Maxwell

  “The day is upon us; my expedition is set to leave Hilfen on the morrow.

  Many chose to heed my summons. At present, we stand nine man strong - a mighty fellowship indeed, with great achievements between us. There is, of course, Regulus the Inquisitive, with his discerning eyes and curious mind. And Athelos the Stalwart, a hulking behemoth of a man who made a name for himself during the Battle at Iceglen Fields, where he single-handedly slew a company of opposing men-at-arms in order to protect a vulnerable supply depot. Not to mention Cynthia the Shadow-Weaver, whose cloak-and-dagger approach and proficiency at subterfuge has made her a woman to be feared and admired in equal measure.

  Yes, we are a sturdy bunch indeed. And yet… I fear it will not be enough. For the enemy is cunning, and relentless. The Corrupted One wields power on a scale unprecedented, and as we face the journey ahead, I cannot help but think we also face our own destruction.

  As for Sarah, the love of my life… Well, suffice it to say, my decision weighs heavy on her mind still. Indeed, I suspect there is a part of her that will never truly be able to forgive me.” - Writings of the Sword-Saint, 2155 Post-Separation (PS).

  The gentle hum of a city in motion sounded from beyond the curtained entrance as we sat in our shared tub, our bodies close, yet our minds apart.

  The bath had been intended as a reprieve. A moment of peace amidst the chaos of the past few days. A chance to recuperate, and reflect upon what had transpired. And yet, it felt more like a prelude to disaster, the harbinger of some great ruination looming close upon the horizon.

  Thick vapors of steam rose from the water’s surface, twisting and curling as they spun themselves about our naked forms and continued upwards, adrift on invisible winds. They carried the scent of rosemary and lavender, a soothing blend that filled the room and stilled the soul. Candlelight flickered against stone walls, painting a fractured mosaic on the surface.

  It was an Arcadian scene, played out in revitalizing waters and cushy environs, and yet… the mood in the room was a deep morose, shaped in unspoken words laced with despondency.

  I sat with my back against Amelie’s, naked as the day I was born, my arms resting upon the sides of the bathtub. The water reached to a point just below my shoulders, enveloping me in a warm hug that chipped away at the bone-deep weariness that had taken hold in my flesh. It should have been a pleasant experience.

  And yet, I found it difficult to appreciate the serenity.

  Behind me, Amelie sat with her arms wrapped around her legs, her raven hair falling in wet curls about her shoulders. The warmth of the water and the fragrant steam seemed fleeting comforts to her, lost in the weight of circumstance. There was a topic to be discussed, of course. An elephant in the room which thus far remained elusive. Yet, neither one of us made much of an effort to address it.

  The healer’s verdict, hanging over us like a storm cloud ready to break.

  The silence lay unyielding, disturbed only by the occasional drip of water and the sound of our breathing. I could feel the tension in Amelie’s body, the way her shoulders were hunched, her muscles taut with apprehension.

  It had been her idea to share a bath. With the healer’s words yet echoing in our minds, she had made the suggestion not with zeal, but with anguish. I agreed, hoping against hope that the warm water and familiar comfort might help wash away some of the pain and anxiety.

  It soon proved itself a futile endeavor, of course. Like holding onto sand that was slipping through your fingers.

  In truth, Amelie was hurting. And I did not know how to help.

  The healers had told us that, after performing some tests on Amelie’s internal organs, they had found several adhesions built up inside her uterus. These adhesions were likely to render her bosom inhospitable to a fetus, thus complicating matters of childbirth and fertility.

  How the healers had been able to discover such a thing, we were not told. It did not seem like the kind of medical issue a collection of physicians living in tree-houses would be able to diagnose, and yet… the certainty with which they had delivered their verdict made it clear that they were not playing at guesswork.

  In addition to the damage done to her uterus, the healers had also taken note of organ scarring in her liver and kidneys, caused by the internal heat generated by the Astra as it had worked to supply her spellwork with the energy it required. These wounds were not likely to be life-threatening, they believed, but further strain could prove catastrophic.

  “… Now, obviously, much like the barrel can only store so much wine, your body can only store so much Astra before it starts to overflow. So it’s important to only absorb as much Astra as you’re certain your body can handle.”

  Regulus’s words came to me unbidden, resounding throughout my mind with frightening clarity.

  “And… what happens if you absorb too much?” I had asked.

  “You’ll die,” he had said. “Or you’ll wish you were dead, depending on the amount.”

  A cold shiver took hold of me, despite the warmth provided by the water. Amelie was a talented Wielder, who had spent the majority of her life learning how to manipulate Astra. If even she could injure herself in such a fashion… if one mistake was all it took for the magicks to extort such a terrible toll… then perhaps I ought to thank my lucky stars I had only lost an arm so far.

  I looked over at my sea-blue appendage, perched upon the side of the bathtub. I studied the patterns running like celestial constellations across my fingers and up the underside of my forearm, sensing the distant thrum of energy as I flexed my hand into a fist.

  “Suffice it to say that… Amelie called in a favor.”

  It was Mirrani of the Sisterhood who had saved my life that night. And yet, she had only done so at the behest of Amelie, who had sacrificed something remarkably valuable for the privilege. But what could be so precious as to beg the favor of a god?

  And just like that, I had my question. The one I could pose to breach the silence that was suffocating us.

  “Amelie?” I asked, my voice soft and kindly.

  Her answer was a long time in the coming.

  “Yes?” she said at last, her words a fragile thread in heavy air.

  “What… What did you give up for Mirrani’s help?” I said. “That night in the woods, when I injured myself with that spell?”

  I sensed a brief stirring in the water behind me, followed by a prolonged silence. For a moment, I half-expected her to rise from the tub and leave.

  But then, I heard her give a soft sigh, as if gathering her thoughts for an answer.

  “The Sisterhood is an ancient sect dating back hundreds of years,” she began. “It has its roots in Old Drachia, which lies far beyond the shores of Alwaar, past the Fogwall and across the Great Blue.”

  “What?” I asked. “On the other side of the ocean? But I thought you said that most of the world lay in ruins following the downfall of the Progenitors?”

  “That is correct,” she said, skimming her fingers along the surface of the water, creating delicate ripples that danced in the candlelight. “Most of Garth has been reduced to a barren wasteland, utterly drained of Astra. However, along the coast, there yet remains small pockets of civilization where the old ways are kept, and knowledge of Astra and Wielding have not yet fallen into obscurity. The Sisterhood is one of those remnants.”

  I could hear the tremor in her voice, the way it wavered as if she were reliving the moment. “When I called upon Mirrani that night, it was not just the culmination of a simple favor. It was the renewal of a long-standing debt, one that will eventually come due.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

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  “Ever since the Serpent’s Faithful hunted them to near extinction, The Sisterhood has been looking to bolster their ranks,” Amelie said. “There are only so many women living in Old Drachia, after all. And so, some few decades ago, The Sisterhood made the decision to start looking for new members beyond their own borders.”

  A cold weight settled in the pit of my stomach as her words sank in. "Amelie… What did you promise them?"

  She paused, her fingers still tracing patterns in the water, as if seeking solace in the motion. “Twice now, The Sisterhood has come to my aid. Twice now, I have taken use of their services. As such, there is only one thing I could offer them in return.”

  She turned to look at me then, her eyes laden with sorrow. The sight of it nearly made my heart break in my chest.

  “I promised them myself," she said, the admission hanging in the air like a death sentence. “When the time comes, I must join The Sisterhood, leaving behind all I have ever known. My life, my freedom, my future... It all belongs to them."

  The weight of her statement crashed over me like a tidal wave, stealing the very breath from my lungs.

  "You can't mean that," I whispered, though I knew, deep down, that she did. Amelie was a great many things, but a liar, she was not.

  "I wish it was not so, Maxwell, but it is the truth. The Sisterhood does not make idle bargains."

  A surge of anger, hot and fierce, flared to life inside me. "How can they ask this of you? How can they-“

  “They can because I agreed," Amelie said. "I knew the consequences when I asked for their help.”

  The room felt suffocating, the once-soothing steam now cloying and oppressive. I turned to face her fully, wholly indifferent to both my own and her nudity. "But what about me?” I asked. “What am I supposed to do without you?”

  “Rest assured, you will be well cared for by my father,” she said, averting her gaze. “You are in possession of the Empyrean Sigil, after all. Such a thing is worth more than you could possibly know.”

  “Fuck the sigil,” I spat, shaking my head. “It means nothing to me.”

  Her eyes went to mine again, a flicker of surprise crossing her face at my outburst. But I could not help it. The thought of losing her, of being left behind while she was taken away by some ancient order… it was too much to bear. I had lost plenty already. My friends, my family, my arm… Losing her would be the final blow, the one I would not recover from.

  She reached out, her fingers brushing the sea-blue skin of my arm, tracing the glowing patterns there with a tenderness that set my heart to aching.

  “Maxwell,” she said, her every feature cast in shades of sadness and regret. “It has to be this way. I have made my choice, and now, I must live with its consequences. Besides, as we have just been told, I may no longer be capable of bearing children. What man will take me then, knowing I cannot give him a son or a daughter?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” I said. “You’re not some pawn to be traded, Amelie. I won’t let them take you.”

  "The Sisterhood’s debt is not one that can be renegotiated or ignored,” she said. “If I refuse them now, the consequences would be... catastrophic.”

  “Then let them come,” I said fiercely, the words leaving my mouth before I could think them through. “I’ll fight them. I’ll find a way to break this bond, to free you from their grasp.”

  Her hand stilled on my arm, her eyes softening as they took in the sight of me. “You would go to war with them?” she asked, the hint of a smile playing at her lips. “For me?”

  “Without hesitation,” I replied, though the thought filled me with dread. I recalled the whale I had encountered in my dreams - the one Mirrani had called Tuk’Garosh. It did not seem like the kind of creature I would be capable of slaying. But for Amelie… I would face anything, come hell or high water.

  She shook her head, her smile fading as reality set back in. “You are brave to speak such things, Maxwell. But this is not a battle you can win with strength or magicks. The Sisterhood’s true power lies not in their martial prowess. It lies in their knowledge, their secrets. Things that we cannot even begin to comprehend. If you were to challenge them, they would destroy you.”

  “Then I’ll die trying,” I said, my voice breaking at the last.

  “No.” Her hand cupped my cheek, her thumb brushing away a tear I did not realize I had shed. “I will not let you throw away your life for me. This world needs you, Maxwell. I am certain of that now. You are beholden to a purpose far greater than mine. The sigil came to you for a reason.”

  “There is no reason in losing you,” I said, choking on the words.

  “I am not lost,” she said. “Not yet, at least. Let that be enough for now.”

  I wanted to fight. To rage against fate, and all that had led us here. But the weariness in her eyes told me that such defiance would only bring about more pain. There was a resolve in her, an acceptance of her fate that I was not yet ready to share.

  And so, for a while after, we simply sat there in the bath, the water cooling around us as day slowly bled over into evening. Beyond, the city continued its rhythmic hum, indifferent to our turmoil. I made an effort to distract myself from my thoughts by studying the alchemical sigil on Amelie’s back; that indecipherable network of runes and sigils, weaved together by diagonal and horizontal lines.

  Her sigil was smaller than mine; less intricate, and with fewer variables. And yet, it was beautiful all the same, a tapestry of the arcane wrought in unknown letters and glyphs. I traced the lines with my eyes, committing each twist and curve to memory, as if I could somehow imprint them onto my soul.

  “It is ironic, in a way,” she said, speaking aloud to no one in particular. “When I was younger, I swore off having children for the rest of my life. The thought of it simply did not appeal to me, nor did it seem to fit with the life I wanted to live. Now that the choice has been taken from me, however, I… I suddenly find myself wanting.”

  She turned to look at me again, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

  “How can it hurt so much, Maxwell?” she asked. “How can the loss of something I never truly wanted be felt so deeply?”

  I was briefly taken aback by the sudden display of emotion. In the end, though, the only thing I could offer her was the truth as I saw it.

  “Because... maybe there was a part of you that wanted it after all,” I said, feeling my heart tighten with sorrow. “To one day know what it is like to be a mother.”

  “… Maybe so,” she acquiesced.

  And then… she cried.

  /-0-\

  It was not before the late hours of the evening that we left the bathhouse, emerging with our souls stilled and our minds at ease. Though the specter of melancholy yet lingered in our hearts, it had been driven back for the time being.

  We walked side-by-side, hands entwined in a gentle embrace. Though neither of us dared speak it aloud, we both knew that something had changed between us. A fledgling spark come to life amidst the waters and steam, too fickle to mention, yet undeniably present.

  The city had transformed beneath the cloak of night, coming alive with the glow of lanterns held in branches and alcoves. Its hum yet persisted, but in a softer cadence, like the heartbeat of a living organism settling into rest. We wandered without destination, the distant sounds of laughter and conversation punctuating the night air, while the scent of roasted meats and spiced ale drifted in from nearby taverns.

  Eventually, we found ourselves standing before the railing at the edge of the platform, where the buildings gave way to the sprawling expanse of open air, distant mountains and mist-choked treetops. Amelie released my hand and stepped forwards, her gaze lifted towards the rainbow stars above. I watched from a distance, taking in the sight of her, and the way the moonlight played upon her features.

  “Such breathtaking beauty,” she said. “I suspect I could look at this view all my life and never grow tired of it.”

  “Yeah,” I said, looking at her, and nothing else. “I agree.”

  She turned at the sound of my voice, a tired smile upon her lips. “Alas, I fear we must soon be off. Despite my wish to stay, my father yet waits in Benadiel, and we have lingered here for too long as it is.”

  “Ahh… You’ll forgive me for not being too enthusiastic about that,” I sighed, stepping up to lean my weight against the railing. “The thought of braving those woods again doesn’t exactly fill me with confidence.”

  “Yes, well…” she started. “We will figure it out. Perhaps we can get one of the locals to guide us, in return for payment.”

  “Not likely,” a gruff voice sounded. We both turned to find Gareth standing there with his arms crossed, the hard lines of his face partially obscured by the night. “Not with a war looming on the horizon, at least.”

  “Gareth,” I said, taken aback by his sudden appearance. “What are you doing here?”

  “I live here,” he said, adjusting the collar of his black tunic. It seemed a little too small for him. “Or, rather, my wife does. I spend most of my nights in the barracks.”

  “I feel sorry for your wife then.” Amelie shook her head. “To be without the warmth of her partner at night. A lonely thing indeed.”

  “She knew who she was marrying,” he shrugged, running a hand through his salt and-pepper beard. “And these are trying times. We must all make sacrifices.”

  He moved to stand beside us, his brown eyes studying the landscape beyond. He looked different without his armor. Less fearsome, and more meditative. The ghostly apparition that had clung to him like a marionette in the woods was likewise nowhere to be seen.

  “There’s a banquet taking place at the Forum tomorrow,” he said. “You are both expected to be there.”

  “What?” Amelie asked. “A banquet?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Representatives from all the major factions will be there, save for the Balders. They seemingly couldn’t make it in time.”

  “… It was my impression that Fogveil was a city very much hidden from the rest of the world, “ Amelie said, furrowing her brows. “I have only ever heard mention of it in passing, and even then, it was portrayed as a remote hamlet, and not a sprawling city in the trees.”

  “Aye, that particular piece of deception has served us well over the years,” Gareth nodded. “The true nature of Fogveil is a secret hidden to most, except certain members of the ruling elite. As well as a handful of traveling merchants, with whom we have special agreements.”

  “But surely someone must have spilled the beans by now?” I asked. “I mean, this place is… is…”

  “Extraordinary?” he offered.

  “Yes!”

  “Well, there have certainly been attempts at exposing our secret,” he said. “But the Mistmother is cunning. As you have already seen for yourselves, the mist surrounding this place is dense. So dense, in fact, that it becomes nigh on impossible to locate the city unless you know where to look. And even then, the Mistmother can deceive you, playing on your senses to turn you around and make you lose track of your surroundings.”

  Amelie and I exchanged a glance. To conceal the existence of an entire city, an entire people… it seemed an impossibility. And yet, Fogveil stood as living proof that it could be done. Whom so ever this “Mistmother” of theirs was, she must be a fearsome creature indeed.

  “Now, if you were both just simple travelers of little renown, there would be no reason for you to make an appearance at the banquet,” Gareth continued, still with his eyes upon the horizon. “Alas, simple travelers, you are not. Your mastery over the flames identifies you as a member of the Great Noble House of Harthway, the current rulers of Benadiel. As such, your presence is both needed and requested.”

  “My presence?” Amelie asked, at once suspicious. “And why, precisely, is that?”

  He turned to face her fully then, his face an expressionless mask.

  “Because the Elders of Fogveil have reason to believe that our enemy, the Bonefeeder, has given birth to a Seedling.”

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