Linarra reverently held onto the Staff of Ishahn, barely able to close her fingers around the smooth wood because her fingers trembled. Her eyes welled with tears. No, she'd never had the unwavering faith of Veshier, but Ishahn? She'd always identified with the Prophet. Even more so since Sahimul's story. There were tales of those born with the souls of the dead inside them.
Maybe, Linarra thought frowning thoughtfully, that she was Ishahn born again. She cast a furtive glance to Sahimul as he leaned against the rock wall of the little cave, the firelight dancing on his face. His clothes were basically in shreds, leaving him mostly naked. He was dirty, disheveled.
Be it bond or circumstance, her chest ached with things unsaid.
"What if...I was born to...free you?" Linarra said, blurting it out, not saying what she'd wanted to.
He arched a dark brow and eyed her. "What if you were?" he asked, smiling crookedly.
She couldn't blame him for not saying the things she wanted him to say. Linarra wanted him to love her more than he'd ever loved anyone else. She knew it was selfish, silly even. The way he looked at her, his strange, ember lit eyes...there was warmth and affection there. She felt it in the bond too. He'd even said it. What more did she want?
Her face hot, she dropped her gaze back down to the staff. He was the Aspect of Love, she told herself. Of course he loved...everyone. Passionately. It just made her feel less than special.
"Now," Sahimul said, jaggedly interrupting her ruminations. "My plan."
She nodded mutely, not wanting to think about that or entertain any more of her own thoughts.
"That little trick back at the mound," he said, his nose wrinkled, his expression impish, infinitely infuriating and charming all at once, "You freeing me...I think it's time to wake my creation. Lahkmul. He sleeps in this very wood, under the earth. Not dead. But not really alive either."
Linarra frowned. He had her attention now. "You're right. I hate it. Why would we do that? I thought you said we should destroy your...creations?"
He nodded. "We most definitely should. They're abominations, sadly. But, maybe they have one last purpose." She felt his sadness, his shame, but there was pride there too. Hope.
She shook her head, brow furrowed. She didn't get it.
"So, we have the Elves, who I'm sure are scouring the wood looking for us. To kill us. I don't think we can fight them off again. Us winning that little battle was a fluke. They've powerful magic and numbers. Lahkmul? Well, he can keep them busy. Maybe even destroy them! And we'll leave this place. To the north and then to the west. That puts us near your Temple."
"Wh...why would we want to go there?! I promise, High Priestess Ihluriel -and- Veshier are coming for us too."
Sahimul nodded. "I have two other creations. We'll distract them with one...or both. And we'll make for the Temple."
"But why? Let's...can't we just go somewhere else? Just me and you?" Linarra knew now was the time. They were about to do stupid and dangerous things for reasons she didn't quite understand. She might never have the opportunity again.
"I love you," she said, almost as though it were a curse or insult. "I do. And...I just want us to be together. That's all. Far away from everyone else. I won't throw you away. Or get sick of you. I won't."
The cleverness and mischief left his expression and Sahimul merely looked thoughtful and hurt. He looked away, frowning. "We can't," he said, voice low and soft. "It's not the right thing to do. What about the rest of the world?"
Linarra sighed. "What about them? The world is -ending-, Sahimul. I just want to spend whatever time is left...with you. Happy."
He stalked towards her to where there was only the rock wall of the cave and him and no where to go. She looked up at him, feeling sour, unloved. Childish. Sahimul canted his head at her.
"You could be happy? When everyone else is suffering?" he asked softly.
"Maybe," she stammered. "Maybe I could! What can I do! I can't save the whole world."
He leaned in. "Can't you?"
Linarra snapped her lips shut. Her eyes went wide. Surely, he didn't think...?
"I think you can," he told her, running his index finger down her cheek. "I think -we- can."
"Should it even be saved?" she wondered breathlessly.
He nodded. "Absolutely. It's a world that created you. Certianly, not perfect. But good enough I think."
It was a profoundly lovely thing that he said. Why couldn't she believe it? Why couldn't she feel it? It was in the bond too, singing along this ephemeral connection that they shared. Exhaustion sapped her strength and she nearly collapsed. Tears fell. Weak, again, she thought.
"It's not my fault you don't like yourself, Linarra," he told her. "I can't love your hatred of yourself away. It would be gone already if I could."
He broke her heart in a thousand little ways. His words, so softly spoken with such golden intention shattered her to pieces. Even then, even when she knew he was right, she couldn't -feel- it. Linarra stared at him, numb. I want to scream, she thought, feeling the pieces of herself unravel. I want to hit him and scream.
She kissed him this time. Hard and mean. It probably hurt a little. She wanted it to hurt. Linarra wanted Sahimul to hurt her. He seemed surprised but greedily took what she offered.
#
Veshier was given a horse, proper silver armor that had been polished to a high gleam. He wore a cloak of golden silk and sat beside the High Priestess Liriel who also sat upon a magnificent steed. Resplendent, she radiated power and beauty, her own armor gold.
They had gathered in the courtyard of the Temple, the air scented sweetly of blossoms. Only Veshier knew what was outside the gates, what desolation awaited them. The Temple soldiers looked excited, all of them young and eager to see the world. They all had likely come here as children. They were in for a rotten surprise, he thought dourly.
"You should tell them," he said, low enough so only Liriel could hear.
She glanced at him, demeanor cold. It had been since he'd sliced Jael's head from his shoulders. Though, she had enjoyed that very much. He'd felt it in the bond. "And why should I do that, Veshier?"
"Because I did what you asked, woman," he sneered, an illicit thrill tickling over his skin. It wasn't a source of pride, but treating her with equal derision and cruelty aroused him.
She smiled sweetly, waving to the gathered crowd of Acolytes, nuns and monks. "And now you want your due, is that it? Credit?"
He nodded, offering tepid smiles back. "That's right," he said.
"How noble of you, Veshier," she said, her tone, as always, light and musical.
Strangely, Veshier noted that she warmed to him immediately. It's what she wanted. She wanted him to be cruel.
"The Mother has spoken to me!" she called out, her chin lofted, shoulders back. "The Usurper has been released. This is a heavy burden, but I will go out, as the hand of the Mother and see him brought low and vanquished. Regrettably, Jael, my Guardian of two millennia, is unsuitable. I have replaced him as the Mother commanded. The Mother, in her infinite mercy and wisdom, has healed Veshier's sight and given him to me."
The gathered crowd broke into cheers and cries of joy. It was right, he heard someone say. How beautiful they were, he heard. It disgusted him. Physical beauty was not a measure of goodness. The scripture taught this. It said to be humble. To be gracious. He found himself neither of these things. He found the qualities in Liriel lacking as well.
Witch, he thought looking at her. Enchantress. He didn't know where the thought came from, but the bond with her was strange, as though it were artificial. It gave him bizarre, blasphemous ideas. He felt pulled on puppet strings. Even when he behaved badly or angered her, somehow, it was all by Liriel's design.
Veshier didn't feel the Mother. He felt nothing but self loathing and shame. Sometimes, a white-hot knife of hatred towards the High Priestess tore through him, leaving his soul tattered and ragged. He'd not felt that way with Linarra. He'd been serving his true purpose.
"I thought it was you!" Linarra had called after him.
He hadn't wanted it to be true, any of it. He knew that she'd not chosen the Usurper. The Destroyer had merely tricked and deceived her. I should have gone back, he thought. Now, Linarra was likely dead or as good as dead. He would hunt her down and put her to the sword if she was alive.
He knew he would.
Again, as Liriel spoke, he stared. She had magic about her, he knew it, could feel it. But it didn't come from the Mother. It came from something else entirely. Not the Usurper.
There'd been no impressively dark aura. There'd been no wickedness. It bothered him. In the silent, gray watches of the night, he thought of it. He thought of all these things laying in bed next to Liriel.
Liriel had somehow enchanted the world, but this close to her, he was immune. He wondered about Jael then. Had he figured it out too? Veshier knew better than to say anything. Though the High Priestess seemed delicate and fragile, he felt her power, just below the thin, ivory veneer of her skin.
With his sight gone, he couldn't 'see' her anymore. She'd been a dazzling light, but was that really her? He thought it a trick. Somehow. Something Liriel projected to blind him to her true face.
Little treacheries bubbled inside him, but he spirited them away and snuffed them out before he could -really- think them. I know when the time is right, he thought, when Ysimul presents the opportunity, I will take it. I will do what is right.
He tried to settle himself, tried to sit in his faith.
The gates to the Temple opened. The lid of the world's grave was prized open and it stank like an open tomb. Before them was only death. With a vicious sneer, he dug his heels into his horse's sides and went out to meet it.