Graduation: Independence Day - Sorrel

'Cause the darkness of this house has got the best of us
There's a darkness in this town that's got us too
But they can't touch me now and you can't touch me now
They ain't gonna do to me what I watched them do to you

Following on from the Bravery of Being Out of Range 
Content warning: description of suicide

Sorrel Darkfire slept light. It had saved her life more times than she could remember. Part natural paranoia, part brutal House training, she’d been known to leap from her blankets, shoot three arrows into the visor of a mounted knight and gut a couple of paid assassins without fully opening her eyes. So it was something of a surprise to wake up and find Lyra sitting on her bed.

“I had a dream,” Lyra’s voice was hurt and anxious. “I saw the tower of the moon… they have a kind dragon. And I saw our father. They let him go. He’s only got one arm. I saw him in the house he had with mum. I don’t think you like him, but he is the only father I had. Will you go?”

Sorrel struggled up onto her elbows and blinked at her sister. “Hey Lyra, are you OK? Bad dream?”

“I think we need to go to the tower of the moon now,” Lyra curled up and nestled her head on Sorrel’s shoulder. “Aries is wanting to come with you.”

“OK, so… are you thirsty? Do you want a glass of water?”

Lyra shook her head.

“Do you need Aries to stay with you?”

“We need you Sorrel, you must go away but we need you.”

Sorrel looked down at Lyra’s pale, delicate features, lit by the soft glow of moonlight. “I will always come back to you, Lyra, I’m your sister. I will keep you safe. I have magic that will help you – fire magic and summoned birds and all the skills that I possess that I can leave with you when I have to go away, to keep you safe until I return.

Lyra’s eyes snapped open, and her voice was wise as the ages and old as the stars. It was Lyra and yet it was the voice of ancient power, confident and bold. “If you get her to the tower you don’t need to protect her,” the voice said through Lyra’s soft lips.

Her eyes closed and she whispered, “Sorrel…?”

“Let’s sleep now, Lyra,” Sorrel stroked her sisters’ hair. “We will set off in the morning.”

She reached under her pillow, pushed aside the two daggers and the crossbow and found her sending stones for brother Kavel and Beets.

She held Kavel’s first – “brother, help me, it has begun.”

Then she clasped Beets stone. “Please come to the temple tomorrow… and, could you bring Marto?”

Then she lay in the moonlight thinking of lost nights and empty dreams and a thousand missed chances on a road to nowhere special.

--

She surveyed her friends, gathered on the steps of the temple in the dawn sun, yawning but packed and loaded – brother Kavel, already with the light sweat from his morning workout cooling on his arms. Beets resting beside Marto, two warriors who could not be less alike except for the strength of their souls. Sister Velania sporting an unusually fetching beret and positively blushing like an angel who spent last night away from her temple.

And Veridian, wary, weary and welcome but unexpected. A vision had bought him, and he seemed a little grumpy about it. Sorrel sympathised. Visions could go fuck themselves.

In front of them, her sisters – Lyra, the dreamer, Vega, the healer, and Aries, the warrior. She smiled at Aries and grinned still further when she shrugged and looked away.

“I have a speech prepared….” She began and felt their shoulders sag. “It’s… how do I begin? I am…”

“Three deep breaths, Sorrel, then pause and let it out as fast as you can,” Marto advised. She nodded, then it flew from her.

“My sisters need to be escorted to the tower of the moon to begin the Holy mission that is their destiny, while I must travel to Faerun to find my father, infiltrate the House, a private military company staffed by assassins, wizards, dark priests, warriors and things that have no name. I need to assassinate one of its most powerful leaders and assist an old mentor who may already be dead, meaning I will be isolated in fortress full of highly skilled murderers. It’s possibly the most dangerous thing I’ve thought of doing, we are woefully underpowered, underequipped and underprepared. Who’s in?”

Every hand was raised, with a casual insouciance that – if hands could talk – would have sounded like ‘well, yes, obviously.’

She fumbled in her backpack for such gifts as she could find and they all tried to avoid looking awkward as Veridian pulled out his transmuter stone, releasing rings of magic which pulsed around the amber in his hands as it melted away, out from between his fingers to flow around them until they were there, in the foothills of the Sunset Spines.

“Well, that’s the tower,” Veridian squinted into the rising sun and shrugged. “I don’t know why we had to leave so early.”

--

There above them was Minas Ithil, the tower of the moon – rising as from the bedrock of the mountains in a single stark bulwark against the light, still gleaming with the pinprick lights of the midnight stone its mighty walls were carved from unknown hands many ages past.

As they approached the two massive stone doors with silver writing etched in elvish and celestial welcoming the children of the moon, whichever god they followed, the doors were flung wide by two incredibly sexy drow who quite distracted Sorrel until she focussed in front of her to see Aravei Velonirina, a priestess of immense power who walked up to the sisters and embraced them as if she knew them and had been waiting for them to arrive.

“We foresaw your coming,” she said. “You are most welcome.”

Then she turned to Sorrel. “Thank you for bringing your sisters here.”

“Will they be safe?” Sorrel voice was on edge.

Velonirina smiled and raised her eyes to the sky where a large adult white dragon beat its wings as it flew down to settle at the top of the tower, bristling like a guard dog as its eyes gazed watchfully into the distance.

“They will be safe,” she nodded.

“Caiaphas has grown,” Velania smiled. “It is good to see you again, Aravei. This is a blessed house and peace be on all who rest within.”

--

“The reason that I was sold to the House was these three children,” Sorrel sat in a low chair in front of Aravei Velonirina, her friends gathered around and waved her arm in the general direction of her sisters. “My grandfather knew of their power and wanted to sell them, so my parents did a deal to keep them safe. The House killed my grandfather and protected my sisters although I knew nothing of this.”

She paused, reflected. Spoken out loud it didn’t seem quite as cruel as it had done when she was first informed as a child that she would be sold to a mercenary company.

“Anyway, the House then came after me and my sisters are now in danger again because people have learned of prophetic abilities. My mother gave my sisters to some subsection of the House to deliver to me, in a move which wasn’t as much like people smuggling as it sounds. Bless her, to cover the cost she said Sorrel will pay this debt.”

She paused again. She doubted that was what her mother meant, on reflection. She imagined her mother meant Sorrel would take such action as she deemed necessary. She suspected that her mother knew Sorrel was her daughter.

“Then there’s also the fact that the assassin who came for us, specialist Alastor, has a connection to the College of Discovery, the college of the dark mages and necromancers within the House. The College of Discovery is lead by a woman known as the Beetle who wants my sisters for power reasons. Lyra has foretold in a prophecy that they will go on to do fantastical deeds in Selune’s name. But they need protection, and I have been the cloak to cover them. Their journey starts here. I ask, can you protect them against the House?”

Aravei Velonirina shook her head sorrowfully. “If the House were to come against us in force, then we would not be able to keep your sisters safe.”

Kavel spoke up. “Then we need to kill the Beetle. No offence Beets.”

“None taken,” Beets smiled, eyes flicking around for Caiaphas like a child looking out for birthday presents.

“Yes, brother, but we need to ensure Callimar survives and is on our side or the House will not rest until we are all dead.”

The meeting broke up. Beets flew over to chat to Caiaphas, Kavel fell to quizzing Veridian and Marto about their familiars, Velania moved gracefully among the faithful and Sorrel worried.

--

Vega woke her before dawn holding out a necklace. “I have cast a spell on it, Velania helped me.”

The necklace carried the Darkfire crest and it still gave off the slight octarine tang of magic.

“I know we are not your real sisters but…”

Sorrel raised her hand. “Vega, being your sister has given an empty life purpose, I would be honoured to wear it.”

“And it will keep you safe,” Vega smiled.

“We shall see,” Sorrel grimaced.

Then Lyra spoke up from the shadows. “When you see him, forgive him.”

“I will forgive him because he is your father, Lyra,” Sorrel smiled.

Lyra shook her head. “Forgive him for your sake.”

“I’ll try.”

--

Veridian’s teleport took them to the walls of Baldur’s Gate. Sorrel had forgotten what a proper city looked like – and smelt like. The Upper City loomed over them, filled with mansions, gardens, and parks, with the magnificent Palace of the Sword towering up at the low hill’s peak. Sorrel lead the way through the shops and stalls of the market ward, skirted the palaces of justice and barracks of the Red Hand, then ducked into the winding alleys and back streets of the dock ward, keeping out of sight of the merchants, sailors, and travellers bustling from ship to warehouse to the High Hall trade centre.

As she moved through the familiar backways and byways, she felt eyes on her, and knew they remembered little Sorrel Darkfire. She heard rustling and caught the slightest movements at the edge of her vision, bodies scything through the dusk as they tracked the party. Not House professionals, just the shades and blades of the old enterprises. She was relying on them, though they had no idea.

Finally they came to the dockside, stinking of fish, rotting vegetables, manure and horse piss and the vomit of sailors spending their shore leave in taverns and brothels.

“Not quite as bad as Port Ffirst,” Veridian and Beets said at the same time.

And there was her father’s house. Small, stone, just as she remembered. Not far from his shop. Near enough to the temple. Humble enough to be ignored. Darkfire’s always preferred to be ignored until it was too late.

In the gathering night it looked quiet enough. She muttered fey words and cast silence about her, Kavel and Veridian so they could make a quick circuit of the property. Beets took up station on a nearby rooftop while Marto and Velania stayed ready a few yards off.

The curtains at the back of the house were all drawn but those in the window beside the front door had a small gap, perfect for a quick glance inside, with just enough firelight from within to show the bloodstains on the dining table.

Sorrel checked the door. There were tracks a few days old. This looked bad.

She tried the door and it opened onto a pool of blood on the floor. Kavel, Veridian and Beets followed her in then Marto and Velania pushed through the side door. Sorrel briefly worried that they were bottlenecked, then her eyes were caught by the misery of her childhood home.

The surfaces were strewn with dishes and pans left out unwashed, food gone mouldy, and the stench of grief filling the room almost concealing the state of spiritual disrepair.

Sitting in a chair by the fire she saw Leonas, her father.

He looked like shit. Old for a half elf, but his hair still dark, no flecks of grey. There were shadows and bags under his eyes and a smells like sour sweat and a booze wafting from him.

He was holding a bottle in his left hand. His right arm was tucked under his cloak, hiding the stump of his severed hand.

“Hello dad,” Sorrel moved towards the fire.

“Spare me the theatrics,” her father croaked.

“I was just saying hello,” Sorrel shrugged.

“What do you want me to say?”

“I’d like you to say what you want to say,” she spoke quietly. “It has been a while.”

“I sacrificed one child before I’d even met her for three others, and now you return and yet you are a thousand miles away from me,” his voice was old as stone.

“Well, I’ve met them, and I can kind of see your point, but I still think a sorry would be nice.”

“I have lost her,” Leonas gave a strangled sob. “All I wanted was to be with your mother. Now she is dead, and my daughters estranged…”

“Dad, listen, there’s a lot we can say but quickly, is this a trap?”

“Yes.”

“How long til they’re here?”

“They’re here now.”

“Speak to you in a bit,” Sorrel unhooked her bow and span to survey the room as a crossbow bolt flew through the window and buried itself in her father’s neck.

She caught a glimpse of a figure in the sable black of a House kill team vanishing into the shadows outside then the window across the room exploded inwards and another figure rolled through with astonishing speed, slashing at Beets five times in rapid succession with a pair of shortswords. Each blade sank home with deadly precision and the assassin moved to attack again.

The swiftness and skill impressed her. These were not the recently trained House killers that had fumbled their way across Kantas, these were professionals. The assassin’s swords had been practically a blur, suggesting these were the leaf eaters, the imbibers of the dark roots who drank the House’s ancient draughts to give them inhuman speed in combat.

For a second, the assassin paused. Their sable clothes, hood and mask covered all but their piercing eyes and these fastened on her with no sign of excitement, anger or fear. It was the still, steady gaze of a killer at the peak of their form, executing their assault with dispassionate skill. This was the first of the trials, and in her head she could hear the Jackal’s voice echo – ‘on your feet Darkfire.’

And yet, there was something… she could swear she knew the tiny gold flecks dotting the slate grey pupils. She had seen these eyes before, many years ago, in the long ritual at the end of training. This was a comrade, and their eyes held a glimmer of respect.

She gave the briefest nod in return before sending three arrows into their chest and throat. “Please understand I hold you in the highest respect,” she murmured, then turned to crush a healing pearl from her Selune blessed necklace into her father’s convulsing body as he reached for the bolt in his throat with his missing hand.

Across the room, Kavel unleashed one mighty punch to the assassin’s face, a killing blow, and the figure slumped to the ground.

Another figure burst out of the bedroom door at frightening speed, a crossbow in each hand. They sighted, shot both and had vanished back through the door whilst the bolts were still flying through the air. Sorrel realised with horror that one was headed for her father and the other for her jugular.

Before she could even process the thought, the charm of protection gifted by the Jackal and bearing Selune’s crescent moon throbbed around her neck, and she heard the whisper of angelic wings.

She felt one bolt bury itself in her shoulder and the other clatter against the wall. She was alive, and her father… well… he lived for now at least.

Velania reached out her arms to Leonas, and Sorrel heard him cry out for Elsa, her mother’s name. He was spasming and writhing as gouts of blood poured from his wound. There was little magic in heaven or on earth that would hold his battered frame together.

“Velania, can you keep him alive?” Sorrel gasped. “I have something I need to say to him.”

The gentle cleric shook her head sadly. “He is passing Sorrel, I can only help make the journey peaceful and without pain.”

Sorrel thought of all the things she had meant to say to him over the years, the harsh words, the rebukes and the scathing asides. She felt all the pain he had caused her, all the loss she had endured, but as she looked into his eyes she could only see the boy Leonas, the young lad with dreams of adventure who fell in love like few have ever loved and followed his heart through oceans of pain. She could see he was lost, his life found wanting in this final hour, his hand torn off, no ship to ride, no way to hold his long-lost beloved’s face in his hands ever again.

And she started to speak to the boy the child who had never wanted the pain she saw Lyra, the child of time and space, in his eyes and she forgave him forever and for everything. Not for her sisters, but for him, her father, from her, his daughter.

“Dad, I forgive you. I forgive you for us and not for anyone else. I love you.”

Her father reached out towards her with his one good hand, and she let her bow fall and wrapped her fingers around his. She held his gaze, tears in her eyes as she watched him fall away from her, relief and love filling his face like moonlight on a summer night illuminating lovers and pirates as the boats pushed away from the shore and the lucky dreamers set off on that voyage from which none have returned.

Then Beets charged through the bedroom door and the sounds of a ferocious struggle clattered from the room. Marto poked his head out of the side door and a crossbow bolt struck him. Another specialist burst through window to be greeted with a barrage of fire from Veridian. The figure staggered briefly, but House tunics were designed to be fireproof, and Sorrel saw the sable clad figure charge forward and slice into the mage. Another flew through the window at Kavel. Shortswords flashed in the firelight. They were trapped and she had no idea how many more assassins were on their way.

Sorrel saw her father’s body slump and knew he was gone. There would be time to mourn but now was not that time.

She strode to the door and flung it open, staring at the alleys and rooftops and the eyes that watched from the gloom.

“I am Sorrel Darkfire,” she called out. “When I left this dockside as a child my blood on these streets was token of the debts I was owed. Now I am back.” She reached up to the arrow embedded in her shoulder and wrenched it out without flinching, blood spattering the cobblestones. “Today, my blood on these streets calls those debts in. I need help. Pay me back.” And she flung the arrow to the ground.

The silence deafened her, as if time drew breath and wondered. Then a flight of arrows filled the sky like birds at sunset and pierced the assassins racing towards her with their shortswords drawn. They fell silently onto the stone streets, their bodies half hidden by the countless shafts that pinned them to death.

Sorrel raised her hand in careless salute and walked back into her father’s house. Kavel was grappling one specialist, she could hear Beets taking blows outside and Marto’s cries of support.

Veridian hissed out a dispel charm hex on the grappled assassin in Kavel’s arms, and the figure slumped, the power of the herb dissipated. “Have fun Kavel,” Veridian tipped his brow.

She heard more arrows fly outside, heard Beets and Marto’s victory cry then walked to the last specialist standing, still crushed in Kavel’s mighty arms.

“I will not dishonour you by asking for your surrender,” Sorrel bowed her head. “You are alone. Will you die by our weapons or your own?”

There was a pause.

“Mine,” the specialist’s voice was strong and true and she met his eyes, finding no fear there.

“Brother, let him go,” she pleaded. “It is an honourable death.”

As the specialist drew his shortsword Sorrel's eyes never left his. Just before the assassin’s sword plunged home, he spoke for the last time.

“I never believed the propaganda about you.”

And he died bravely.

“Well,” Sorrel sighed. “That’s the easy part over.”