Curse

HezekiahKurtz · Aug 22, 2007, 02:37 AM // 02:37

Zephyr 22, 1276 DR

This morning I awoke to dust motes playing in the bar sunlight that angled through a crack in the tent door, and figured that it was simply the morning after the battle. I had slept restlessly at first, waking often, frequently drifting out of dreams and into vague awareness of pain. Once the exhaustion had passed, though, I slept very well. So, awake, I stood and dressed, amazed at how stiff I felt, and at how my clothes were already clean.

“Ah, you’re awake.”

I turned at the voice, and saw Breenian standing in the doorway, smiling at me.

“None of us thought you’d sleep this long.”

“This long?” I asked.

“You’ve been asleep for just over thirty hours. Can’t blame you, really, what with everything you’ve been through in the last week. Rhonan woke up just before dark last night. Had a terrible time getting any sleep after that, but I made him.”

I sat down on a stiff, plain chair against the tent wall, opposite the door. Still trying to get my bearings, I asked, “It’s all over?”

She nodded and stepped toward me. She felt my forehead. Her hand was cold. “Mostly, yes.” She slid her hand down through the neck of my shirt, feeling my chest and heartbeat. It startled me somewhat, yet I knew she was simply doing it in the capacity of a doctor. “A good portion of the army continued north. They are still hunting the remainder of the dark army. It will probably take them a week or two to finish the job. But others have returned, including your friends.”

I stiffened, but not at how she held my head between her hands and looked me right in the eyes, searching for signs of sickness.

“Bruck? Guel?” I asked.

“No. They have disappeared. Their bodies were not found, and no one has seen them since the night of the battle. They probably have figured that they are not welcome here.”

“Oh?”

“The angel that you and I shared knows all about Bruck, of course. And now that Bruck knows about you, he is your enemy. This is not news to you?” She raised her eyebrows as she said the last.

I shook my head.

“You should not have put your clothes back on,” she said. “Strip down, please. I need to do a full assessment of your physical condition.”

I did not move. “I’m fine.”

She put her hands on her hips and raised her eyebrows again—but this time not in a question. “Strip. Lay down on the cot. On your stomach.”

Being naked in front of a woman is always unnerving for me. It happens rarely enough that I become acutely aware of everything my body does, and how it might look. I also become very conscious of the woman, and how she looks and what she does. That time was no different, even though it was in a medical setting. I became aware of her long, strong fingers, her wide, dark eyes, and her lithe, white arms. Her long, brown hair brushed over my body, sometimes making me shiver.

Breenian, of course, was very professional during the entire exam. And very thorough. She continued our discussion as she worked.

“Everyone in the army that has remained here has been instructed to watch out for Bruck and Guel, and capture them if possible. We don’t want to harm them—they are victims in all of this. The angel would like to capture them, and keep them safely out of the way. Living comfortably, but safely out of the way. It just wants to make sure that they can’t get to anyone that has the Signet of Amplification.”

“You mean me.”

“Among others.”

“Who else has it? Where did they get it?”

“The angels figure that it’s best for a handful of people to have the skill, just in case something happens to you.” Her voice changed, almost to match that of the angel. “‘That was risky business, for a while there, with Shenan as the only person with that skill. Very risky.’”

“You have it?”

“You’re very stiff. Do you mind if I massage your back?”

“No. You have it?”

“The fewer people who have it, the better, because that reduces the likelihood that someone else will capture it. And the fewer people who know who has it, the better. But it was captured from you by an ally when you cast it the other day, and that ally has shared it with a few others.”

“Which of my friends came back?”

“Wez. He buried Kandra. I don’t recommend you ask him about it. He’s in a very foul mood. And Sileman.”

“Sileman! I thought he’d be dead!” Her hands were warm, now, as they pressed and squeezed the muscles of my back, rubbing out the knots and stiffness from thirty hours of sleep.

“He managed to survive, somehow. And Haillia.”

“That traitor?”

“I would not be so quick to call her that. She is a good person. And very beautiful. But when in such close contact to an other-worldly being of such power, people do things they would not otherwise do. She and Sileman have made up. Several times, I imagine. Besides, weren’t there a few moments there, right before the end, when you had turned sides?”

“Threnon?”

“No sign of her.”

I nodded, and our conversation stalled for several minutes as she finished up her treatment. When she was done, she told me to get dressed, and left the tent.

The rest of the day passed relatively uneventfully. I was reunited with my friends. We embraced solemnly, but with relief and joy that there were four of us left. Rhonan joined us, and we just sat or roamed around the camp, watching as soldiers piled and burned bodies.

“What are you going to do, now?” Rhonan asked us as black smoke billowed from a nearby mound of enflamed corpses. The sky was dark with such smoke.

“I am tempted to go back to Cantha,” Sileman said. “It’s not so dangerous, there.”

“I haven’t given it any thought,” I replied.

“Me neither,” Haillia said. “But going home might be nice.” For her, home was somewhere in Cantha—I’m not sure where.

“The Desolation,” Wez said. He spoke with resolution as he looked blankly out across the canyon. “I want to go to the Desolation.”

“There’s nothing good there,” Rhonan said.

“Is there anything good, anywhere?”

I didn’t quite know what to say to that comment. Neither did anyone else. But after a minute, Rhonan asked me, “Do you still feel cold inside?”

I nodded. All day long I’d had a distant, numb feeling of something not being right. Of something missing. I think describing it as cold might be over-simplifying it, but it’s not entirely inaccurate. “I had no idea that angels affected us so much. I wonder when the angel will return and talk to us.”

“Through Breenian?”

“Through anyone.”

Maybe I will get my answer tomorrow.

HezekiahKurtz · Aug 29, 2007, 03:57 AM // 03:57

Zephyr 23, 1276 DR

The angel came back today, in Breenian. She found us—me, Haillia, Rhonan, Wez, and Sileman—in the early morning as we sat around a small fire, cooking beetle tongue for breakfast. It was Rhonan’s idea.

“It’s a delicacy here in Vabbi,” he said.

“Fried over open campfire?” Sileman asked.

“Cooked in any way. I have heard it’s very delicious. Here you go, each of you. Take a bite!” He cut up the tongue, which had a suspiciously hairy appearance to it, and put a piece on each of our tin plates.

Figuring I had nothing to lose, and fearing the worst, I tried my cut. It surprised me how long it took to chew, and how bouncy it made my jaw feel. The taste was not terrible, but the texture kept me from asking for more.

Sileman spit his unceremoniously into the fire, and Haillia politely removed hers from her mouth with a wide spoon. Rhonan chewed on his thoughtfully.

“Maybe,” he said, “it requires a sauce or gravy. I’ve heard that there’s a sauce that it can be served under.”

“You know what I have heard?” Wez said. He had not tasted his meat, and dumped it into the flames. “I’ve heard that Heket poop is a delicacy in hell. Let’s try that tomorrow!”

“It would probably taste better,” Sileman said.

Haillia nodded, her nose scrunched up in disgust.

It was about then that Breenian walked up to our group. “The angel wants to talk with you,” she said.

“At last!” Rhonan said with a heaving breath of relief, just as Sileman said, “To me? At last, my turn to be possessed has come!”

“To all of you.”

“About what?” Rhonan said. Eagerness shone in his eyes.

“It didn’t say about what.” Her eyes lit up as they fell on Rhonan’s plate. “Oh! Is that beetle tongue? Can I have some?”

He looked from her to the plate, cocked his head to the side, and with a sigh handed the food over.

Before we’d even finished cleaning the dishes, the air around Breenian rippled, and her skin lit with a soft yellow light.

“My time is short,” she said. “I know you all have a lot of questions, but there’s a lot going on, and I can’t answer them all.”

“Can you fix us?” Rhonan asked. “Can you fix Hez and I?”

Breenian’s head shook. “No. When Kitten was banished from your world, with you in direct contact with him, your souls were seared. Broken. There is no way that any angel or demon can influence you, anymore.”

Rhonan shook his head and sat heavily on a rock. I did not react. I had not expected anything more than this news.

“Vabbi is freed,” the angel said. “The last of the demons are about banished. It has been with great cost. Kourna is free, as well.”

“Elona is free,” Wez said.

“No, not entirely. Istan is not. While you have been here, fighting Kitten and its forces, Puppy Muffin has been building its force in Istan.”

“Puppy Muffin?” Sileman asked.

“Bruck’s master. The other other-worldy being that has been vying for control of this world. And now, with Kitten out of the way, there is no doubt that Puppy Muffin will make a move to take over Haillia. It was already building its forces. I believe that some of you saw a battle between its forces and Kitten’s back in the swamp, several months ago. It has continued to build its army, massing them in the First City, and in the swamp, and on the islands surrounding the land. It will invade soon.”

“The Desolation is sounding better and better,” Wez said.

“We could use your help,” the angel said. “We’re gathering our forces in Kamadan. Will you join us?”

“Not me,” Wez said, shaking his head with a frown. “I’ve had enough.”

I was inclined to agree with him. I had experienced enough of demons and danger to last for many years to come. Even the Canthan arenas sounded good. Or, as Guel had suggested a week or two before, going back to Ascalon. Of course, I had explored enough of Kourna, Vabbi, and Istan that I was practically a cartographer. Spending some time in the Desolation would easily grant me one of the lower cartographer titles.

“Rhonan? Hezekiah?” the angel asked.

Rhonan did not respond. From the stunned look on his face, he was still in shock that he would never again feel the confidence and peace and rush of the angel’s influence.

“You don’t really need us,” I said. “You won’t need our skills. I understand that others have them, as well.”

“Yes, but your experience and leadership could be used too much advantage. And, besides, I’m not really interested in you running around out there with those skills, available for anyone to capture by killing you. Bruck is still out there. You might be safer going to Istan.”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I’m not really thrilled with the idea of more demons.”

“Also,” the angel said, “You and Rhonan are immune to the demon’s powers. Imagine what you could do, now, without having to fear our listen to the fear and foreboding and powers. That would be very valuable in the entire affair.”

Rhonan stood suddenly, angrily. “This is the problem with you!” he shouted, pointing angrily at the angel’s face. “We’re just tools to you! Just ways for you to accomplish your ends!”

Breenian’s soft, glowing face did not offer expression—it never did when the angel was in it. “I don’t have to be here,” the angel said. “It’s not my world that is at stake. I’m here to help you. It’s not my fault that I see things you don’t, and understand things you don’t. Yes, you are a tool for me, but a tool for the good of the world—not for my good.”

“I’ve had enough,” Rhonan said. “I’ll be going with Wez into the Desolation.” He stormed off and away, and soon disappeared in the sea of tents.

The angel turned to me. “Hezekiah?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Come back tomorrow, and I will let you know.”

“Very well.” The light faded from Breenian’s eyes, the air shimmered, and the angel was gone.

HezekiahKurtz · Aug 31, 2007, 05:01 AM // 05:01

Zephyr 24, 1276 DR

I did not sleep so well last night. Seems I spent most of the time considering what I would do. I awoke often, and even twice wandered out of the tent into the crisp night air. The stars shone clearly in the moonless sky. The air rested still and quiet save for the occasional distant sound of a soldier on patrol or watch, or the rustle of a tent or banner.

I must have made the decision fifty times, waffling back-and-forth between my options as I stood in the darkness or lay on my cot, tossing and turning. I knew what was at stake. I knew that the unselfish thing to do was to go to Kamadan, but I could not find peace in that decision. It simply did not feel right, and in the end that is what settled it for me. Deciding to go with Wez and Rhonan into the Desolation somehow set me more at ease. Bruck and Guel did not worry me; if they ever found me, it would be easy to escape or defeat them given the skill set that I had. Wouldn’t that be something? Defeating them and bringing them back. Then where would their loyalties and honor lie?

In the morning, once I’d told my decision to the others, they agreed that we should set off immediately. After a breakfast of fried wheat cakes—a personal favorite of mine—we gathered our things and prepared to leave.

“We should tell Breenian,” I said.

“Won’t they get the message when you’re gone?” Wez asked.

“We should still tell her.”

And so on our way out we stopped at her tent. I went in alone, found her sitting on a mat, back toward me, legs crossed and the backs of her hands on her knees. She hummed in a soft, even tone. I cleared my throat.

“You made your decision?” she said without turning.

“Yes. Thank you for all you have done. And thanks to the angel. I’m heading to the Desolation.”

“That seems like a selfish decision.”

“You will be fine without me. The angels—they can handle it. They’ve defeated Kitten, and I can’t imagine that Bruck’s master will be any worse.”

“They had your help.”

“I am no one special. I was simply a tool for them. They can—and no doubt will—find other instruments.”

“Your decision is firm?”

“Yes. Thank you for what you have done for me.”

She jumped to her feet and with a sly smile stepped toward me, brought her face nearly to mine—although a few inches lower. “I am not done ‘doing for you’. I’m coming with you.” I did not respond, although I imagine my jaw may have moved silently, articulating the instant of confusion that no doubt shone in my eyes. She patted my cheek. “You’re nuts if you think you will ever be far from the angel’s watchful eyes, Hezekiah Kidron.”

“You aren’t needed in Kamadan?”

“Not as much as wherever you are. My instructions are clear. ‘Stay with him. Make sure he doesn’t do anything reckless. Especially with that Signet.’” She cocked her head to one side. “I can’t tell if you’re upset at me coming with you, or not.”

I did not—do not—know myself. Being eternally tethered to the angel is not so appealing, but with Breenian—an all around pleasant person—being the physical manifestation of that angel, the prospect is much more bearable. I shrugged at her. “We’re leaving right now.”

“I know.” She turned and grabbed her things, and followed me out of the tent.

The others looked at her with raised eyebrows and a smile or two. Haillia greeted her with an embrace, and said, “I’d hoped you’d be coming.”

We headed out without fanfare or ceremony—quite a contrast to Gandara—and headed North through the now-familiar canyon, and into Vehtendi Valley. It felt good to be out in the open again, if not alone. There were many others on the roads, traveling to or from the army camp or returning to their homes. In the evening we reached the Forum Highlands, and decided to rest for the night in the grove where I had taken the party leadership from Bruck.

“Amazing how different things are from the last time we were here,” Sileman said to me.

“Are they better?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Probably not, but don’t let it worry you. They will get better. They always do.”

HezekiahKurtz · Sep 05, 2007, 03:07 AM // 03:07

Zephyr 25, 1276 DR

Today we explored the Forum Highlands spending a small amount of time in the new ruins of a great courtyard, an annex to the Kodash Bazaar. I had heard stories of the place. Even in recent weeks during random discussions of Vabbi, people had mentioned this center of commerce and government, its splendor and shining streets. They called it the little sister of the Garden of Seborhin. But now, after the passage of Kitten’s army only a few weeks before, it lay in ruins. The once-shiny stones lay broken and cracked, scarred with burns. The pillars and buildings rested in piles of rubble. Natural fountains, previously harnessed and tapped, spewed water recklessly over piles of rocks, in unnatural and ugly directions.

The surviving citizens of the area have returned to their decimated homes in recent days, and now live in tents clustered along the outside of the city near the river. They move about, looking for remnants of anything that might be useful. They work together or alone to clear the debris, and always their faces are turned to the ground. Their shoulders slump, and tears frequent their cheeks. But purpose drives their every movement with memory and hope—memory of how it once was, and hope that it can be so again.

“I remember coming here as a child,” Breenian said. She bent and picked up a piece of rock, smooth on one side as if it had been part of a wall or stair. She ran her hand over it. “It was a beautiful place.”

“You are from near here?” I asked.

“No, I grew up near the Mirror of Lyss. My father brought us here once on a tour of Vabbi. He liked to do that—go places and see things. And he had the resources, so we did it.”

“A rich man’s daughter?” Sileman said, nodding and smiling. “I might have guessed it.”

She placed her hands on her hips, and raised her eyebrows at him. “Not rich. Just well enough off.”

“You’re hiding something,” Sileman said. Before she could respond he raised his hands. “It’s okay—everyone here is hiding something. Hezekiah hid stuff from us for a long time. I know things about Haillia that would make you look at her twice. ” He smiled as he spoke, so I knew he was meaning to have fun with the discussion.

“I hide nothing,” Rhonan said.

“Oh?” Sileman said. “Perhaps nothing to hide, but there are things about you that certainly you keep secret. Such as why you haven’t returned to Kourna, to your citadel and family.”

Rhonan scowled. “That is none of your business.”

“He likes to pry into other people’s business,” Wez said.

“What about your sister?” Sileman said to Wez. “You never--.”

“That’s enough,” I said, stepping between Sileman and Wez. “You don’t know when to stop, do you, Sileman? Some people are just private. Live with it.”

“I just want to get to know them,” he said.

“That’s fine. I believe you. This isn’t the way to do it.”

He rolled his eyes and turned away.

We continued on through the desert land, over the rolling hills and between the narrow canyons, just exploring for the sake of exploring. We passed through Tihark Orchard, and went back into the Highlands. Along the southern edge we found an interesting door-like structure crammed in a crack between two cliffs, with a soft orange light emanating from fissures in its surface. None of us knew what it was, or if it was important. I imagine it’s not. Just some relic from age past.

Tonight we are in Jennur’s Horde. Tomorrow we will enter the Garden of Seborhin, and continue to explore the destruction left by Kitten.

HezekiahKurtz · Sep 07, 2007, 03:19 AM // 03:19

I have noticed that the views on this thread have decreased markedly over the last few weeks. I would certainly be interested in hearing why, if any one has any insight.

Also, my good sister (well, one of them) has taken to reading Hezekiah's journal. Her feedback is invaluable to me. One of the things she mentioned is that there are a lot of typos in the text. I thought I would tell you what I told her about the typos, as I'm sure you've noticed them.

Hezekiah's story as posted here is basically a rough draft. I write it. Go over it once or twice very quickly to make sure it's legible, and then post it. I woud love to spend more time polishing it, as I have done with a lot of my other writing, searching out the little errors. However, I just don't have the time to go through and find all of the little errors.

My apologies to anyone this offends (it did not seem to offend my sister too greatly). I hope the story is interesting enough that you read in spite of the typos.

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Zephyr 26, 1276 DR

We passed today into what used to be the master gem of Vabbi: the Garden of Seborhin. Breenian took us to what she said was once the center of the complex, at the mouth of two towering, broken walls and across the bottom of a deep basin. We stood there in the rubble, watching the city’s haggard inhabitants sift through the remains, listening to our monk as she described what splendor used to reign in the city.

“Over there,” she said, pointing at a shattered, empty pool, “was a large reflecting pond. Five or six planters with vines levitated over the water, with vines hanging over, practically dropping down to the water. Over that way, along that curving edge of the bowl, was a series of terraces, with bushes and vines draping over the edges. Directly above us was a bridge of blue and gold stone, spanning the two sides of the area. You can still see the remains there—just a few broken stones and cables. Back behind us was a waterfall. There—you can see it in the distance—the broken stones and the water trickling down and out. A river ran down the center of this corridor—we’re standing in the remains of the stone riverbed. Up past the waterfall, on the other side of that wall, was a courtyard with a shrine to Melandru. And there—way up there, were two domes. One on each side. Huge domes. The biggest ones in Vabbi. Golden, shinning like two suns at midday. And staircases. Up and down everywhere along the terraces and all around. Steep, so that if you tripped at the top it seemed you would tumble forever. Oh—and over there, a tower surrounded by four smaller domed towers, with a slender, reaching spire on the topmost one. And in that direction, another series of domes . . . .”

I hardly listened to her after that. I just couldn’t imagine what I was missing, and what madness would destroy such a place. The way Breenian described the architecture, it seemed that even the buildings had lived and breathed, and now their ghosts took form and sound in the people and their wailing and crying. The city’s skeletons lay in shattered ruins everywhere, stones of red and blue and gold, covered in a thin dusting of the glory that had once been.

I wandered away from the group, just looking and pondering, wondering if I could have done anything more than I did to save this land and its people. I had helped save them. There was that. But was there more I could have done? I didn’t know. It didn’t really matter.

“Master Hezekiah.”

I turned at the voice. There stood a old man in splendid Vabbi robes, with hair as white as clouds and practically as fluffy. A soldier in full armor flanked him.

“Master Hezekiah, I do not mean to bother you,” the old man said. He approached cautiously.

“Yes?” I said. I held out my hand for them to shake, and each did in turn. I did not recognize them.

“You see the destruction of our city.”

“I am very sorry for your loss.”

The man waved a hand dismissively. “The buildings are nothing. We can—and will—rebuild. It is the lives that are the true loss.”

“I am very sorry for your loss.”

“I am Allzuip, a governor of this land. Plintav, here, tells me that you are responsible for destroying Kitten.”

The soldier next to him nodded, his face still emotionless.

“You were there?”

The soldier nodded again. “I didn’t see it. But the soldiers, they all talk. I saw you later, the day after the battle, and someone pointed at you and said, ‘He is the one.’ And your companion, Rhonan.”

“It was a hard-fought battle.”

“Not really. They say you made it look easy, and after Kitten was gone, the army was routed.”

I did not know how to respond.

“I had relatives in that army,” Allzuip said. “Followers of kitten. People you would not dream would turn to evil such as that. There is no way to know what darkness lurks in the hearts of those that love us.”

“Kitten had powerful magic,” I said.

“Powerful because it revealed the truth about us, and about our intentions and souls.”

“I must get back to my party,” I said. “We should be moving on.”

“Where are you going to?” Plintav asked. “What will you do now?”

“The Desolation. Explore. I have made it a goal to see all of Elona.”

“There is much to do here,” Allzuip said. “We could use your help.”

I nodded noncommittally.

He narrowed his eyes at me. “You are not interested in helping.”

The guilt he made me feel angered me. Just moments before I had been wondering what more I could have done. And now he, hardly understanding all of the things I had experienced, put that guilt on me. “How much must one man give?” I asked, my lips curling down.

“Why would you ever stop giving?”

“Perhaps there is only so much one man can do.”

“Perhaps one man can always do more.”

“I have done more than you know.”

“I think you can do more than you know.”

My fists clenched involuntarily at my side. I did not want to listen to his reason.

“Perhaps,” Plintav said, “You should consider changing your profession. I do not know any Paragon that thinks as you do.”

I knew that I could not stay any longer. They had no right to speak to me like that. “I am sorry for your loss.” I turned and started to walk away.

“And I am sorry for yours,” Allzuip said to my back. His words haunted me the rest of the day, as we explored the remainder of the ruins and surrounding hills. They haunt me now, here in the stillest hours of the night, by the firelight as I write.

I wonder—what I have lost? What has losing it turned me into?

Unreal Cyn · Sep 07, 2007, 04:23 AM // 04:23

All I can say is to keep up the good work, man. Typos mean nothing really once the story is strong and interesting - which this is. Gotta keep in mind that alot of folks may be busy playing through GW:EN right now, and don't read as much. Anyhow, congrats on the 5000th view!

Qual · Sep 07, 2007, 04:56 AM // 04:56

I have just started to read. So far I have only read the first 3, and I have to go now

But they seem good so far...

HezekiahKurtz · Sep 12, 2007, 03:53 AM // 03:53

Thanks for the feedback. Good to know. Oh, and yeah, I am pretty thrilled with that 5000 views. Woo hoo! Thanks for reading, everyone!

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Zephyr 27, 1276 DR

Today we spent the day in Chokhin, and some of it in the Halls of Chokhin. The place has an oily, foul feel to it, and when we left in the afternoon I felt the strong need to bathe.

“That is where it started,” a merchant had told us as we left the smoldering Mihanu Township at first light. “That is where Kitten came from. There is hardly a stone standing, and hardly a stone not bloodied by the life of those who resisted. I am only alive because I ran. So many did not survive that first week.”

As part of our exploration we went to the Halls and walked through the decimated remains of the palace. The scene was familiar—the same as we’d seen the previous two days—but compounded by the widespread, ubiquitous red and brown stains that touched practically every surface, rock, and tattered remain of cloth.

At one point we stood in what we guessed must have been a spacious master bedroom in the heart of the palace. My stomach churned to consider what must have happened in there to cause the destruction and discoloration to the furniture, walls, and ceiling. The other party members quickly left, and soon it was just Rhonan and I standing in the doorway. A breeze swirled in from a hole in the wall; the remains of drapes and bed sheets rustled.

“It is taking all my nerves to stay here,” Rhonan said. “I almost cannot bear it. Back when I could feel and hear the angels, I could do anything. I had no fear. Now, I feel nothing but fear and loneliness. I don’t know what the right thing is to do, or how to do it.”

I didn’t know how to respond.

“You remember when we first met? And we assaulted my citadel. We had those catapults.”

“Yes.”

“I could do anything back then. I felt invincible and strong. Then, when we lay siege to Gandara—I felt then that that night was the defining moment in my life. I have never been so confident, never led with such grace and ability. Those legions of damned and Crathlav—they were nothing to me. Nothing to fear.” He laughed bitterly. “Now, I can barely stand in this room.”

“You don’t have the help you once did. It’s understandable.”

“Are you talking to me, or to you? Is it understandable? Do you feel the same way as me?”

“Some. I feel weaker, now. This place is creepy, and I’m not interested in staying much longer.”

“But you were so great—you did such great things since you came to Kourna and Vabbi. Do you feel like you can do them, now?”

“No.” It was a hard thing to admit, but it was true; and after the self examination of the night before I knew it for sure. I had lost the angel, and while I had not always understood what drove me, what led me to do the things I did, I now knew the unconsciously heeded whisperings of angels had played a role. Just how much they had influenced me, I probably will never know.

“Then how do you know it was you that did those things?” He raised his eyebrows at me. “How do I know it was me that did those things, that it was me that was great and noble and fearless? Some people might think that slaying Kitten should be the defining moment in my life, but it’s not. It cannot be, because I did not do it. I did not control my body then—it was all the angel. And now it seems to me that without the angels I am nothing. It wasn’t me that did those things, just like it wasn’t me that killed Kitten. It was the angel through me. The angel was great. Not me.”

“But you had to get to that point, to the point where the angel could use you.”

“The angel could have chosen any worthy person. Probably any person in that army. I happened to have a position of stature, of leadership, and so was a natural choice because of where I was born. I was a good person—that is all I can say for certain. Now, I am still a good person. But without the angel, am I great? Am I still a fearless leader? Or am I a coward? Am I weak?”

I could not think of any comfort to offer. “Don’t be too hard on yourself.”

He snorted and walked away.

Upon leaving the palace we searched for a brook or river in which to wash the perceived filth from our hair, skin, and clothing. In the end, as evening fell, we settled for the shallow water of a lake in the north west corner of the area. We set up camp, there, with only the western edge of the area left to explore.

I was not the only one who laughed and splashed playfully in the water, relieved to be clean again. At one point Sileman dunked me under, and I emerged gasping for air and sputtering. In that rush of sudden, frolicking panic, my eye caught Breenian’s face for just a moment. She was already sitting on the bank, her glistening hair pulled back, her face lit with laughter as she watched me struggle. She covered her mouth shyly with her hands, suppressing a giggle as her eyes met mine.

In that moment, something stirred inside me.

I realize now, after some thinking, what it was. Until that moment, I had only really seen her as a powerful monk or as a host for the angel. But suddenly I saw her as a person with feeling and emotions and personality. I saw her as a woman.

In the next moment, I was again struggling against Sileman, fighting to keep my lungs dry.

HezekiahKurtz · Sep 14, 2007, 03:50 AM // 03:50

Zephyr 28, 1276 DR

We awoke early and passed on down through the Western side of the Chokhin, through swarms of floating insects. They glowed bright white, and had the tendency to buzz past your eyes, close to your face so that for a moment afterwards you would have a bright streak across your vision.

“They’re called Soul Flames,” Breenian said. She smiled as she reached out to touch one. It buzzed around her hand and then off and away.

“That’s a silly name,” Wez said, swatting at one near his nose.

“They only live here, in this part of this area. Centuries ago, people thought that the bugs were the souls of departed loved ones. They would come here and stay for days, hoping to commune with the ones they’d lost.”

“How sweet,” Haillia said. She caught one gently in her cupped hands and peeked at it through her fingers. She cooed at it.

“It’s not a baby,” Sileman said. “You goofball.”

As we kept walking, Breenian stepped up next to me. “I didn’t want to tell her that their bite can be deadly.”

I looked at her, surprised. “Isn’t it a little dangerous to be here, then?”

She smiled at me and touched my arm. “Oh, don’t worry. It takes half a dozen bites before the shock sets in. And they usually only feed in the evening.”

“You sure know a lot about everything.”

She raised her eyebrows at me. “Are you calling me a know-it-all?”

“No, no.” I could not help but add a slight tease to the tone, just to make her wonder. Her dry look made me chuckle. A small dimple—which I had not noticed before—appeared in her left cheek. “No, really. It’s just that you seem to know so much about everything. I would expect that from a scholar, but not a monk.”

“Well, my father took me all over the place—several times. He wanted me to see the world so I could envision what I could become.”

“What did he envision you to become?”

She shrugged. “It didn’t really matter to him as long as it was military. ‘My father was a poor farmer,’ he would say. ‘He worked hard to make it possible for me to become a merchant. I’ve worked hard to make it possible for you to be in the military. Now, you must work hard so that your children can become nobles.’”

“He had a master plan for your children?”

“I think it was more my grandfather’s master plan. From my youngest years I remember my father repeating that. My grandfather must have repeated it to him. I don’t remember him; he died a few years after my death, but he left me a letter outlining his ideas. He cared about his posterity. He wanted his posterity to make him proud, and to become a noble family in Vabbi so that they could lead good, comfortable lives.”

“And I guess there is a path for that? From farmer to merchant to soldier to noble?”

“Yes, basically.”

“And you’ve bought into it?”

She gave me one of those looks that challenged my comment. “Why, yes, I happen to have bought into it. What do you have against that?”

I raised my hands defensively in front of me. “I don’t have anything against the idea. I was just curious.”

“There’s nothing wrong with wanting a good life for your posterity.”

A question occurred to me. “You have children, already?”

She laughed. “No, no. That would require a husband. I’ve almost married a few times, but called it off each time.”

“Ah,” I said, wondering what else one would say to such a comment. I didn’t think it was appropriate to offer either congratulations or condolences. “Recently?”

“The last was three years ago.”

I sensed an opportunity to drop a hint. “Well . . . I’m, ah, glad that you’re not married.”

“Oh really, Hezekiah Kidron? Why is that?” She smiled up at me, and raised her eyebrows in a friendly question.

I had not expected her to respond so directly. “Uh, well, you know . . . .”

“You’re very bad with women,” she said.

I frowned. “Yes, I know.”

She laughed. I blushed. Together we walked in silence for a time.

We passed into the Vehjin Mines mid-morning. The area reminds me of many other lands in Vabbi. In parts you must pass between steep, chiseled canyons of rock, and at other times you find yourself traversing wide, grassy plains. The miners have yet to return to their tools and scaffolds. The cliffs stand silent and still. An occasional mirror stands facing the sun, reflecting the light back into the sky; Breenian told us that the miners use them when the sun is away from the cliffs, to reflect the light back so they can see their work a little better.

In the northwest corner of the mines we came across a village crammed up against the rocks. Its Kournan architecture surprised me, but we didn’t stop to talk with anyone—they watched us suspiciously as we passed through. Not one waved at us or offered us a place to stay, which was unusual for Vabbi, yet probably not surprising given recent events.

As darkness fell, we reached the Basalt Grotto. The stark beauty of the place—especially the way the light reflects from the cobalt walls—took me off guard. I was walking aimlessly around, looking at the nooks and crannies of the place, when Wez found me.

“Bruck was here,” he said.

My heart faltered for a moment, but I tried not to let it show. “Was?”

“Several days ago. He was asking about you and I, and the group.”

“Did they say which way he went?”

“Into the Desolation. Do you think it’s wise for us to go that way, if we know he’s gone that way, too?”

I had thought about it a lot, which is why I felt surprised at how nervous Wez’s news made me. “I’m not afraid of him. Do you think we have a reason to be?”

He thought for a moment. “I guess not. He’ll probably be with a slightly bigger party.”

“We can grab a few more people for ours, if you want.”

“We’re a pretty strong group, but I think we could at least use a guide. Someone to take us through the Desolation safely.”

“Sounds good. Why don’t you find us one?”

“Very well.”

He left, and I found myself staring up at the dark, angled pillars of Basalt, pondering on what would happen when Bruck eventually, inevitably found me.

Koross · Sep 17, 2007, 04:48 AM // 04:48

Keep the story coming dude! I always check this thread out to see what Hezekiah and gang are doing.

HezekiahKurtz · Sep 19, 2007, 04:22 AM // 04:22

I certainly appreciate all of you that have stuck with me through this story. At the first entry, I commented that it would be around 100 entries long. The end is almost in site. This is entry 84. I think we may end exactly on 100; I almost have a plan for the rest of the entires at this point. I appreciate those of you who have read, commented, and given feedback.

This entry begins Part IV.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Zephyr 29, 1276 DR

This morning Wez introduced us to Venk, a short, thin necromancer with dark skin and a darker scowl. He wore a wide-brimmed, small hat that shaded his face from the morning sunlight. I don’t think that he met my eyes once during the introductions.

“I’ve told Wez that I’ll take you as far as the Bone Palace,” he said, looking out from beneath his hat as if afraid that light might touch his vision. “I’m not sure where I’m going from there.” He had a high-pitched, grainy voice.

“Venk has lived in the desolation his entire life,” Wez said. “Everyone around here says he’s the best, knows every hill and valley of area.”

“And I expect payment up front!” the necromancer said. His hands twitched as if he ready to reach out for a purse.

“How much is this going to cost us?” I asked.

Wez gave us a cautious look. “Ah, uh. A thousand.”

“Dear Meandru!” Sileman said. “To take us across one area?”

“Each!” Venk said. “A thousand each!”

A general uproar rose from the party members, and we had some discussion that resulted in Wez offering to pay for everyone. “My hell,” he said. “This isn’t the Istani countryside we’re going into. It’s the damned Desolation. I don’t think any of you understand what that means, yet!”

I would estimate that it took about fifteen minutes for us to understand. The raw heat from the sun and ground, and the stench of the sulfurous landscape wore us down surprisingly fast. In fact, the first group of foes we met—uncharacteristically large, I thought as we approached them—took us down in just a matter of seconds. In shock—more from the suddenness of death rather than the intensity of the killing pain—I found myself detached from my body, watching as the remainder of my party fell into the yellow sands. I almost didn’t have time to consider that perhaps this was it—perhaps the end had arrived. Luckily, at the first sign of defeat Venk had fled, cackling as he ran.

He retreated to a safe place—practically back into the grotto—where he doubled over with his hands on his belly, laughing. After a moment he actually fell over. His hat slipped off, and for the first time I saw that his head was bald and marked with a crisscrossing pattern of white scars. Wiping tears from his eyes, he quickly snatched the hat back and put it onto his head, and then settled down cross-legged to continue laughing.

Five minutes later, I started wishing I could tell the man to hurry up with the resurrection. In another five minutes, he finally stood and moved back through the sulfuric haze toward our pile of smoldering corpses. He brought me back, first.

“Take enough time enjoying that show?” I asked, taking no care to mask my displeasure.

He raised his face just enough so that the wide brim of his hat revealed his eyes. Their stark, deep blue contrasted sharply with the thick, wrinkly skin of his face. He poked my chest with a bony finger. “You’re the leader of this party?”

I nodded.

“Well don’t be a jackass. Your party almost perished right then. They survived only because of me, a practical stranger. Lead, and don’t be a jackass about it!”

“You could have warned us,” I said. It was a weak comment, but I had to do something to try and save face and quell the guilt in my belly.

“My price should have been warning enough.”

“Bring the rest of them back.”

“My signet is used. You’ll have to do it. Make sure you bring someone back that doesn’t rely on a silly one-charge skill.”

I growled at him, and in just a few minutes the entire party was back up and ready to go.

Now that we knew what to expect, we approached the awakened undead with a little more caution, and were able to take them down without losing a person. I thought we had things under control at that point, but then Venk took us to the edge of a giant pit, in which a serpent circled lazily around in the sand, its horned head occasionally rising to the surface.

“What are we doing here?” Sileman asked. He eyed the worm with a cautious expression.

Venk chuckled quietly and was about to speak. But Breenian did so, first.

“We can’t transverse much of the Desolation on foot, as the heat and stench would kill us. We have to rely on these serpents.”

“I don’t like the sounds of that,” Haillia said.

Breenian grimaced. “It’s not fun, but it won’t kill us. Venk, here, I am sure knows how to control them. He will instruct them to swallow us and keep us in their throats, where the bile and stomach acid will not touch us. Through some rather unexplainable magic, we’ll be able to see in our minds eyes what the serpent sees, and by thinking will be able to issue commands.”

“Did your dad bring you here?” I asked her.

She nodded. “Just once, and into this area. We didn’t go into any others. I didn’t want to spend any more time in the serpent’s neck than I had to. I had hoped that Venk would know a different way to travel the Desolation.”

The necromancer laughed again.

“I’m beginning to think he laughs too much,” Rhonan said to me. “Hopefully he won’t want to escort us into any other areas.”

“I absolutely agree,” I said.

Venk eyed us narrowly as he turned to approach the serpent’s lair, calling out in a strange, clicking tongue. The ground shook, and then with a widespread shower of sand a serpent rose from the ground, roaring and swaying. It towered twenty feet above the necromancer, who raised his cane and continued to speak. I could have sworn the serpent nodded as if in understanding. The sand around my feet began to dance as the ground trembled. The grains bounced and played, and then suddenly disappeared as one of the brown worms emerged from the depths, mouth gaping. Sand sprayed over me. I covered my face with my arms. The creature roared again, and then suddenly everything was dark and wet. All around me the soft muscles of the worm’s neck rippled and pushed. An immediate, sharp sensation of claustrophobia started to close in around me, and panic seeped into my veins only to be slurped out by the sudden vision in my head.

I saw exactly what the serpent was seeing: the yellow sands, the black and brown rocks, the bizarre, eerie horns growing from the ground, reaching higher than five serpents as they twisted and reached toward the sky. Six other serpents surrounded me. I knew instinctively who was in which serpent. An array of powerful skills shone in my skill slots. I felt invincible.

I commanded the serpent to move forward. It surprised me how slowly it traveled—hardly any faster than us humans, if at all. We came across a group similar of awakened undead to the one we had already dispatched, made up of giants, blademasters, and acolytes. The serpents’ bodies rose out of the ground to hurl boulders at the enemies, or to smash down on or around them, doing massive damage that I could only dream of doing with my own skills. My vehicle steed my every command as if it were my own body, and I quickly settled in for an the duration.

We used the serpents often during the day, but only for a little while each time, evuntally being spit out into the ground like unwanted food. Slime covered us, and soon it picked up dust and sand, so that we practically appeared to be denizens of the Desolation ourselves: upright, walking pillars of sulfur. Now, in the evening, we rest in the Bone Palace. Fortunately, we found bathing accommodations.

I bathed first, while the others ate dinner. As I re-dressed, standing outside of the bathing room, I heard someone approaching me, and turned to find Breenian.

She smiled at me. Almost slyly, I’d say. “Can I have a turn?”

“Huh?” I said, wondering if I should cover my chest or not. It probably didn’t matter, given the examination she’d given me a week before.

“To bathe. I want to take a bath.”

“Oh.” I motioned toward the door that led to the bathing rooms. “You look like you could use a bath.”

She smiled and turned her head to look at me as she walked past, letting her eyes stay locked to mine.

I didn’t know what to say. I almost wanted to ask if I could join her. Instead, something else came out. “I was wondering something.”

She stopped with her hand on the door handle. “Yes?”

“You always mention your father. Where is he now?”

Her countenance fell—her eyes dimmed and her smile faded. “He died recently.” She looked at me for another moment, and then opened the door and passed through. It closed quietly behind her.

Shaking my head in disbelief at myself, I went in search of Wez to find out if there has been any word or sign of Guel. It appears there has not.

HezekiahKurtz · Sep 21, 2007, 05:12 AM // 05:12

Zephyr 30, 1276 DR

When I awoke this morning, I found Sileman standing at the top of the Palace’s walls, looking out into the wasteland. The sun hovered halfway covered by the horizon.

“I don’t know how long I can take this,” he said to me. “This Desolation. It’s sucking out my soul. The stench and the heat. Do we have to explore the area?”

I clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You mean to tell me that a big, tough ritualist like yourself, who has been through the deepest, ugliest pits of the Canthan arenas—the secret places, where when you die you’re dead—is afraid of a little sulfur?”

He nodded. “I never thought I would be. But I am. I’m scared witless.”

“Just stick with us,” I said. “You’ll get used to it.” But even as I said it, I dreaded going out into the yellow land to be swallowed by giant worms. It wasn’t terrible once you got in, but the before and after were something to not look forward to. And we found ourselves frequently summoning the creatures, and being expelled from their throats as Venk led us through the Shattered Ravines, along high plateaus and down narrow canyons.

The ambiance of the land must have gotten to us during the day, for in the evening we sat quietly around a fire in the Lair of the Forgotten, staring with sullen expressions at the flames. Only Venk did not seem affected, as he sat there whistling quietly and carving away at what looked like a piece of bone. For a long time no one spoke. Eventually I made the decision to go to bed early, but as I was about to rise Rhonan spoke.

“Sileman,” he said. “You asked me a few days ago why I wasn’t going back to my family in Kourna. I think I am ready to answer that question. ”

Sileman nodded cautiously. “Is that so?”

“Oh hell,” Wez said. He stood so quickly that it startled me. “I’m not going to get pulled into some personal discussion again.”

“Relax,” Sileman said. “No one is going to ask you anything.”

“What makes you think I want to hear anything about anyone else?” the ranger asked.

“Go ahead and leave,” Rhonan said. “I am not offended if you do.”

Wez gave him a long, ponderous look, and then sat down. “Perhaps this will be interesting.”

Rhonan paused for a moment. He sat with his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped and his eyes turned down. I thought he looked much like a tired old man, one who was ready to spend the remainder of his days simply waiting to die. Eventually, he spoke: “It is common knowledge among those in my area that the child my wife had was not our own. She bore him six months after I returned from a six month trip to Istani.”

“Isn’t he a teenager, now?” Sileman asked. “You mentioned him before.”

He nodded. “Yes. Yes. He is fifteen, now.”

“Isn’t it somewhat late in the whole process to decide you don’t want to be around them?” Sileman asked.

Rhonan gave him a piercing, fierce look with eyes like pins. “You don’t understand. It was very humiliating for me. I am a man of position and stature, and to have her, Illani, bear another man’s child was a blow to my position and my honor. There were many who said I should put her away, marry another. You should have heard them, clamoring around me in anger and indignation.” His eyes grew distant. “We were there, in my audience chamber, the day after I had returned from the successful trip. I was standing there at the head of the room, in the midst of the great pillars and angling sunlight from windows above. My comrades and I had been laughing and joking, talking of our trip to Istan, when my wife’s servant came rushing in, pursued by my wife. They were both hysterical—her maid servant with rage and my wife with terror.

“ ‘Please, stop!’ my wife cried from the other end of the hall, grabbing the maid’s arms and trying to hold her back. Silence fell on us—on me and the dozen people with me. We watched with wonder and confusion as the maid struggled to free herself from Illani. ‘He must know!’ she cried, fighting Illani off as best she could without hurting her. It must have taken her a full minute to walk those hundred feet, down the center of that hall, along the wide red carpet between the pillars. My wife hounded her at every step, pulled on the sleeve of her dress and even at her hair. She even threw herself around the maid’s waist, and was drug a good distance until her grip failed, and she fell there on her face, on the red rug. All the while they were shouting.

“‘Not here!’ my wife would say. ‘Not now! I will tell him when we are alone!’

“‘The entire world must know!’ the servant said. Her face was so red. ‘You little RED ENGINE GORED ENGINE GORED ENGINE GORED ENGINE GORED ENGINE GO!’

“And when the maid reached me, and my wife lay there with her face down, sobbing into the red floor, she pointed down at Illani. ‘While you were gone your wife has been unfaithful to you! She now carries the child of another man.’”

He paused for a moment, and shook his head. “The maid—her name was Yethrani—wanted me to divorce my wife. She wanted me for herself. She later came to me in the night and said, ‘I will be yours, and yours alone if you will simply take me for your own. I love you—and you do not deserve to be stuck with that cheating RED ENGINE GORED ENGINE GORED ENGINE GORED ENGINE GORED ENGINE GO! I will be faithful to you!’ That is why she so publicly humiliated Illani.

“And there—there we stood. My closest friends and partners and governors, in stunned silence with Yethrani right before me, breathing so heavily in her anger, pointing down at my wife. She lay there in a heap, her body shaking with the sobs. It was a yellow dress. The one I most liked to see her in. For several long moments it was just like this, like you all right now. All silent and everyone wondering what would happen next. And not believing that this could be true. And so I asked. I said so softly I almost couldn’t hear. ‘Is this true, Illani?’ That is all I could say. ‘Is this true, Illani?’” He took a deep breath before continuing. “She raised her head, her paint running in lines down her face, along with her tears. Her hair a disaster. And she just nodded. She could not speak, I think. Just nodded. The wife of my youth, the one who I chose to be with forever, could only nod when responding to her accusations. I could not believe it. I did not know that to think or to do. But the others knew.

“‘You must put her away!’ Yethrani cried. ‘You cannot let this go unpunished!’ The others rallied behind her, spitting invectives at her, and telling me that there was no room for mercy in such a situation. They pointed their fingers at my beloved Illani, and demanded that I divorce her. I don’t know how long it went on. I simply did not know what to do or what to say. I don’t know how well I actually heard them. I could only stare at her. She lay there, looking at me. Tears on her cheeks. Where they had fallen on the carpet it looked almost like blood. I could not fathom that she would do something like this, that she would do the thing that we had sworn we would never do—and that I had never done and have not ever done since.

“But I had the impression,” he said, “that I needed to forgive her. I should forgive her. Just like that. Forgive her. The feeling was so strong—as intense as my rage. I needed to forgive her, and love her, and treat her with mercy. But my indignation opposed that impression to forgive, and as I stepped forward to her, slowly, and crouched on my haunches to look into her face, a mighty battle waged inside my heart and head. I have never fought a battle such as that. Not in any war. Not at any time. Forgive, or destroy. Those were my options. She had not moved from the spot where she had dropped. Her body had not stopped shaking. I opened my mouth, not knowing what I would say, and the words, ‘My love, you are forgiven.’ And somehow, as I said it, I meant it. Despite my anger, and despite the desire to cast her out, the fact remained that I had been with her for years and years. We had already been through so much, shared everything we could share, and loved in every way we could love. I could not destroy her. Despite her infidelity, she was my love. The only one I’d ever had. And so I forgave her.”

He paused and did not speak for a few minutes. His face twisted with the obvious pain the memory still gave him. None of us spoke in those minutes. Not even Wez or Sileman. We just looked at Rhonan’s noble face, his wet eyes and his clenching jaw.

“And now,” he finally said. “Now, fifteen years later, I do not know if I want to return to her. I do not know if my forgiveness has remained.” He looked up at us, his face lugubrious. “I thought I had truly forgiven her! We have lived for more than a decade in peace and fidelity, and I thought that I had forgiven her. But now,” and his eyes rested on mine, “now, I do not know if I have the strength to keep that forgiveness real, to keep it sincere.”

He looked at me for another few seconds, telling me with silence more than he had told the others. Given our shared fate, and the conversation a few days before in Chokhin, I certainly understood better than the others what was going on inside of him. For fifteen years the angels’ whisperings had taught him to forgive, to demonstrate mercy. Now, without that influence, without that added strength, he did not know if he could be as good a person as he’d previously been.

I realize, now, that my forgiveness of Guel had been surprisingly easy thanks to the angel. I remember that evening, when we arrived in Yahnur Market, and there he was with Sileman, Haillia, and Threnon, begging forgiveness. I felt the same thing Rhonan had felt—the impression to forgive, and the fact that it losing all of those hard feelings was as easy as simply making a decision. And I had forgiven Guel. Now I ask myself, “Does that forgiveness remain?” I think it does, but mostly because the entire dispute arose out of deception and misunderstanding. He was deceived, and so pursued, fought against, and even killed me. But once he learned the truth, he repented. That was relatively easy to forgive. But to forgive one’s spouse of the blatant disregard for sacred vows, knowing it would hurt the spouse yet caring more for one’s own immediate gratification—that was another thing entirely. I believe that I would find myself much in the same position as Rhonan.

How ironic? It is easier to forgive murder than infidelity. Of course, that is simplified. There were circumstances around the murder. Circumstances around the infidelity.

Finally, Rhonan pulled his eyes from mine and looked at Sileman. “That is why I have not returned home. Do you have any other questions?”

Sileman furrowed his eyebrows and pursed his lips. He looked at me. “Please, can we leave the Desolation, now? I think I’ve quite had enough.”

"Very well," Rhonan said. He stood and left the group, disappeared into the darkness beyond our fire's circle of light. I wondered if I should go after him.

Venk chuckled. "Well, Sile," he said. "That was a little more than you bargained for, wasn't it?"

Vyran · Sep 21, 2007, 11:40 PM // 23:40

Great story! I can't get enough.

HezekiahKurtz · Sep 26, 2007, 04:20 AM // 04:20

Zephyr 31, 1276 DR

This morning I awoke to find Venk standing above me, nudging me with the toe of his boot. The sky was still dark.

“We should get going,” he said. “The Poisoned Outcrops is a brutal area. It will take us all day.”

Rubbing the haze from my eyes, I sat up. “What watch is it?”

“Third watch, still. A few hours from daylight. Of course, if you’re not interested in my services, I will simply be on my way.”

“No, no” I said, standing. “We’ll still pay you. A thousand a person, right?” I’d accumulated so much platinum during my travels that it hardly fazed me to pay him for everyone. I’d done it the day before, too. “But we can’t leave, yet. I’m the party leader, and I say that these people need their sleep.”

He held out his hand and waited. “It’s up to you, I guess. But it won’t be pleasant if we have to spend the night out in that land. Brutal as hell.”

“But we can do it?”

“Of course. Done it a few times.” He took the six platinum from me, in a small pouch, and hefted it in his hand. Then he turned to walk away, kicking Sileman as he did. “But I warn you, this one may not be able to handle sleeping out in the open.”

Sileman mumbled a few things, adjusted his blanket, and moved closer to Haillia. They always slept together. That is, after they’d returned from wherever they went to be alone each night. I guess that probably means they sleep together multiple times every night.

I tried but could not get back to sleep. So many things filled my mind. I lay there on my side, on the hard ground, my blanket covering me. Of all my party members, Breenian slept closest to me, an arm’s length away. She lay on her side, her face toward me, peaceful and quiet in her dreams. In the week I have been sleeping near her—since she joined our party—I have never noticed her moving or making much noise in her sleep. Wez talks some—never intelligibly—and Rhonan shifts so much I can’t imagine he ever gets too deeply asleep. But she sleeps gracefully and easily. I remember once my mother commenting that if someone slept well, it meant they had a clear conscience.

I wondered idly: if Breenian were mine and she did what Rhonan’s wife had done, could I forgive her? The most difficult part about it was that it could not be taken back. Once the crime was committed, the damage was done. There was no repairing it—which is what made Guel’s crimes against me more forgivable: in the circumstances in which they happened, they could be undone. Certainly he had killed me, but it had only been temporary, and the result of deception on someone else’s part. But there was no undoing what Rhonan’s wife had done. There could certainly be regret. There could be the begging for forgiveness. But it could not be undone. The intentional betrayal lasted forever.

I want badly to speak to Rhonan, to comfort him somehow. But don’t know what to say, what counsel to give. For that matter, I want to talk with Wez about Kandra, and Haillia and Sileman about Threnon. There has been almost no discussion amongst us about our fallen companions, almost as if their memories and our connections to them perished along with them. Not that I know what I would say to them. I, myself, don’t know what think or to do, anymore. In fact, like Rhonan I wonder who I am now that I don’t have the angel. All of the things I’ve done for my entire life—some of them great by my estimation—how can I claim them as my actions knowing what I do about the influence of angels. All I can do, as Rhonan has done, is claim that I have been a good person. That is it. I don’t know if I am brave. I don’t know if I am noble. I don’t know if I am a leader. I am the party leader, that is true. But it does not mean that I am a leader. I simply don’t know who I am, anymore. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know where to go. How appropriate that now, at this time in my life, I find myself in the Desolation.

I was thinking of all of these things when I suddenly realized that Breenian had opened her eyes, and was looking at me. I started, and averted my gaze from her.

“You look very troubled,” she whispered. She gave me a small smile.

“I am very troubled.”

“About what?”

I hesitated, not knowing if I should tell her. What kind of leader spoke of misgivings about himself? What kind of confidence did that inspire? Then another comment of my mother’s returned to me: The best way to be rid of your fears is to talk about them. So I did. “Without the angel, I just don’t know who I am, anymore. I have lost that strength—like Rhonan. I just don’t know what I can do, who I am, and what I want.”

“You are exactly who you have always been.” She made it sound so simple.

“But how do I know if what I did is what I would have done without the angel?”

“Does it matter? You did it, and it makes you who you are today. It is still part of your history regardless of what influenced you. You could have disobeyed the angels’ influences with ease, but you did not, and it has made you great.” She reached a hand out from beneath her blankets, and much to my surprise touched my face. She ran her fingers down my cheek. Their warmth sent tingles through my ribs. “And you are great. You are a great man. You have done great things.”

I leaned my face into her touch. She started to pull her hand away, but I grabbed it, pressed it against my cheek as I closed my eyes. I did not want her touch to leave, yet I did not want her to see the wetness in my eyes. I’m not sure what caused the sudden held-back tears. They’d come without warning at her reassurance, feeding my heart and my soul.

“Do not fear, Hezekiah.” I heard her blankets rustle as she moved closer to me. “You are the same person you have always been.” Her lips pressed against my forehead. “You will realize that soon enough.” And then she cradled my head in her lap. I wrapped my arms around her waist, and my body shook as the welled-up frustration and fear rushed full-tilt into my mind and body. Everything suddenly seemed so overwhelming: the deaths of our party members, being hunted by two close friends, and the ripping of the angelic influences from my life. Misgivings, sorrow, and anger flooded through me, washing themselves out of my body through my saline.

And within a short time the tears had passed. When they had gone, I lay there for several minutes looking up at her, wondering what I could say, wondering what she was thinking. But what could I say? What could she think? She just smiled down at me, humming quietly and caressing my face with her fingers. Soon I slept again. When I awoke just before dawn, she was already up and about.

Venk was right when he said that the Poisoned Outcrops were a brutal area. The roving parties of Djinn and Margonites were larger than normal, and we did not have the strength of the wurms to aid us in our quest. Twice we nearly wiped. Once only Venk survived, and the second time only Breenian. That was fun, at least: mocking Venk for being careless.

Tonight we rest at what they call Hallowed Point, near the exit of the area. It looks out over a wide chasm of black stone and white fog. A cold wind blows up from the maw below, and strange noises echo in the darkness around us. Breenian has spoken little to me, but many looks have passed between us today. Rhonan has spoken even less—almost as little as Wez. I have no idea where Venk is. As usual, Sileman and Hailia have disappeared.

HezekiahKurtz · Sep 28, 2007, 03:24 AM // 03:24

Zephyr 32, 1276 DR

I hate to admit it, but Venk was right. Spending the night out in the Poisoned Outcrops proved brutal; at the best, we each got a few hours of sleep. Roving bands of margonites, undead, and djinn approached frequently, and those on watch woke the others to fend off the attackers. There was a time or two between scuffles when I couldn’t even get back to sleep. My worries kept me up. I wondered where my relationship with Breenian stood, and whether or not the morning before she had just been doing her job as a healer, or if there was something more to her actions. What did she think of a man who broke down like that? I was none too pleased with it, myself, and wondered what had come over me. If she had been attracted to me before, was she still? I watched her discreetly as she kept watch with Haillia, listened to their quite conversation and wished that it had been me to keep watch with her in the night, so I could simply have some time alone to talk with her.

Near morning, after an encounter with a handful of Crag and Mesa, we decided to get moving. Venk indicated that we could camp for the next night at the Vortex, which is, in fact, where we are right now, in the center of a deep bowl surrounded by sharp, piercing rocks jutting skyward at every angle. The eerie green glow of the swirling Vortex cast a pallid hue on everyone’s faces as we talked tonight around the fire—something that has become a nightly ritual for the group.

“I’m telling you,” Sileman was said to me at one point, “we shouldn’t spend any more time in the Desolation than we have to. We should just start heading out tomorrow. I just can’t take it any longer.”

He had spoken thus multiple times throughout the day as we’d struggled through the area at a tedious, methodical pace. There were so many mobs, sometimes so close together that we simply had to hang back out of site and wait for quite some time, until the groups had separated before pulling one of them away. The few times we’d failed, and engaged multiple parties, we had retreated immediately to a safe distance, always losing a party member or two. That is so unnerving—that feeling of incompleteness and uncertainty as you leave a friend’s body near some foes and hope they don’t do anything exploitative to it. It’s even worse for the fallen companion, who must watch and wait, helpless.

The land itself feeds that apprehension. The hard stone ground, the dark hills, and the sunless sky all combine to create a simple yet profound sense of decay. Practically nothing grows in these lands, and those twisted trees that do have no leaves and stand as twisted, eerie companions to the stones. The occasional emerald ghost flits by, or stands guard at a crumbling shrine. They wail and moan, and their cries echo hauntingly across the land, so that it is almost never quiet, and when it is silent you wish it weren’t. You wish that a bird would chirp, or a lizard call to its mate. The roars and foul language of the demonic margonites, the sounds of their bodies collapsing under your weapon, are comforting alternatives to the silence and the wailing of specters.

I can understand why Sileman wants so badly to leave the land. In truth, I don’t know what keeps me here other than the silly goal to become a Cartographer. I am very close. Another area or two and I will have obtained the title. Once I have reached that goal, I don’t know what I will do. I understand there is a passage into the Crystal Desert in the next area over. Perhaps I will go there. The thought has also occurred to me that perhaps I should go to Kamadan, to aid in the battle against Bruck’s master. I have had some second thoughts and feelings of guilt on not going directly there. I believe that if I had the angel influencing me I would have done the less selfish thing, and gone back to Istan. But without the angel to guide me, I am rudderless. Going into the Crystal Desert, and possibly back up to Ascalon, seems just as appealing and likely as going back to Istan or over to Cantha and back to the arenas. For that matter, I could just as easily stay in Vabbi, or take up residence in Kourna.

Not that it matters at the moment. For now, we are here in the Desolation, and I am inclined to explore here another few days despite Sileman’s wishes.

“It’s not that bad,” Wez said to Sileman. “You just need to relax.”

“Well,” Sileman said, “I want out as soon as possible.”

Venk hooted, but did not look up from his perpetual carving; he always had that knife out, yet never seemed to make any progress on whatever was in his hands. “I wish you would stay. You are better entertainment than I have had in many years.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Rhonan asked, his voice somewhat offended. “You mean all of us?”

“Not you!” Venk said. “You are a blithering tragedy! Him!” he jabbed his knife at the air toward Sileman. “He’s the entertainment! Him and that woman of his! You should hear them at night, when you’ve all gone to sleep and they whisper and coo!”

Sileman rose, his face burning red. He pointed at the necromancer. “You little eavesdropper!”

“I cannot help but eavesdrop! It’s so entertaining, and you make no effort to ensure you are alone. ‘Oh, you’re such a darling!’ ‘Oooo, I like it when you do that!’ ‘Ahh, that’s so nice!’ ‘What do you want me to do?’”

Haillia laughed. “It’s true, isn’t it?” She touched Sileman’s hand. “He’s so tender, isn’t he? Such a gentleman?”

We all laughed. I looked at Breenian, whose face was nearly as bright as Sileman’s.

“Tell us more,” Wez said to Venk. A wicked grin flashed across his face. “Tell us about Sileman.”

“Stop!” Sileman cried. “That’s enough!”

“But there’s so much to tell,” Venk said. He never looked up, and still wore that hat. All we could see of his face was a mischievous, crooked-toothed grin. “Are you two always like that, or was it just last night! What would you call it? Roleplaying?”

“Oh, we’re like that all of the time,” Haillia said. “He’s very accommodating.”

“Fine, fine!” Sileman shouted. “Since obviously I’ve brought this upon myself, and since it’s not going away, I’ll tell you myself.” And just like that, he did not seem so embarrassed or upset, but was now the story teller, the center of attention and the jester he usually was. “I’ll tell you exactly what it’s like having this woman as your master!” He pointed down at Haillia, and winked. “This is what she makes me do.”

And much to my surprise, he outlined exactly what she liked, in great detail. We laughed and made fun of him at every turn—especially Rhonan and Wez. They took every possible jab they could, and teased him without mercy. In honesty, it was more embarrassing for him than for her.

“I can’t take this,” Breenian said quietly to me. “I don’t need to know this!”

“I think it’s sweet,” I said to her, grinning. “I would never do that—not for anyone.”

“And so,” Sileman said as he finished his description. “Now you understand what sick little girls from Cantha like their pretty little boys to do.” His comment brought on a fresh round of laughter. Haillia looked at him with adoration, and held his hand.

“You,” Wez said, “are a bigger idiot than even I ever thought. And that’s saying something.”

And now everyone is asleep. Only Sileman and I are awake as we keep watch over our party. Over my party. I wonder as I think back if I am being a good leader? Certainly I am leading them through this dangerous land relatively safely, but I am certain that there is more to being a leader than simply calling targets and directing battles. Those are the small things. Aren’t there big things to do? Bigger decisions to make? Perhaps I should pay heed to Sileman’s wishes and lead the party out.

We just had a short conversation. I think he may be leaving the party in the next day or two.

“How would you feel,” he said without warning, looking into the wind that has started up, “if Haillia and I went to the Crystal Desert?”

“We would miss you,” I said. “We certainly would like you to stick it out with us.”

“No offense,” he said. “We do not want to abandon you. But, I just don’t know if I can take this place any longer.”

“No offense would be taken,” I said. “As long as you’re not trying to kill me, I don’t mind what you do.”

“You say that about Guel and Bruck?”

I shrugged. “I guess so.”

“They were good friends.”

“Still are, I imagine. Just bound by magic and oaths that cannot—and should not—be broken.”

“You made an oath, you know,” he said. “You promised to free him.”

I had not forgotten. “I don’t think that is an oath I can keep.”

“Perhaps not. And you made it under duress. I don’t blame you for forgetting it.”

“I haven’t forgotten it.”

He shivered against the wind. “I hope this wind doesn’t bring a sandstorm.”

But it looks like it probably will.

HezekiahKurtz · Oct 03, 2007, 03:19 AM // 03:19

Zephyr 33, 1276 DR

The sandstorm came on very quickly in the middle of the night, blasting us with grains of sand that choked us and that burned our eyes. Our only recourse was to huddle between two rocks, in a tight space and cover ourselves with blankets as best we could. Still, the edges of the cloth snapped in the wind, and sand found its way through the seams and into our mouths, noses, ears, and clothes. It was an altogether dreadful experience, and I did not sleep at all the rest of the night. I do not remember the last time I got a good night’s sleep. It’s starting to wear on me.

In the morning we passed through the rest of the Ruptured Heart, and into the Crystal Overlook. What a place it is—practically an oasis in this dry, deadly Desolation. Along the western edge the stone ground gives way to sand, and green weeds actually grow in a few places. The air smells cleaner—the stench of sulfur is faint. It’s simply easier to breath. The sky is—not blue, exactly, but less gray than in the Desolation. A building—the overlook—towers over the area, looking to the northwest and into the Crystal Desert, into my homeland of Tyria. Not that that desert is my homeland. It is still quite a long journey from the Crystal Desert to Ascalon. Weeks of travel.

On the western-most edge of the area, a snake-like guardian watched over an entrance into the Crystal Desert. We stopped there to eat briefly, and I watched warily from twenty feet away as Sileman and Haillia talked quietly off to the side, motioning and looking at the exit from the Desolation. His eyes shone with hunger, with desire to leave the Desolation. I truly feared that he would, but did not know what I could say that would keep him with the party. I could not tell what Haillia’s stance was, and she had never spoken to me about leaving the group, so I did not know her feelings on the matter.

To my surprise, Rhonan approached the two. “Just what do you think you’re doing?” he asked. “You’re not thinking of leaving us, are you?”

The group fell silent, and all eyes turned to the Ritualist and Mesmer.

Sileman looked around at us, his face pained. “I cannot take returning into the Desolation.”

“You are still in the Desolation,” Venk said. “Quit your whining.”

“But this area—it so much better than the last few. I cannot imagine how much better it would be through that portal. So much nicer. Clean air. Blue sky.”

“It’s only another few days,” Breenian said. “Just stick it out with us. Do you really want to leave the party?”

Haillia jumped into the conversation. “No, we don’t. But—you don’t understand how much this land affects him. He hasn’t opened up to the rest of you about his feelings, but they are so dark. . . . If you only knew what thoughts entered his mind. . . .”

“You don’t have to bear that burden alone,” Rhonan said. “We are a party. We’re practically family.” He gave Venk a sidelong glance. “Well, most of us.”

“You can’t blame me for asking a fair price!” Venk said.

“I know how you feel,” Wez said. He sat in the very rear of the group, furthest from Sileman and the area exit. His locked his eyes on the ground in front of him. “You think it would be better to die than to continue on, than to face another day of the stench and the decay of this place, than to enter into one of those worms. In fact, late at night as you lay awake, you think it would just be better to take your knife and end it. And end it for as many of the party as you can, because they must be just as unhappy as you.” He looked up for just a moment, glanced around the group, then turned his gaze back down. “You think everyone would just be better off not taking another step.”

Sileman’s jaw moved but his mouth made no sound for several seconds. Finally, he managed to say, “That’s exactly it.”

Wez looked up again. “Get over it. Be a man. Just deal with it. Stay with the party. In a few days, we’ll be done. We don’t want you to leave. Hell. We probably even need you.”

Sileman gave him a wry grin. “You’ve never said such kind things to me. But they mean little when compared with the prospect of going back into that choking wasteland.”

Rhonan stepped forward and put his hand on Sileman’s shoulder. He stood a full head taller than the Ritualist. “Listen. When we are done here, I am going back to my family. I have made the decision. I would like you to come with me. I would like you to meet them, and for them to meet you.” He swallowed hard. “My boy . . . my boy has always wanted training from a master Ritualist.”

Sileman looked into Rhonan’s face, and then back to the exit. His gaze lingered there for several moments. “I . . . don’t know.”

“What is the greater feeling?” I asked. “The desire to stay with us, or the fear of the Desolation?”

He did not hesitate. “I want to stay with you, of course. That is silly.”

“Do not sacrifice,” Rhonan said, “what you want most because it is a little difficult.”

“A little difficult?”

Rhonan shrugged. “Well, perhaps it is very difficult. But no obstacle should prevent you from what you really want.”

“Let’s just go,” Haillia said. “Let’s just get going, and forget this way out was ever here.” She pulled on his elbow, leading him away from the exit. “It’s just a few days more, and you’ll be free from it all.”

As he took slow, dragging steps, he looked back at the guardian. “Very well. But let’s get out of here before the temptation becomes too unbearable.”

We did not hesitate, but hurried on, keeping in the sand and along the Western edge of the area as long as we could. By the time night fell and we had explored the entire area, Sileman still had not stopped looking back to the West. It did not help that by then, the land had once againg transformed back into the sulfurous waste we had become used to. At least—unusually—Wez and Rhonan kept close by Sileman, talking and joking with him, trying to keep his mind occupied.

“Do you think he’ll be okay?” I asked Breenian.

“I think so,” she said. “We’ll have to watch him. I’m more worried about Wez than Sileman. I had no idea he was so affected by this land. It’s the demons, you know. They’re all around us in this place. You and Rhonan aren’t as affected, so you probably don’t understand, but the rest of us—we’re all having those thoughts that Wez described. And Wez probably has a lot more built up inside of him, what with Kandra’s death and all.”

“Why hasn’t anyone mentioned it?”

“Would you mention your suicidal, homicidal thoughts?”

“Probably not. I guess in some respects I’m lucky about how the angel and demon thing has turned out for me.”

She touched my hand, and looked up at me with solid, unblinking eyes. “Are you doing okay?”

The question came without warning, but I knew immediately that she was talking about the other morning, and my episode. I nodded. “I think I am okay. I don’t know what came over me.”

“You’ve just been through a lot. You’re going through a lot.”

The question burned in my mind, and I could not hold it back. “And you—what do you think of a man who--.”

She interrupted me. “Don’t even ask, Hezekiah. It’s just a part of life. Everyone feels like that sometimes. There is no shame in being a real person.”

And then the question I really wanted to ask. “And were you just doing your job? Just being a monk as you comforted me?”

She stood facing me, her face earnest, her hair falling down around her shoulders, framing her blue eyes, high cheekbones, and thin lips. Her face was slightly tanned. She reached out and took my hands in hers. “Hezekiah. You are a man unlike any I have ever met.”

I didn’t know what to say. Everything that came to mind sounded ridiculous. My heart pounded in my throat. My mouth felt dry, parched. I stared into her face, unblinking, hoping my eyes said what my lips could not. Elation surged through me.

She smiled up at me, and then raised to her toes, kissing me softly on the cheek. When she had lowered herself, she said, “Don’t be afraid of me, Hezekiah. Let’s just take it slow.” And then she turned and left, walked away to where Wez, Rhonan, Sileman, and Haillia were talking quietly to each other.

It’s hard for me to articulate on this parchment the excitement and energy I feel now. Things have suddenly changed for me. A light glimmers through the clouds.

HezekiahKurtz · Oct 05, 2007, 12:11 AM // 00:11

Zephyr 34, 1276 DR

I found myself keeping watch in the last hours of night, sitting atop the hill just inside the exit to Alkali Plain. Wez watched with me, and for most of the time we sat in silence, observing the horizon turn from black to grey to blue as the dawn neared. I took me nearly the entire watch to gain the courage to ask the ranger the question that occupied my thoughts. Finally, I could stand the inner tension no longer.

“How are you doing?” I asked him.

“I’m fine. What do you mean?”

I saw no point in delaying what I really was after. “You haven’t said one word about Kandra.”

He gave me a long, even look, his eyes narrow. “If you were Sileman, I would have already told you to go to hell.”

“We’ve been through a lot together.”

“Like I said, if you were Sileman, I would have gotten rid of you already.”

“I’m just concerned.”

He did not respond for a while, and I wondered whether or not I should pursue the matter anymore. Eventually he spoke, not looking at me.

“One day I was out in the field, shooting.” He grunted. “I was out there everyday. But on this day, I was out there early. The sun was angling up behind me, casting long shadows through the field of wheat. My shadow nearly touched the edge of the forest, twenty paces away. The stalks of grain brushed up against my elbows, and I was shooting. I would shoot five or six arrows at my target pinned up against the tree, and then retrieve them. Then I would move back five paces, and shoot them again.

“I didn’t see her. She jumped out from behind the tree, suddenly, to get one of the arrows for me. She liked to do that, to get my arrows. You know that feeling, when you want to stop doing something, but your body is already acting, and you can’t tell it to stop soon enough. That’s how it felt, and the arrow soared through the air—faster than any arrow I have ever shot. Took her right in the back. Pinned her to the tree.”

“Your sister,” I said.

He nodded. “Little Oubree. The only person in my family I cared about. The only one who cared about me. And I killed her. There weren’t any healers on the farm, and the nearest was too far. I knew I could do nothing to save her. So I left. I fled. I thought people would misunderstand, would blame me. So I left. I didn’t know where I would go, but thought Kamadan was a nice, big city in which I could get lost, could not be noticed. So I headed there. I regretted almost immediately that I did not stay at least for her burial. I owed her that, I think, for the love and friendship we shared.”

I did not know how to respond. I didn’t know if I should, if doing so would stop his talking, so I did not speak. He continued on, his tone carefully steady, that of a man who has already thought so much about the topic, already suffered at its daggers so much, that it was difficult to express any emotion about it, anymore.

“I went there. Worked on different jobs for a little while—on the docks, in the stables. Hated it. Hated every day and wished that I’d been there to bury Oubree. Whenever I could, I would leave the city, go out into the Plains of Jarin to do the only thing I loved: shoot arrows. When I was out there, I frequently saw a woman and her maidens picnicking in the countryside. She was royalty, I knew. I never approached them, but eventually, perhaps after a year, they approached me. The hailed my skills and said they wanted to watch. I found them annoying and looked for another place to occupy myself. But one of them persisted. One of the maidens. She would leave the group and come find me, would watch from a distance. It reached the point that every time I went out, she was there, waiting either at the gates or out in the countryside, watching for me. We started to talk. I realized she wasn’t so annoying, after all. One thing led to another, and the next thing I know we are talking about marriage.

“She was worried about what her family would think. It was the age-old story of a girl falling for someone not good enough for her, or for a man falling for someone too good for him. It would never work, simply because of the rules. And her family took it badly. They threatened to disown her. She did not back down. I would not back down. On the day we went to her parents one last time, seeking their blessing, they cast her out of the family in a fit of shouting and rage. We left, distraught, and walked along the battlement of Kamadan’s city wall. What a cruel twist of fate! It was so simple! It could have been prevented so easily, but happened so suddenly. She tripped and stumbled off of the wall, turning and rotating through the air, and landed fifty feet below, right on her head. Her neck broke. She died instantly. By the time I got a healer there, it was too late. She was too far gone.

“I did not flee, this time. I took her to her family, carried her in my arms, knowing that what they had not forgiven in life they would have to forgive in death. They forgave her, but not me. They blamed me. They took her body from me and sent me away, swearing that I would not have anything to do with her or her family. I fought. I did everything I could, but was unable to find out when or where the funeral would be. I did everything I could.

“And that was years ago, as you can imagine. I became a nomad, a mercenary for people needing a ranger in their party as they traveled. I went all over Istan many times—except into the First City, of course. I made good money. You didn’t know that Bruck paid me to join his party, did you?”

This came as quite a shock. “I had no idea.”

“Paid me a good amount, up front, to travel with him through all of Istan. I couldn’t refuse his offer.” He let out a long, whistful sigh. I have never heard a sound like that coming from him. “And then I met Kandra. She joined our party there, in Kamadan, along with that silly paragon that didn’t last half a day. I was attracted to her immediately—you understand why, certainly. Such a person I have never known. And then, when you joined our party, and I saw how you looked at her, I knew I had to make a decision. What a risk it was, I thought at the time, to let myself love someone again. Everyone I had loved had perished, and I didn’t know if I was ready or willing to ever love again. It tore me apart, but in the end I could not resist those eyes and that smile, her fierceness and her energy, and I found that she reciprocated my interest.”

He finally looked at me. “She knew you had feelings for her. She hoped that you would never act on them. I hope there were no hard feelings.”

“No. No. My feelings weren’t that strong. It took me months to really act on them. I was glad to know that the two of you were together.”

“She understood me,” he said with a sad shake of his head. “Unlike anyone else. Her eyes spoke to my soul. Her words eased my worries and fears, and I truly believed that we would be together for the rest of our lives. We were, I guess, for the rest of hers. ‘I’ll be with you as long as I live,’ she’d said. I guess she didn’t lie.”
He shook his head. His posture changed. He slouched slightly. “So, when you ask me if I am okay . . . . my history I give you as your answer.”

But I was not am not sure what the answer was. Even now, tonight, my hope is it that he has endured terrible things before, and will endure again, and life will go on. I do not think he is the kind to do anything drastic. I simply wish there was something I could do for him. What can one do to ease such a blow? I think there is nothing. I can only be a friend, and not let him down. I understand him so much better, now. I have thought many times today of when I saw him after the battle, carrying Kandra to her burial place.

“I’m surprised you told me all of that.” I felt like I had been let in on a great secret, become part of an elect few. Really, I felt honored.

He shrugged again. “You’re Hezekiah. You’re the party leader. You’re as close to family that I have. You are one of my few friends.” He gave me a look from the corner of his eyes. “I would not have told Sileman or anyone else in the party. Not even Rhonan, but perhaps in time—if he wants to know—I will tell him. But no one else needs to know that about me.”

I understood that he was giving me instructions, was asking me to not share what I now know with others. “I understand.”

He nodded, and with that seemed to settle back into himself, to close back up.

I did not dare speak to him more as we waited, as the morning sun peaked up over the eastern hills, shedding a soft yellow glow gradually across the rolling, yellow land. I watched as the sun crept down the hill upon which Wez and I kept watch, toward our party members. They all slept peacefully, Breenian near where I had been sleeping. Sileman and Haillia together. Rhonan off to one side. Venk off to the other.

Just before the sun reached them, Breenian sat straight up in her blanket, so suddenly that it brought me and Wez to our feet, alert that we had missed something approaching our party. Breenian looked around for a moment, and upon spotting us leapt from the ground and sprinted toward us. As she did so, the air around her blurred, and her skin took upon itself a yellowish glow.

“Ah, hell,” Wez said, reflecting my own thoughts and the sudden sickness in my belly. That yellow gleam could only mean one thing.

“Hezekiah!” she called as she neared us. “I must speak with you!”

I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to turn and walk away, partly because of shame that I had not helped where needed, and partly because I did not want to have that guilt thrust upon me—I wanted to be free of the responsibility, and free of the reminder that I did not know who I was, anymore.

She came to a stop just in front of me. I had never realized until then just how much being possessed by the angel changed her appearance. She stood differently, held her arms, legs, head, and hips at different positions. Her eyes looked different, and the expression on her face was harder. Much of her natural beauty had momentarily fled.

“We need your help! There is still time for you to come to our aid!”

“You’re already in Kamadan?”

“I can travel between hosts easily—I have been there frequently in the past many weeks. But things have become dire. We have suffered a great loss. Puppy Muffin has left has taken possession of a good part of Istan. A great battle took place at the Cliffs of Dohjok. We tried to fight them back, but they came ashore and have taken hold not only of Lahtenda Bog and the first City, but also the surrounding areas. We are retreating even now to Kamadan, to prepare for a great siege and battle. We can use your aid!”

“I couldn’t make it in time, if I wanted.”

“You might! If you hurry, you can make it here before the siege ends. We are trying to hold out a long as we can.”

I shook my head. The uncertainty was returning. I didn’t know if I had the courage to go there, to confront such danger without the reinforcement of the angels’ whisperings and aid. “I don’t know.”

“Hezekiah,” the angel said. It gripped my elbows tightly, and bored into my eyes with Breenian’s. “Breenian has told me of your doubts and your fears. You should not heed them. You are Hezekiah. Nothing changes the things that you have done, and you don’t need me or any other angel to confirm that to yourself. Come to us! Aid the cause of the righteous! It is this cause that you belong to! You know that!”

And with that, the air shimmered again. The glow left Breenian’s skin. Her body shifted its posture to what I knew and recognized as hers. She did not let go of my arms. Did not break the lock of our eyes.

“Hezekiah,” she said. “What will we do? What will you do?”

I shook my head yet again. “I truly do not know.”

And I still don’t, now, late in the evening after we have traveled through Alkali Plain. It was a hard area, of deep canyons concealed by a thick layer of fog. Along the gorge’s edges sharp, dangerous rocks jut toward the sky, a collection of heinous daggers that threatened even the gods. It seems that I should know what I need to do. It seems like the choice should be easy. But I cannot stop thinking about Bruck, and the oath I have made to him.

HezekiahKurtz · Oct 10, 2007, 01:32 AM // 01:32

Zephyr 35, 1276 DR

Sometime today I become an Elonian Cartographer. I didn’t realize it until just recently, as we sit in the shadow of ancient structures, camping for the night in the southwest corner of the Sulfurous Wastes. We left the Bone Palace in the late morning, my party having languished in the early, angling light, resisting my instructions to get ready. Sileman threatened to leave the party again. Wez berated him and his weakness; Haillia defended him. Venk sat by, laughing, doing nothing to make the situation better. Rhonan got involved, although I wasn’t really sure whose side he was on. Before long I thought it would come to blows. The entire thing surprised me, given the comraderey Wez and Sileman have demonstrated in recent days.

I intervened, Breenian by my side, chiding them like little children, sending Wez away to one end of the town and threatening to cut Venk off from his sizeable daily income.

“We don’t really need you at this point,” I told him. “We know the dangers of the Desolation well enough, by now.”

He gave me a patronizing smile. “I apologize. I am willing to keep traveling with you for my usual price today.” He stepped to the side, bowing his head in mock fealty, and then slithered away.

“We have to get out of this place,” Rhonan said. He stood with me and Breenian, watching Haillia trying to soothe Sileman. She spoke to the ritualist in hushed tones, and ran her hands down his arms like she were petting him, an injured, scared animal.

“Two more days,” I said to him. “We’ll finish exploring Joko’s Domain today, and spend the night in the Remains of Sahlahja. Tomorrow night we’ll be in the Gates of Desolation.”

“From there,” he said, his eyes calculating, “it should only take three or four days to reach the Sunward Marches, and I will be home.” He made a noise somewhere between a grunt and a laugh. “Funny: it seems so far away, but I could be there in less than a week.”

“Tell me,” Breenian said. “Tell me, what made you decide to go home?”

He grew very serious. “I made a commitment. Years ago, I made a commitment. I decided that I needed to keep that promise, to try and be the person I thought I was.”

“You have forgiven your wife?”

His eyes grew soft. “I want to forgive her. There is no changing my love for her—just as there is no changing the hurt she has caused me. I want to forgive her. That is where I must start.”

“It was simply a matter of making a decision?”

He nodded. “In the end, yes.”

She turned to me, raising her eyebrows and pressing her lips together. “You see, Hezekiah. Determining who you are, and what you should do, is as easy as making a simple decision.”

“Not necessarily simple,” Rhonan said. “In fact, not at all simple. But it helped when I realized that it was up to me.”

“It’s always been up to you,” I said, annoyed with the entire conversation. “Ever since that battle, when you killed Kitten, it’s been up to you.”

He shrugged. “All I know is that I finally realized that the choice was mine. I looked at who I was, who I am, and who I want to be. And despite the fear and the uncertainty, who I become from here on out is entirely up to me. The freedom is mine.”

Those last words have haunted me all day as we traveled via wurms and on foot. “The freedom is mine.” What is that supposed to mean? The freedom is mine. Doesn’t everyone have the freedom to do whatever they want?

We did not stop in the Remains of Sahlahja. We simply passed briefly through that city and its angular, tall buildings; I was not in the mood to sit around town for most of the afternoon, and so took my dark thoughts and my party with me into the Sulfurous Wastes. Venk led us to these pyramids in a narrow vale, and we camp at their feet, anxious to be out of this place on the morrow.

And here I am, a cartographer.

HezekiahKurtz · Oct 12, 2007, 01:32 AM // 01:32

Zephyr 36, 1276 DR

I think I understand why the decision on what to do has eluded me for so long. I say “so long”, but really it has been, what—just a few weeks? It seems much longer. Like months. The adjustment to living without the aid of angels has slowed down time, made each day lengthen, each night stretch. Decisions languish in confusion. Problems fester. There is no extra reassurance that the choices made are right. The sulfurous air and dark landscapes certainly have not helped.

But I have decided what to do. It happened just this afternoon, as I sat looking back West into the Desolation, from the same spot where Bruck and I had sat and talked many weeks before. The motivation and resolve to decide came clearly, in the way a sheet of lightning in the night illuminates the clouds suddenly and vibrantly for just a few moments, and then leaves a fading image on your vision. It came like that. Suddenly and clearly—only the impression it left did not fade. It burns still in my mind and heart, now in the evening, as we camp in the reassuring fog of the Gates of Desolation.

It came together as I considered Rhonan and his decision to return home, and his comment about freedom. I had thought much about him. I had thought much about me. I had thought about Bruck. Breenian, Kitten and Puffy Mufin. Demons. Wez and Sileman. Istan, Vabbi, Kourna, and the Desolation. The arenas of Cantha, and my former guild. Ascalon. Baenlone—whom I have not ever mentioned in this journal. Kandra, Threnon, Guani. Chircuck. Guel. Sheenan. I had considered them separately, together, and in every combination possible, like the pieces to a puzzle that I had picked up, examined from every possible angle, and then placed down to consider another. I had placed them next to each other, seeing how or if they fit. This piece with that one. That one with this one. Those in this way. All of them together, like this. Or like this. Perhaps if I move them around, like this. I felt that with all of this intense and constant rumination I had considered each possibility. In fact, I probably had. What I lacked was the motivation to choose the right way to put the puzzle together. I had no resolve, no confidence to make a decision.

Which made my realization—and how simple it was—that much more surprising

It started when, in frustration I asked myself as I sat there, looking out over the yellow land, “What can I do about this problem?” I am not sure if I ever actually framed it in that way in my head—what is the problem? That led to the simple answer: “I don’t know what to do, because I don’t know who I truly am, if my past was mine or the angels’.” And then I realized that the decision I faced was not, in fact, a problem. Certainly, in losing the angels I had lost a profound and constant influence on my life, thoughts, and actions. And now, without the angels, I did not know if my past was mine, or the angels. But this was not a problem. It was an opportunity.

It is such a trite, tired thing that I almost missed it, and I was at first tempted to disregard it as exactly that—the kind of thing a person says who is selling something or trying to make you feel better. But everything changed when I took a moment to re-frame the idea from being a problem to an opportunity. It was like my brain unfolded, turned inside out, and then put itself back together again in a completely different way. Suddenly all of the pieces of the puzzle looked new, and could fit together in unexpected, surprising ways.

And then the impetus to decide came quickly. The angels had made me into what I was, whether I had realized it or not. But liberated of both the angels and the demons I was now—as Rhonan had put it—free. I had freedom. I had the rare opportunity to simply become who I am, independent all other influences. If I became this or that, it was not because of an external factor, it was due to my own will, judgment, and abilities. To my knowledge, no other people have had that opportunity. Just me and Rhonan. Of all men, we are most fortunate to have this chance, this prospect to start fresh and determine our own fates.

Even now as I write, the uncertainty and the fear are gone. Freedom thrills through me, igniting my blood with anticipation and excitement, and an unfamiliar sense of danger. I am making a decision on my own, free of all supernatural powers of good or evil. I am making MY decision. With every thought I am molding myself, becoming the person I envision. I can do this because I have the freedom. I am free.

My decision is made. In the morning I will tell my party, and we will begin the next leg of our journey.

HezekiahKurtz · Oct 17, 2007, 02:48 AM // 02:48

Zephyr 42, 1276 DR

As I have read through Hezekiah’ journal, I have probably had a hundred thoughts on how to begin my own journal entry—for from the beginning, from the moment I confiscated his book, I planned on writing in it. As I read, I have thought up responses or comments on things he has written, and wanted to write them down yet resisted the temptation. Originally, I thought I would read the entire thing before adding my thoughts. But it is simply taking too long. His handwriting is so terrible that it takes me forever to read even the shortest entry. I have not yet even reached the point in his entries when we entered Gandara.

I know how the story ends, though. How it will end. That fool Paragan. It could have gone so differently.

Reading his journal has been surreal for me, like stepping into his mind. Like slicing open the top of his head and having ghostly images and ideas spill out in their biased and unrefined format. The details he chose to remember and record fascinate me. The conversations. The places. The things. The scenes. They are like paintings, flawed because of their extreme acuteness in some places and their smudges in others.

I will say that one thing that has impressed me about his journal. He is a very honest person. At least, nothing he has written in the journal contradicts anything he ever did or said, as far as I know. He may be a fool, but he is consistent, at least. Even in his representation of me and my relationship with him—which I had not expected. I had half expected him to defame and belittle me. To treat me like an enemy. But he has not. He has treated me with fairness, and even given me insight into how others view me that I did not have before. I liked him from the beginning. But in reading his thoughts and emotions and beliefs, now I love him. I love him like a brother. Which pains me all the more for what is transpiring now.

I saw him and the party eight nights ago, in the Gates of Desolation. I arrived there late in the evening with my own party, a nameless group of adventurers, and saw Hezekiah and his group gathered around a small campfire, talking quietly. I was surprised not to see Kandra or Threnon there—and was subsequently saddened to learn of their deaths—but rather shocked to see Venk with them. What a scoundrel he is. I knew I could not make any move that night, and so left my party and commenced the process of hiring myself a good, solid group that would not ask questions. It’s amazing the talent and dedication you can acquire with the right amount of gold.

Then next morning dawned slowly. Fog thick and tenacious along the ground. The sun a taciturn ball of hazy luminescence in the mist. The ground damp and unseen at the feet. A reluctant ambush just outside of the Gates, in Turai’s Procession.

Venk was no longer in their party, so there were only six of them against the eight of us. They might have stood a chance. They have been together a long time, and been through a lot together. But they didn’t even fight. Didn’t even try to run—and they might have been able to escape if they’d tried. Hezekiah simply raised his hands and indicated that he was willing to talk. He told his party to back down, to put away their weapons and disarm their skills.

He approached me with his hands up, but did not speak for several moments. Just looked me in the eyes, his face a dictionary of emotion. Relief. Fear. Courage. Friendship. Finally, he just said that if I would leave the rest of the party alone, he would come with me willingly. I could hardly believe my luck—or misfortune, depending on whether I speak as a slave or as a member of the human race—but wondered what he was playing at. I still wonder. He has hardly spoken to me during our journey down Kourna and across the ocean.

His party argued with him. Told him it was too risky. I just stood there, entirely nonplussed by this development. The monk wept, begged him to find another way. But he said it was the only way he could fulfill all of his obligations, told them to hurry to Kamadan. He kissed her. Turned his back on them. We confiscated all of his possessions, tied him up, and hurried on our way before anything could go wrong. We traveled down through Turai’s and the Sunward Marches. Boarded a ship in the Dajkah Inlet. In the morning will reach the Cliffs of Dohjok. From there, I will take him to the First City. There it will end. Everything will end. He will meet the other-worldly being and, presumably, become subject to it just as I am. He will give the being the Signet of Amplification, and then all will be lost. There will be none who can stand before it. Not one. That is how this will end. That is how Hezekiah’ journal will close, with him writing in these pages how he adores the new master, that he has spurned his previous freedom, how the world has fallen under darkness because of him, and everyone is perfectly happy with their misery because they can no longer think for themselves.

I don’t know what he is planning, but he must have something in mind. He must have revealed it to his party before becoming my prisoner. I have asked him about it. He speaks little to me, certainly out of fear that he will give away his plot, and then I—as a matter of magical obligation—will be forced to foil his designs to defeat my master. I keep hoping that I will find the answer in this journal, but I have not, yet. The answers may be here. I should just skip to the end in order to discover what they are—for that is the most likely place for them.

There is no end to my bitterness. Nothing would please me more than to let Hezekiah go. To make some small mistake that would allow me to fail in my mission. I wish he could anger me to the point that I threw him overboard. I wish he could talk to me. He knows he cannot. He knows I cannot do what I please. There is nothing I can do. Binding chains hold fast. I have sought many times to break them, yet there is no possibility. I cannot speak anything that would betray my master. I can do nothing that would defy its wishes. I cannot not do or say something if doing so would harm its cause. Yet I want nothing more than to do exactly that, for I see the future. I see what this land and all lands will become when it gains power. Burly, churning flames. Feral cities writhing with sallow tendrils of unnamable creatures. The esoteric evil becoming prim. Ubiquitous obedience.

There is no peace in being the slave to one world, yet loving another.