Ffirst isn’t known for being safe at night.”
Vega smiles at Sorrel again, more confidently this time, and then turns to Zola. “Tea would be lovely, thank you.” Lyra makes a soft noise and Vega takes her hand, speaking quietly. “We’ll see the temple soon, I promise.”
Aries looks as enthusiastic about the two options as she has about everything else so far.
“Can I get a sword,” she asks bluntly. It’s barely a question.
Sorrel reaches into her efficient quiver and pulls out a shortsword and a rapier. “Both silvered but mundane,” she offers Aries the hilts. “Will they do for now?”
She takes them without a word, quickly testing their weight and fastens both to her belt. She narrows her eyes at Sorrel a little and nods once. Don’t think this means anything. You’re still on thin ice. Then she looks away, glowering at nothing.
Sorrel’s heart warms a little further and she almost smiles. “Don’t break them,” she sniffs. “It cost a lot to have them silvered.”
“They shouldn’t break from normal use unless you’ve given me shit quality steel, should they,” she fires back without pause.
Sorrel almost hugs her. Vega rolls her eyes heavenwards.
“Tea,” Lyra says.
--
There is not another soul on Silk Street at this hour. Zola leads them past rows of dark and lifeless facade windows. Walking together in a hushed, uncertain silence, the only sounds in the night are their own footsteps on the cobblestone and distant barking of stray dogs.
Sorrel falls into step next to Velania and turns to face her, hesitating.
Velania reads Sorrel’s unspoken question and answers it by taking her arm casually. She speaks with lightness and ease. “As always, dear sister, I find your life comes with more mystery than explanation. It feels as though the Maiden herself has set the path that brought you all together. Though the way ahead is still hidden, I cannot help but imagine the clearest guidance you’re going to get just arrived on that ship. So…” she squeezes Sorrel’s arm affectionately. “Celebrate your sisters’ arrival; embrace the opportunity to connect. Like all who journey to the Dawnlands, they are no doubt in need of a friend, first and foremost.”
“Do they automatically have a big brother now, Sorrel? Are they included in our bond, vicariously or otherwise?” Kavel asked Sorrel in a whisper, having overheard what Velania said to Sorrel, as he walked behind them.
“I have exchanged blood with you in the warrior's ritual, brother,” Sorrel frowns. “Until they do that I think half sisters at best.”
--
Zola stops in front of a white shopfront, so pristine it cannot be anything but new, with a neatly-lettered sign above the door that reads: Gossamer Threads Tea Rooms. She raps her fist on the locked double doors, and a few moments later, they are cracked open by an older dwarven man with a well-groomed beard, dressed in a charcoal grey suit.
Mr. Stonecast, the manager of Gossamer Threads, walks the group through the unlit general seating area, weaving around empty tables and chairs which in the daytime would be filled with loquacious local gossips. In the back of the room, light spills out from a door left slightly ajar; the pleasant aromas of tea and freshly-baked pastries waft out, accompanied by telltale clattering noises of a kitchen staff at work.
“We’re not usually open this late, but your friend Miss Oussviir here said it’s for an important family reunion, and well, how could I possibly refuse that?” says Mr. Stonecast.
As they walk upstairs to the first floor, Stonecast explains that each of their private rooms are warded with anti-divination enchantments and the walls don’t allow sound to pass through thanks to a modified version of the silence spell, foiling any would-be eavesdroppers - in short, the late-night chat they are about to have will be as private as a top secret government briefing.
He opens the door to the particular room Zola has chosen for them: the Constellation Room. The walls and floor are made of black, non-reflective glass, and when the Dawnlanders step inside, it feels as though they are walking on a vast, expansive void, whilst their own bodies emit a dim, starlight-like glow. Images of glittering constellations, breathtaking nebulae and galaxies are projected onto the walls, rotating around the room slowly. As soon as they are all seated around the colourless table in the centre of the room, the waitstaff file into the room bearing pots of herbal tea and trays of snacks: gourmet sandwiches, sweet cakes, and - most importantly - scones.
The servers then trot out of the room and the last one closes the door gently behind him. The eight of them are now alone.
--
Sorrel looks awkwardly at Zola, asking permission with her eyes. “Er, you must be famished after such a long journey,” she begins. Famished! Her mind is screaming at her - are you a fucking duchess now? Aries - clearly enough of a kindred spirit to read her mind - looks deeply unimpressed. “Please, help yourselves?”
Zola shoots a confused look back at her. “Oh yes, please, dig in! I’ve paid for everything in advance. Not to worry though, the food and drink here is surprisingly cheap for the venue. This is the upper class district of town, you see,” she explains to the sisters three.
Aries looks like she wants to say something derisive about charity. Lyra ignores the food but picks up a cup of tea and walks slowly around the dazzling space, spinning slowly and humming to herself. Vega smiles tiredly and starts helping herself to a scone.
“Thank you,” she says warmly to both Zola and Sorrel. “We weren’t mistreated on the journey over, by any means, but it’s definitely been.. Tense. Gods know the appetite suffers when you’re anxious.”
She takes a couple of bites, her shoulders visibly lowering as she forces herself to relax. Then she reaches across the table for Sorrel’s hand, offering, cautiously.
Sorrel’s hand is out and clasping Vega’s before she even makes the decision to do so. It’s the same instinct that usually finds would-be ambushers staggering out of an alleyway with a dagger sticking out of their throat.
Although something tells her not to vocalise this thought.
The contrast between their clasped hands is striking. Sorrel is all scars and calluses, hard-won, a testament to the lot she was given and the life she’s been forced to live. Vega’s hand is smooth and warm, soft. A little ink-stained. But their strength is the same.
“We’ve waited a long time for this,” she says. “We knew about you. We knew we had a sister, but not much else. Mother told us about you when you were born and let us have snippets here and there, especially when you were younger, but less and less as the years went by. Lyra has had a clearer sense of you, of course, but we’ve had to hoard our precious few pieces of information like dragons,” she says with a wry smile. Aries makes a face to communicate that she has hoarded absolutely fuck all, thank you very much.
“We’ve waited for you. Both because we - all four of us - have tasks to carry out, and we needed to be together to get started, but more importantly because you are a piece of us.”
Sorrel looks at each face carefully, ending at Vega. She clears her throat.
“I guess we might as well do the cards on the table thing now. There’s no point withholding. I don’t know what sort of details my…. Mother… told you, but they sold me to a private military company called the House and I’ve essentially been a mercenary since I was 16. I didn’t know anything about you three until I read a letter from my mother’s hand delivered by someone I intend to visit with extreme prejudice in due course. I have a long line of failed relationships, dead friends, and people who betrayed me so trust tends to be something I’m barely on nodding terms with. I have to be honest with you Vega, discovering that my parents made that decision to sell me in order to protect you three has not been easy to come to terms with.”
Vega doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t offer excuses or platitudes, just holds Sorrel’s hand.
“I mean, I still haven’t even started coming to terms with it….” Sorrel looks at them all again. “You seem very nice, of course, but I have questions and many of the people who I assume have the answers are either dead or on another continent. But something tells me the questions I’d be asking aren’t the right ones.”
Vega is quiet, processing before answering. For a moment there is no sound in the room but the clink of cutlery against delicate china and Lyra’s humming.
“We were stolen,” she says, finally. “Taken from the mother that bore us. Beaten, starved. Treated like possessions. Delivered to a relative safety that was as much a prison as it was protection. Neither of our lives have been what they should have.” She says not to defend or to compete, but with grief and empathy.
“I cannot defend our mother’s actions. Nor can I condemn them. She saved our lives. We are not to blame for the horrors you suffered and any apologies we might offer would be empty, for the guilt is not ours. It would heal nothing in you.” Her voice trembles and her eyes well with sudden tears. She clings to Sorrel’s hand like a ship to an anchor. Lyra stops humming, freezing again like a hunted deer in a forest of stars. Out of the corner of her eye, Sorrel sees Aries' posture change, ready to defend her sister by any means necessary, for any reason whatsoever.
“But I swear to you, these lives are not what I would have wished for us, and I would have taken them from us if I could. And if we have answers to your questions, they’re yours. You need only ask.”
Sorrel looks at Aries, shows her the palm of her other hand in the warrior's gesture - I come in peace. “Whatever happened to me was not of your choosing,” she says clearly, distinctly, almost a vow. “There is no bad blood between us and I do not hold you responsible. I acknowledge you as family by choice if not by blood. You are under my protection and I will die before harm comes to you.”
She reaches her arm out to indicate her friends. “Family is a strange idea to me and one that I have only found here, in this strange, half-formed continent. Because these three are the first family I ever had. My brother Kavel, my sister Velania and my raffish cousin Zola. They have walked with me into Hell itself. Derthaad is rapidly becoming a kindly uncle - but we should not start breaking metaphors before we break bread. Certainly if we had met before I had been taught the meaning of family by these nobles of my soul, I would be a very different child. I owe them peace in my heart and the chance to hold your hand, Vega.”
She nods to Aries as she finishes. I hope we understand each other, her eyes speak for her. You do not need to draw your sword against me. Aries relaxes her grip on a butter knife ever so slightly.
Then she turns back to Vega. “I think the only question - the one that answers all, given what I have learned - is… who are you?”
Vega squeezes Sorrel’s hand a final time and lets go to wipe at her damp cheeks. She visibly gathers herself up, trying to find the right place to start explaining.
“It’s.. we’re- well. It’s.. It’s complicated. It’s probably better if- Lyra? Lyra, darling, come here.”
The youngest sister stops spinning, her eyes still a million miles away.
“Hmm?”
Aries gets to her feet - soundlessly, Sorrel notices - and fetches her sister with surprising gentleness, leading her to the seat on Vega’s other side. She sinks into it, tangling one hand in Vega’s robes, still looking at the ceiling.
“Lyra is.. Special,” Vega says. “She knows things. Sees things. Too many things, sometimes. It’s hard for her to keep track of where or when she is. Lyra, darling, can you tell Sorrel? Tell her the words.”
Lyra blinks a couple of times before making proper eye contact with Sorrel for the first time, eyes wide, glittering with silver.
“I can say them?”
“Yes. This is what we’ve been protecting them for. Go on.”
Lyra’s voice is barely above a whisper but it fills the stillness of the room like a rushing river. The stars around grow brighter, reflected in her eyes.
In the quiet after her proclamation, Lyra nibbles on the corner of her sister’s forgotten scone.
“We don’t know who we are,” Vega says, “but we have an idea what we might become.”
Sorrel stares at Lyra for what seems like years. She feels ancient stones sliding into place in long buried cellars at the bottom of her mind. Nothing makes any sense but something seems to fit. She feels… what? What is this? Is it enchantment? Enlightenment? Hunger? Maybe she’s hungry. She grabs a scone - always her go-to carb after an encounter with the godhead - and stuffs it into her mouth to buy a little time before she has to speak.
Her gaze flicks to Vega and she appraises the voice of the sisters as the surprisingly moist oatmeal slips down a little faster than she expected. She realises everyone is looking at her and swallows awkwardly.
“So… are you saying I’m the fourth? I don’t know who writes prophecies on the plane of chuntering but they do love a bit of confusion. Vega, is your take on this that the four of us are like… well, I guess I’m the abandoned daughter. I guess Aries is the reckless protector?”
She stops. Velania is looking at her patiently.
“Wait a minute… am I all of those? That can’t be right. I’m just… I mean, I’m just me. I’m little Sorrel Darkfire. I get away with things, sure, but I don’t get a verse in a prophecy. I’m more the ‘help the powerful celestial break the prophecy’ type. It’s a problem with authority thing, it’s not important.”
She briefly feels a wave of wonder wash over her. It’s as if she’s floating above the room looking down on herself and seeing someone who has been honed and trained and armed and organised for this very moment, as if all of her life was preparation for whatever it was she was supposed to do next. Knowing prophecies, she was fairly certain she wasn’t just supposed to lend them her cloak.
“So, what might you become? And what do you need me to do?” She pauses. “Vega, what’s going on? This is all kind of freaking me out. Could you pass the scones?”
Vega looks at Sorrel’s like she’s just understood something. She glances briefly at Velania, ducking her head to hide a smile, and slides a plate over.
“I must confess, I often find prophecies as bewildering as they are empowering,” Velania says, meeting Vega’s glance. “The broad purpose of this seems clear: you three women have crossed the seas to find your sister, and here shall she watch over you. That much is uncomplicated.” She smiles at Sorrel with the confidence of a proud older sister.
She unconsciously steeples her hands a moment and creates a mote of silver moonlight between her fingertips, deep in thought. Then looks up at Vega once more. “The last part is what puzzles me most: what chains must be broken, and what path do you seek? Vega, have you any insight into that?”
Her capacity for eye contact seemingly used up for the day, Lyra pulls out a carefully folded piece of parchment and puts it on top of the scone Sorrel is about to butter. She then dips her finger into her cup of cool tea and starts tracing a symbol on the clear glass of the table.
“Several tasks,” she mumbled quietly. “So many. But only one. All connected.”
Vega nods to the parchment.
“She’s been drawing that non-stop since last spring. Open it.” Sorrel unfolds the parchment and looks at it.
“It’s us,” Vega says.
Surprisingly, it’s Aries who answers Velania’s question.
“We’re being hunted. Have been, all our lives. One day, we will become something powerful and people who have figured that out want to use us,” she says brusquely.
“Starborn,” Lyra mumbles.
“Our mother hid us until our.. sister could protect us from the most immediate threat.” Her voice is layered with resentment and frustration.
“The beetle.”
“At the same time we have come here to carry out the first task the Moonmaiden has set before us. This task will be the beginning of our service. If we survive it, that service will span centuries.”
“The eyes, the hands, the heart.”
“But we aren’t powerful. Yet. That’s where you come in. Apparently. You’ve been trained.”
Aries sounds like she’s trying her very best not to let the injustice of this fact get to her. It’s not going very well.
“The wolf and the weasel,” Lyra chimes in, on cue.
“So you have to protect us until we can protect ourselves. You know things we don’t. Keep us alive while we carry out the first task.”
Again, Sorrel’s entire being resonates with crystal clear understanding. The frustration, the resentment, the indignation at having to ask for help, the hunger for knowledge. Aries’s body is screaming Train me but she’d rather die than say the words out loud.
Hearing talk of training, Kavel spoke, “Sorrel, I can make some new heavy clubs for the sisters. As you yourself know, club training is good for archery, sword fighting; everything. Strength comes first after all, for training or anything.”
Sorrel beams. “My brother is right, and he’s the best strength trainer on Kantas or the Sword Coast. Plus, Aries, he can teach you stuff I can’t even imagine. You look way more close combat than me. I’d have asked for a bow not a sword. Kavel and Zola between them have all the styles covered. And if people are coming for you, he can give you physical resilience beyond anything the House gave me. Derthaad has the finest arcane mind. Velania’s wisdom and connection with the Moonmaiden is awe inspiring… frankly if school is in I’ll join the class.”
She’s addressing all three sisters, but keeps turning to Aries. “My mother was wrong. I can’t protect you by myself. All I can really teach you is how to shoot straight. You’ll need more than that, as I’ve discovered since I got here. But the people in this room have all the skills you need to tackle fiends, machines and faerie queens so if my bow can keep you alive until you can kick my ass, I’m at your service.” And she reaches for another scone.
Aries looks like she wants to grin, and like she’s angry about that as well, but she settles back in her chair seemingly convinced. For now.
Vega nods, running an absentminded hand through Lyra’s messy hair. “Strength in numbers. If that is something you all are willing to offer, we’d be more than grateful. We know nothing about this place, and very little about what we have to do.”
“Seraphina,” Lyra says quietly, taking a minuscule bite of a muffin.
Sorrel’s eyes open wide. “Seraphina? She baptised me. I don’t think I’ve seen her since. Velania… um, do you think my sisters can stay at the temple a while? I’m guessing Seraphina is still there?”
“Temple. Seraphina. The book,” Lyra says again.
“That answers that question, I suppose,” says Vega.
“You’re all welcome there,” says Velania, looking at each of the sisters in turn. “As soon as we get there, I’ll make arrangements for your accommodation, show you around, and ensure you have anything you need. And yes, Seraphina is indeed there. I’m sure she’ll be honoured to meet you all. Sorrel lives only a few streets away, so she’ll be on hand whenever required. As shall I.”
Lyra hums in quiet agreement and tucks herself back into the crook of Vega’s neck. Aries swallows the last of her tea and raises no objection. Vega reaches a hand out to hold hers, stroking Lyra’s hair with her other. She looks tired suddenly, exhausted even - the promise of safe shelter and proper rest for the first time in two weeks almost overwhelming.
“Yes. Please.”
Zola smiles gently at the elven girls. Three maidens appointed by divinity, who come bearing words of prophecy - they must be protected at all costs. “I think it’s time we all retire for the night,” she says, putting her empty cup down.
Sorrel nods, swallowing a last mouthful of scone. “One last thing,” she says very casually. “Just for working out the best way to manage the protection, training, mission arrangement safely and effectively… what or who is after you? And how far away do you think they are?”
Vega strokes Lyra’s cheek gently. “She hasn’t been able to see much. All we know is-“
“The Beetle.”
“-that. The Beetle.”
“Whatever that means, I don’t like the sound of it.” Velania’s face darkens, knowing all too well how prophecies tend to promise uncertain times and unwelcome guests. “Rest assured, you are her Chosen, and we shall all be helping you. But Zola is right – the hour is extremely late now. Let’s get back to Daring Heights and get you home, and in the morning we can all get set up. Derthaad,” she says with a gesture indicating spellcasting, “would you kindly do the honours?”
As Sorrel felt Derthaad’s spell weave around them all, she let her eyes drift from face to face. Kavel, the rock, whose simple solutions always turned out to be the best ones. Dertaad, so committed to doing the right thing that he wore his immense power lightly enough that you could barely see it. Velania, the healer, wise in so many things and yet uncertain in herself, her power hidden by her modesty. Zola, the dancer, who suffered so much heartbreak in silence and yet always leaped at danger without question. Then Lyra, Vega, Aries… the dreamer, the carer and the warrior… the shadow of the weight they carried was almost invisible. You could only really see it Vega’s eyes.
And now these fates are linked, she realised, by decision made before she was born. Perhaps the gods had always known these eight people would talk in this room tonight. Or perhaps they still had their own hand in their destiny. If something is foretold, that does not mean it will come to pass. This she knew. She’d already helped end one prophecy.
And if this prophecy threatened harm to those she loved, then she would have to change it.
Destiny may be a bitch, but she was worse. She was little Sorrel Darkfire and she was through fucking around.
Following the events of Wish you Were Here as recounted by Kavel and Sorrel
Yhsa’s voice is restrained, professional again. Carefully neutral. Her Sending filters into Sorrel’s mind almost politely.
“Cargo inbound. Delivery to Port Ffirst. Approximately midnight tomorrow if the weather holds. New Port. The Delphian. Confirm.”
“Confirmed,” Sorrel wishes there was more nuance to the sending spell. Some way of emphasising syllables. She’d even settle for some way of including emotion. Perhaps the image of a smiling face or an angry face.
She gets to her feet, accidentally knocking the table in her haste. “Sorry to spill the tea,” she holds out a placating hand. “They’re arriving tomorrow night. Midnight. If you are still behind me, shall we meet back here an hour before? The ship - the Delphian it’s called - will be punctual.”
“Of course,” says the Goliath, “I’ll be there.”
“We’ll all be there,” Zola affirms with a small, crooked smile.
--
The Delphian is smaller than the usual vessels that enter Port Ffirst, built for speed and discretion instead of carrying capacity or defensive and offensive capabilities. The crew manning her are more than able to take care of that bit, Sorrel is sure. The wood of her hull is stained the same almost- black as the case that Yhsa handed over the bracers in - the same almost-black of the doors and beams in the Palace of Persuasion - and her black sails might as well have been cut from the same cloth as Callimar’s cloak.
From where they’re waiting further up the pier, the party watches as the harbour master oversees the docking and checks some papers. The procedure is over and done with faster and smoother than your average docking in New Port. Gold and steel is the best carrot and stick anywhere in the world and Kantas is no different.
His business concluded, the harbour master walks away and the gangplank is extended. A familiar cloaked figure disentangles herself from the shadows and boards the ship, quickly disappearing from view. Seconds stretch into long minutes, but nothing happens. Velania looks at Sorrel, her in-drawn breath enough of a question before the words even leave her mouth. Sorrel shakes her head almost imperceptibly. She can’t see them (it wouldn’t be up to the standards of the House if she could) but she can feel the loaded crossbows aimed at them from the ship.
“Not yet.”
Finally, there’s a flash of light in their direction as someone briefly uncovers a lantern on deck. One of the crew flashes a couple of hand signals before the lantern is covered again. Sorrel gets to her feet.
As they approach, the familiar figure appears on deck again, this time with the hood of her cloak pulled back. Specialist Al’Astor walks down the gangplank with the smooth, controlled movements of a killer on their best behaviour and stops very precisely in a spot that both welcomes them onboard and blocks their access to the ship.
“Specialist,” she says softly.
Sorrel meets her gaze steadily. The pause becomes uncomfortable. “Specialist,” she almost whispers finally. “As I said last time, if you have returned without your master things will not go well.”
There’s a hint of a savage grin at the corner of Yhsa’s mouth but she hides it quickly.
“Yes, you said. I found it peculiar then and I still do. You speak as if I have any say in where he goes, or when, or why. Perhaps you have been out in the cold too long. Perhaps you’ve forgotten how hierarchy works.” She pauses as well, somehow managing to mimic the silence Sorrel created a moment ago. Then she speaks again, deliberately pitching her voice to carry.
“And why do you refer to him as my master, Specialist? Tell me, is Callimar Daevion'lyrn no longer your master?”
There is a sudden, absolute stillness from the deck of The Delphian as the entire crew stops moving. They hold their breath as one, awaiting the answer.
“What the Dean of the Dark College is to me he knows full well,” Sorrel’s eyes blazed. “It cannot be summed up in a single word. You play with pronouns as if you understand their meaning, specialist. You have absorbed your weapons training but you have not been listening to your trainers. Your behaviour on these shores is clumsy and brutish. I am surprised the House sent someone so indelicate on a job of such complexity but no doubt there are reasons. I imagine you volunteered, presumably to test yourself against me. If that obsesses you, I will give you that satisfaction, but not today. Clearly Callimar still enjoys his provocations. I must speak with the Dean. Where is he?”
The savage grin returns, less well-concealed this time. Yhsa seems to be savouring the insults hurled her way like a very fine year of Tuskan brandy. She ducks her head a little, takes a small step closer and leans in, a look of immense delight and satisfaction in her eyes.
“He’s not here, Specialist. He’s where he belongs - in the gardens of paradise. He doesn’t have time for you anymore.” Before Sorrel can reach for a knife, before she can raise a fist or even contemplate the number of ways this woman deserves to die, Yhsa has raised a single finger in a condescending bid for her to wait.
“Now, I know you want to be rash - it’s what you do, after all - but let me be very clear; if you touch me your sisters don’t walk off that ship.”
When Sorrel clenches her jaw hard enough that you could hear her teeth crack across the Tritooth Wharf but makes no further move, Yhsa smiles.
“Good girl. I’m glad to see you do remember how to listen to your superiors. Now, I’m going to board that ship and give the order to offload the cargo, and you can stay here and… sulk.”
She takes a step back. “We’ll kill each other one day, Sorrel Darkfire. But not tonight.”
Sorrel’s pain overwhelms her. The one person who she trusted - the elegant drow who shaped her obedience to the House and truly saw her for the first time - has, like everyone else, let her down. She coils to strike. If she dies fighting this… thing that sliced her brother’s throat and scorns her service to Callimar, would that not be a fitting end to a discarded life?
“I don’t have any other plans tonight,” she hisses. “Why wait?”
She has no time or range to draw a bow, and a rapier is a weapon of respect, too good for this preening fool. The venom dagger and the halo knife hiss from concealed sheaths as she drops to one knee then hurls her full weight forward at a sharp enough angle to send both of them tumbling into the water-
Except she is halted mid-air by a force pulling her backwards by her cloak, and she lands on her arse on the wooden boardwalk with a dull thud. Sorrel looks up - Zola, whilst still holding onto Sorrel’s dark cloak with her left hand, unsheathes Castor with her right in rapid motion and points it at Yhsa.
With the tension still taut in the air, the sword dancer lowers the tip of her blade to point at the serrated dagger Yhsa has immediately drawn in response to Sorrel and flicks her wrist, gesturing for the tiefling to put it away. “There will be no bloodshed here tonight,” Zola declares calmly, her one amber eye flickering back and forth between Sorrel on the ground and Yhsa before her.
Behind them, at the edge of the boardwalk, there is a tiny whisper of moonlight as Velania’s eyes glimmer in the dark. She casts no spell, but her hands hang relaxed and ready to weave magic. She watches Sorrel as closely as she watches Yhsa. Too many unsheathed weapons here. Too many heightened emotions. She can hear the soft clicks and tensing springs of crossbows aimed at them from the deck of the ship - but something about the whole stand-off is… wrong.
Yhsa shifts her weight to her back leg, ready to spring at a moment’s notice, baring her teeth at Zola briefly before turning her gaze back to Sorrel. She hisses a little, almost like a rabid fox. “Wrong move, Specialist. Did you want the cargo or not?”
“It doesn’t sound like you have the authority to deny her, Specialist,” Velania calls out from the darkness. Her tone is stern and edged with disapproval. “Perhaps it would behove you to remember that whatever grievances you hold about positions within the House, you stand between a sister and her family. There will be another time for all of this.”
“Judging by the aim of the archers,” affirms Derthaad, “they don’t seem to care whether you walk that plank or not. And judging by the letter, the cargo, as you so bluntly put it, is more valuable than you.” He then levels his gaze at Yhsa, his voice as stern as Velania’s. “Be professional, follow up on the deal and let the sisters walk.”
“Yes!” Kavel yells from back where he’s stood in the dark with Velania. “Let us just get on with it!” With that the Goliath’s breathing quickens, he squats low, and propels himself skyward with his powerful legs bringing him in an arc down to where Sorrel, Zola and Yhsa stood, causing the wooden berth to tremble and creak as he lands. “Let’s have no nonsense. Bring out the sisters.”
Sorrel cannot speak. The screaming in her head flatlines into a ringing that in turn fades into silent emptiness. Time slows. Above them all, in the dark sky clouds part for a moment. Pale moonlight spills over them, bathing them in serene silver.
She doesn’t so much hear the voice as feel it.
“The past is the past. You have family still.”
“Says the goddess who has fought her sister for all eternity.” Sorrel can’t help the thought flitting through her mind.
She sighs, rises to her feet, bows her head to her friends in gratitude and respect then turns to Yhsa. “You were dead the moment your blade touched my brother’s throat. It will be interesting to see what you do with the short time you have left. For now, do your job and go. The faster you leave, the more time you have to live. Hurry up now.”
Yhsa deliberates for a moment longer before sheathing her dagger. She swallows her pride with extreme reluctance - it looks to be going down about as well as three-day-old coffee. She seems to consider a parting shot but a final look at the gleam in Zola’s amber eye stops her. She turns on her heel and boards the ship.
“Send them out,” she tells a deckhand, “and set sail. Get us the fuck away from this shithole.”
Activity resumes on deck. Moorings are loosened and sails unfurled, even as three figures are escorted out onto the deck and led to the gangplank. They’re wrapped up tightly, covered, hidden, protected, by their grey travel cloaks. They’re all of the same height, but they move differently.
The one in front moves carefully and gently, like someone who has perfected the art of walking quietly through a temple so as not to disturb the people at prayer and contemplation. The one in the back walks with a step that is hard to conceal, closer to the professionals escorting her off the ship.
The one in the middle is visibly thinner than the other two. She walks like a deer in the forest, trembling and aware that she’s being hunted by something with very sharp teeth. She sets one foot on the wooden dock and freezes with a sharp intake of breath. She extends a pale, thin hand from inside the cloak and pulls her hood back. Sorrel catches a brief glimpse of bright white hair and silver eyes, before the young woman’s gaze zeroes in on her.
“Sister!”
It escapes her as a cross between a gasp and a sob. She closes the distance without warning and throws her arms around Sorrel.
If she had unleashed a mind splintering spell at Sorrel, she would have caused less psychic overload. Sorrel’s eyes dart wildly between her friends and these three sisters. In her moment of utmost confusion, it’s her friends they come to rest on, the unspoken pleading in them so clear…. What am I supposed to do now?
Velania has silently drawn closer, and stands a few feet behind her. As Sorrel’s gaze reaches Velania, she sees the priestess studying her carefully, emanating a steady and gentle sense of calm. The corner of her mouth curls slightly, and while locking eyes with Sorrel, she gives a small, encouraging nod towards the women.
The first sister off the ship, the graceful one, pulls her hood back as well and sighs apologetically.
“Lyra, she might not want- oh, well.” She looks at Sorrel with a tired and hesitant smile. “Sorry. She.. feels things very strongly sometimes.”
The third sister hangs back, keeping her hood up. She watches the crew of The Delphian make ready, and doesn't look away until the gangplank has been hauled and the ship pushed away from the dock. After that she turns to the odd assembly on the pier, paying careful attention to Kavel and Zola. Her face is wary, her posture tense and her hands clench at empty air in want of a weapon.
The first sister walks over to where Sorrel is still trapped in the embrace of what must be a disguised boa constrictor. There’s something about the way she moves that is oddly reminiscent of Velania, somehow.
“Hi,” she says softly, clearly mindful of the absurd situation Sorrel is currently trying to mentally overcome. “I’m Vega.” She hesitates for just a second before adding, “Darkfire. Vega Darkfire.”
Sorrel surveys these strangers, a handful of words on rough parchment brought to life and these shores by her first sworn enemy for, what? Possibly a year? A couple of weeks ago she had a backpack, a girlfriend and some money and worried she was overburdened. Then she bought a horse. That’s where it all started, she thinks. She should never have bought the horse. Mammals coalesce.
“Sorrel Darkfire, at your service and your family’s,” she bows, stops, looks up at them. “I suppose Elsa’s letter means I am your family.” She checks her friends are nearby, draws comfort from their presence. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I have no idea who you are. I have no idea what’s going on. I have no idea what to do next. What is happening here? And where will it end? I will do what has to be done, but please tell me who I am.”
Vega listens, nodding both empathetically and emphatically as Sorrel begs for answers. Such a Velania. Cleric written all over her. Finally, she adopts a very special face unique to resolved older sisters all over the world and closes the distance. Gently but firmly she pries Lyra off of Sorrel with one hand. The other she places on Sorrel’s shoulder, squeezing carefully.
“We know very little. But what we do know, we will share with you, unreservedly. As for who you are.. I doubt that can be summed up in a single word. Certainly, you are many things, to many different people.”
Lyra finally lets herself be pulled away from Sorrel, instead leaning into Vega. Her eyes are bright and distant, scanning the sky for stars thousands of miles away. Her mouth moves as she whispers to herself, clinging to her sister’s side.
“Chosen. Strong. Broken. Holy. Killer. Starborn. Runner. Impossible. Abandoned. Found. Daughter. Warrior. Saviour. Sinner.” The list goes on and on.
Vega shushes Lyra and smiles at Sorrel again, hesitant and hopeful.
“Perhaps we can start with ‘sister’?”
--
While the sisters are having their reunion, Derthaad leans over to Velania and whispers: "Hey Velania. I'm no religious person but, from whatever knowledge I have, doesn't Selûne have three versions of her avatar?"
Velania casts her attention over each sister in turn, an eyebrow raised in curiosity at the poetry in Lyra’s list. It has the form of a prophecy, she thinks to herself. She replies discreetly. “The Maiden, the Mother, the Elder; those are her three most favoured ones. Although her forms are as many as the moon has positions in the sky. Might I ask what you are reading from this moment, Derthaad?”
“It seems he and I are thinking the same thing,” Zola chimes in. “Three sisters, white of hair. It can’t be a mere coincidence…” Her voice trails off, and she tilts her chin up to gaze at the night sky. She needn’t say much more, they’d already seen the new form of her spirit shroud when they fought the ogres in the forest: three drow women, manifestations of the sacred moon.
“There’s a reason Je’Sathriel is not allowed to help with this. This…is a holy mission Selûne wants Sorrel to undertake.”
The shift in her stance is negligible but it’s enough to give away that the third sister is listening intently to their conversation, her wary face now closer to a scowl.
Derthaad nods at Zola’s statement. “I have dealt with enough godly issues these past months to know that something clearly seems afoot here. I’m starting to get the handle on how gods generally work and thus I agree with Zola, this is all too coincidental for Selune to not have a great deal of influence in all of this.”
Velania nods to them and pitches her voice at the same discreet volume, but ensures there is no attempt to hide their discussion: anyone who chooses to listen can hear her words. Her gaze roams skyward as she regards the moon. “I feel it too: there is divine intent here. The Moonmaiden does seek our service, in some way.”
--
Sorrel can hear her friends murmuring but can’t make out the words. They’re probably amused at the sociopathic Sorrel Darkfire suddenly having a family arrive by courier. She smiles at Vega.
“Please forgive my incivility,” she says carefully. “The idea that I have three… sisters… is very new to me. I am struggling to… normalise the idea. Vega, and Lyra…” she turns to the third. “And I don’t think I caught your name… um… sister?”
The third sister doesn’t say anything, just fixes her with a stare. Sorrel knows it well, deep in her bones. Like recognizing like. Why should I tell you? What do you even care? I’ve done this before. No one stays. Everyone leaves. Why would you be different?
Vega shoots her a stern Big Sister Look. The younger woman sighs and rolls her eyes.
“I’m Aries,” she mutters.
Sorrel likes Aries instantly. She suspects they’ll end up in a fist fight at the very least, and is almost certain they’ll exchange at best three words a week.
Her kind of girl.
“Vega, Lyra, Aries. Welcome to Port Ffirst. I am Velania, and this is Derthaad, Zola, Kavel. We accompanied our dear friend Sorrel to ensure that everything went… smoothly on the docks. Perhaps this is not the wisest place to linger. Might we take you to a more congenial place for you to sit and relax and get to know your sister?”
“Oh, yeah, that’s probably what I should have said,” Sorrel winces. “Thank you Velania.”
“If everyone wishes,” interjects Derthaad, “I can teleport everyone back to Daring Heights.”
Lyra raises her head from where she’s been resting it in the crook of Vega’s neck and stares blankly west.
“They have a temple there,” she mumbles.
“We do indeed,” replies Velania kindly. “I serve at the temple of Selûne, and all are welcome there, but there are a number of other gods also represented in Daring Heights should you prefer.”
Zola steps forward. “I’ve booked us a room at a teahouse nearby. Something warm to fill our stomachs sounds nice, yes? We shouldn’t linger here too long, Port Ffirst isn’t known for being safe at night.”
Vega smiles at Sorrel again, more confidently this time, and then turns to Zola. “Tea would be lovely, thank you.” Lyra makes a soft noise and Vega takes her hand, speaking quietly. “We’ll see the temple soon, I promise.”
Aries looks as enthusiastic about the two options as she has about everything else so far.
“Can I get a sword,” she asks bluntly. It’s barely a question.
Sorrel reaches into her efficient quiver and pulls out a shortsword and a rapier. “Both silvered but mundane,” she offers Aries the hilts. “Will they do for now?”
She takes them without a word, quickly testing their weight and fastens both to her belt. She narrows her eyes at Sorrel a little and nods once. Don’t think this means anything. You’re still on thin ice. Then she looks away, glowering at nothing.
Sorrel’s heart warms a little further and she almost smiles. “Don’t break them,” she sniffs. “It cost a lot to have them silvered.”
“They shouldn’t break from normal use unless you’ve given me shit quality steel, should they,” she fires back without pause.
Sorrel almost hugs her. Vega rolls her eyes heavenwards.
“Tea,” Lyra says.
--
There is not another soul on Silk Street at this hour. Zola leads them past rows of dark and lifeless facade windows. Walking together in a hushed, uncertain silence, the only sounds in the night are their own footsteps on the cobblestone and distant barking of stray dogs.
Sorrel falls into step next to Velania and turns to face her, hesitating.
Velania reads Sorrel’s unspoken question and answers it by taking her arm casually. She speaks with lightness and ease. “As always, dear sister, I find your life comes with more mystery than explanation. It feels as though the Maiden herself has set the path that brought you all together. Though the way ahead is still hidden, I cannot help but imagine the clearest guidance you’re going to get just arrived on that ship. So…” she squeezes Sorrel’s arm affectionately. “Celebrate your sisters’ arrival; embrace the opportunity to connect. Like all who journey to the Dawnlands, they are no doubt in need of a friend, first and foremost.”
“Do they automatically have a big brother now, Sorrel? Are they included in our bond, vicariously or otherwise?” Kavel asked Sorrel in a whisper, having overheard what Velania said to Sorrel, as he walked behind them.
“I have exchanged blood with you in the warrior's ritual, brother,” Sorrel frowns. “Until they do that I think half sisters at best.”
--
Zola stops in front of a white shopfront, so pristine it cannot be anything but new, with a neatly-lettered sign above the door that reads: Gossamer Threads Tea Rooms. She raps her fist on the locked double doors, and a few moments later, they are cracked open by an older dwarven man with a well-groomed beard, dressed in a charcoal grey suit.
Mr. Stonecast, the manager of Gossamer Threads, walks the group through the unlit general seating area, weaving around empty tables and chairs which in the daytime would be filled with loquacious local gossips. In the back of the room, light spills out from a door left slightly ajar; the pleasant aromas of tea and freshly-baked pastries waft out, accompanied by telltale clattering noises of a kitchen staff at work.
“We’re not usually open this late, but your friend Miss Oussviir here said it’s for an important family reunion, and well, how could I possibly refuse that?” says Mr. Stonecast.
As they walk upstairs to the first floor, Stonecast explains that each of their private rooms are warded with anti-divination enchantments and the walls don’t allow sound to pass through thanks to a modified version of the silence spell, foiling any would-be eavesdroppers - in short, the late-night chat they are about to have will be as private as a top secret government briefing.
He opens the door to the particular room Zola has chosen for them: the Constellation Room. The walls and floor are made of black, non-reflective glass, and when the Dawnlanders step inside, it feels as though they are walking on a vast, expansive void, whilst their own bodies emit a dim, starlight-like glow. Images of glittering constellations, breathtaking nebulae and galaxies are projected onto the walls, rotating around the room slowly. As soon as they are all seated around the colourless table in the centre of the room, the waitstaff file into the room bearing pots of herbal tea and trays of snacks: gourmet sandwiches, sweet cakes, and - most importantly - scones.
The servers then trot out of the room and the last one closes the door gently behind him. The eight of them are now alone.
--
Sorrel looks awkwardly at Zola, asking permission with her eyes. “Er, you must be famished after such a long journey,” she begins. Famished! Her mind is screaming at her - are you a fucking duchess now? Aries - clearly enough of a kindred spirit to read her mind - looks deeply unimpressed. “Please, help yourselves?”
Zola shoots a confused look back at her. “Oh yes, please, dig in! I’ve paid for everything in advance. Not to worry though, the food and drink here is surprisingly cheap for the venue. This is the upper class district of town, you see,” she explains to the sisters three.
Aries looks like she wants to say something derisive about charity. Lyra ignores the food but picks up a cup of tea and walks slowly around the dazzling space, spinning slowly and humming to herself. Vega smiles tiredly and starts helping herself to a scone.
“Thank you,” she says warmly to both Zola and Sorrel. “We weren’t mistreated on the journey over, by any means, but it’s definitely been.. Tense. Gods know the appetite suffers when you’re anxious.”
She takes a couple of bites, her shoulders visibly lowering as she forces herself to relax. Then she reaches across the table for Sorrel’s hand, offering, cautiously.
Sorrel’s hand is out and clasping Vega’s before she even makes the decision to do so. It’s the same instinct that usually finds would-be ambushers staggering out of an alleyway with a dagger sticking out of their throat.
Although something tells her not to vocalise this thought.
The contrast between their clasped hands is striking. Sorrel is all scars and calluses, hard-won, a testament to the lot she was given and the life she’s been forced to live. Vega’s hand is smooth and warm, soft. A little ink-stained. But their strength is the same.
“We’ve waited a long time for this,” she says. “We knew about you. We knew we had a sister, but not much else. Mother told us about you when you were born and let us have snippets here and there, especially when you were younger, but less and less as the years went by. Lyra has had a clearer sense of you, of course, but we’ve had to hoard our precious few pieces of information like dragons,” she says with a wry smile. Aries makes a face to communicate that she has hoarded absolutely fuck all, thank you very much.
“We’ve waited for you. Both because we - all four of us - have tasks to carry out, and we needed to be together to get started, but more importantly because you are a piece of us.”
Sorrel looks at each face carefully, ending at Vega. She clears her throat.
“I guess we might as well do the cards on the table thing now. There’s no point withholding. I don’t know what sort of details my…. Mother… told you, but they sold me to a private military company called the House and I’ve essentially been a mercenary since I was 16. I didn’t know anything about you three until I read a letter from my mother’s hand delivered by someone I intend to visit with extreme prejudice in due course. I have a long line of failed relationships, dead friends, and people who betrayed me so trust tends to be something I’m barely on nodding terms with. I have to be honest with you Vega, discovering that my parents made that decision to sell me in order to protect you three has not been easy to come to terms with.”
Vega doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t offer excuses or platitudes, just holds Sorrel’s hand.
“I mean, I still haven’t even started coming to terms with it….” Sorrel looks at them all again. “You seem very nice, of course, but I have questions and many of the people who I assume have the answers are either dead or on another continent. But something tells me the questions I’d be asking aren’t the right ones.”
Vega is quiet, processing before answering. For a moment there is no sound in the room but the clink of cutlery against delicate china and Lyra’s humming.
“We were stolen,” she says, finally. “Taken from the mother that bore us. Beaten, starved. Treated like possessions. Delivered to a relative safety that was as much a prison as it was protection. Neither of our lives have been what they should have.” She says not to defend or to compete, but with grief and empathy.
“I cannot defend our mother’s actions. Nor can I condemn them. She saved our lives. We are not to blame for the horrors you suffered and any apologies we might offer would be empty, for the guilt is not ours. It would heal nothing in you.” Her voice trembles and her eyes well with sudden tears. She clings to Sorrel’s hand like a ship to an anchor. Lyra stops humming, freezing again like a hunted deer in a forest of stars. Out of the corner of her eye, Sorrel sees Aries' posture change, ready to defend her sister by any means necessary, for any reason whatsoever.
“But I swear to you, these lives are not what I would have wished for us, and I would have taken them from us if I could. And if we have answers to your questions, they’re yours. You need only ask.”
Sorrel looks at Aries, shows her the palm of her other hand in the warrior's gesture - I come in peace. “Whatever happened to me was not of your choosing,” she says clearly, distinctly, almost a vow. “There is no bad blood between us and I do not hold you responsible. I acknowledge you as family by choice if not by blood. You are under my protection and I will die before harm comes to you.”
She reaches her arm out to indicate her friends. “Family is a strange idea to me and one that I have only found here, in this strange, half-formed continent. Because these three are the first family I ever had. My brother Kavel, my sister Velania and my raffish cousin Zola. They have walked with me into Hell itself. Derthaad is rapidly becoming a kindly uncle - but we should not start breaking metaphors before we break bread. Certainly if we had met before I had been taught the meaning of family by these nobles of my soul, I would be a very different child. I owe them peace in my heart and the chance to hold your hand, Vega.”
She nods to Aries as she finishes. I hope we understand each other, her eyes speak for her. You do not need to draw your sword against me. Aries relaxes her grip on a butter knife ever so slightly.
Then she turns back to Vega. “I think the only question - the one that answers all, given what I have learned - is… who are you?”
Vega squeezes Sorrel’s hand a final time and lets go to wipe at her damp cheeks. She visibly gathers herself up, trying to find the right place to start explaining.
“It’s.. we’re- well. It’s.. It’s complicated. It’s probably better if- Lyra? Lyra, darling, come here.”
The youngest sister stops spinning, her eyes still a million miles away.
“Hmm?”
Aries gets to her feet - soundlessly, Sorrel notices - and fetches her sister with surprising gentleness, leading her to the seat on Vega’s other side. She sinks into it, tangling one hand in Vega’s robes, still looking at the ceiling.
“Lyra is.. Special,” Vega says. “She knows things. Sees things. Too many things, sometimes. It’s hard for her to keep track of where or when she is. Lyra, darling, can you tell Sorrel? Tell her the words.”
Lyra blinks a couple of times before making proper eye contact with Sorrel for the first time, eyes wide, glittering with silver.
“I can say them?”
“Yes. This is what we’ve been protecting them for. Go on.”
Lyra’s voice is barely above a whisper but it fills the stillness of the room like a rushing river. The stars around grow brighter, reflected in her eyes.
There will be three
Moonlight in their blood
Stars in their bones
Bigger than their bodies
There will be three
The eyes, the hands, the heart
The will of the Moonmaiden
The shape of Her solace
There will be three
Words louder than storms
Deeds taller than mountains
Faith stronger than rivers
Then there will be four
She will lay her cloak on their shoulders and shield them from harm
The Chosen Warrior
The Abandoned Daughter
The Broken Saviour
The Reckless Protector
She will break their chains and set them on their path
For she is the light by which their spirit is born
In the quiet after her proclamation, Lyra nibbles on the corner of her sister’s forgotten scone.
“We don’t know who we are,” Vega says, “but we have an idea what we might become.”
Sorrel stares at Lyra for what seems like years. She feels ancient stones sliding into place in long buried cellars at the bottom of her mind. Nothing makes any sense but something seems to fit. She feels… what? What is this? Is it enchantment? Enlightenment? Hunger? Maybe she’s hungry. She grabs a scone - always her go-to carb after an encounter with the godhead - and stuffs it into her mouth to buy a little time before she has to speak.
Her gaze flicks to Vega and she appraises the voice of the sisters as the surprisingly moist oatmeal slips down a little faster than she expected. She realises everyone is looking at her and swallows awkwardly.
“So… are you saying I’m the fourth? I don’t know who writes prophecies on the plane of chuntering but they do love a bit of confusion. Vega, is your take on this that the four of us are like… well, I guess I’m the abandoned daughter. I guess Aries is the reckless protector?”
She stops. Velania is looking at her patiently.
“Wait a minute… am I all of those? That can’t be right. I’m just… I mean, I’m just me. I’m little Sorrel Darkfire. I get away with things, sure, but I don’t get a verse in a prophecy. I’m more the ‘help the powerful celestial break the prophecy’ type. It’s a problem with authority thing, it’s not important.”
She briefly feels a wave of wonder wash over her. It’s as if she’s floating above the room looking down on herself and seeing someone who has been honed and trained and armed and organised for this very moment, as if all of her life was preparation for whatever it was she was supposed to do next. Knowing prophecies, she was fairly certain she wasn’t just supposed to lend them her cloak.
“So, what might you become? And what do you need me to do?” She pauses. “Vega, what’s going on? This is all kind of freaking me out. Could you pass the scones?”
Vega looks at Sorrel’s like she’s just understood something. She glances briefly at Velania, ducking her head to hide a smile, and slides a plate over.
“I must confess, I often find prophecies as bewildering as they are empowering,” Velania says, meeting Vega’s glance. “The broad purpose of this seems clear: you three women have crossed the seas to find your sister, and here shall she watch over you. That much is uncomplicated.” She smiles at Sorrel with the confidence of a proud older sister.
She unconsciously steeples her hands a moment and creates a mote of silver moonlight between her fingertips, deep in thought. Then looks up at Vega once more. “The last part is what puzzles me most: what chains must be broken, and what path do you seek? Vega, have you any insight into that?”
Her capacity for eye contact seemingly used up for the day, Lyra pulls out a carefully folded piece of parchment and puts it on top of the scone Sorrel is about to butter. She then dips her finger into her cup of cool tea and starts tracing a symbol on the clear glass of the table.
“Several tasks,” she mumbled quietly. “So many. But only one. All connected.”
Vega nods to the parchment.
“She’s been drawing that non-stop since last spring. Open it.” Sorrel unfolds the parchment and looks at it.
“It’s us,” Vega says.
Surprisingly, it’s Aries who answers Velania’s question.
“We’re being hunted. Have been, all our lives. One day, we will become something powerful and people who have figured that out want to use us,” she says brusquely.
“Starborn,” Lyra mumbles.
“Our mother hid us until our.. sister could protect us from the most immediate threat.” Her voice is layered with resentment and frustration.
“The beetle.”
“At the same time we have come here to carry out the first task the Moonmaiden has set before us. This task will be the beginning of our service. If we survive it, that service will span centuries.”
“The eyes, the hands, the heart.”
“But we aren’t powerful. Yet. That’s where you come in. Apparently. You’ve been trained.”
Aries sounds like she’s trying her very best not to let the injustice of this fact get to her. It’s not going very well.
“The wolf and the weasel,” Lyra chimes in, on cue.
“So you have to protect us until we can protect ourselves. You know things we don’t. Keep us alive while we carry out the first task.”
Again, Sorrel’s entire being resonates with crystal clear understanding. The frustration, the resentment, the indignation at having to ask for help, the hunger for knowledge. Aries’s body is screaming Train me but she’d rather die than say the words out loud.
Hearing talk of training, Kavel spoke, “Sorrel, I can make some new heavy clubs for the sisters. As you yourself know, club training is good for archery, sword fighting; everything. Strength comes first after all, for training or anything.”
Sorrel beams. “My brother is right, and he’s the best strength trainer on Kantas or the Sword Coast. Plus, Aries, he can teach you stuff I can’t even imagine. You look way more close combat than me. I’d have asked for a bow not a sword. Kavel and Zola between them have all the styles covered. And if people are coming for you, he can give you physical resilience beyond anything the House gave me. Derthaad has the finest arcane mind. Velania’s wisdom and connection with the Moonmaiden is awe inspiring… frankly if school is in I’ll join the class.”
She’s addressing all three sisters, but keeps turning to Aries. “My mother was wrong. I can’t protect you by myself. All I can really teach you is how to shoot straight. You’ll need more than that, as I’ve discovered since I got here. But the people in this room have all the skills you need to tackle fiends, machines and faerie queens so if my bow can keep you alive until you can kick my ass, I’m at your service.” And she reaches for another scone.
Aries looks like she wants to grin, and like she’s angry about that as well, but she settles back in her chair seemingly convinced. For now.
Vega nods, running an absentminded hand through Lyra’s messy hair. “Strength in numbers. If that is something you all are willing to offer, we’d be more than grateful. We know nothing about this place, and very little about what we have to do.”
“Seraphina,” Lyra says quietly, taking a minuscule bite of a muffin.
Sorrel’s eyes open wide. “Seraphina? She baptised me. I don’t think I’ve seen her since. Velania… um, do you think my sisters can stay at the temple a while? I’m guessing Seraphina is still there?”
“Temple. Seraphina. The book,” Lyra says again.
“That answers that question, I suppose,” says Vega.
“You’re all welcome there,” says Velania, looking at each of the sisters in turn. “As soon as we get there, I’ll make arrangements for your accommodation, show you around, and ensure you have anything you need. And yes, Seraphina is indeed there. I’m sure she’ll be honoured to meet you all. Sorrel lives only a few streets away, so she’ll be on hand whenever required. As shall I.”
Lyra hums in quiet agreement and tucks herself back into the crook of Vega’s neck. Aries swallows the last of her tea and raises no objection. Vega reaches a hand out to hold hers, stroking Lyra’s hair with her other. She looks tired suddenly, exhausted even - the promise of safe shelter and proper rest for the first time in two weeks almost overwhelming.
“Yes. Please.”
Zola smiles gently at the elven girls. Three maidens appointed by divinity, who come bearing words of prophecy - they must be protected at all costs. “I think it’s time we all retire for the night,” she says, putting her empty cup down.
Sorrel nods, swallowing a last mouthful of scone. “One last thing,” she says very casually. “Just for working out the best way to manage the protection, training, mission arrangement safely and effectively… what or who is after you? And how far away do you think they are?”
Vega strokes Lyra’s cheek gently. “She hasn’t been able to see much. All we know is-“
“The Beetle.”
“-that. The Beetle.”
“Whatever that means, I don’t like the sound of it.” Velania’s face darkens, knowing all too well how prophecies tend to promise uncertain times and unwelcome guests. “Rest assured, you are her Chosen, and we shall all be helping you. But Zola is right – the hour is extremely late now. Let’s get back to Daring Heights and get you home, and in the morning we can all get set up. Derthaad,” she says with a gesture indicating spellcasting, “would you kindly do the honours?”
As Sorrel felt Derthaad’s spell weave around them all, she let her eyes drift from face to face. Kavel, the rock, whose simple solutions always turned out to be the best ones. Dertaad, so committed to doing the right thing that he wore his immense power lightly enough that you could barely see it. Velania, the healer, wise in so many things and yet uncertain in herself, her power hidden by her modesty. Zola, the dancer, who suffered so much heartbreak in silence and yet always leaped at danger without question. Then Lyra, Vega, Aries… the dreamer, the carer and the warrior… the shadow of the weight they carried was almost invisible. You could only really see it Vega’s eyes.
And now these fates are linked, she realised, by decision made before she was born. Perhaps the gods had always known these eight people would talk in this room tonight. Or perhaps they still had their own hand in their destiny. If something is foretold, that does not mean it will come to pass. This she knew. She’d already helped end one prophecy.
And if this prophecy threatened harm to those she loved, then she would have to change it.
Destiny may be a bitch, but she was worse. She was little Sorrel Darkfire and she was through fucking around.