At the Altar of Dragons

Session 28 | Chapter 4

Somehow my body feels like it’s weighed down by dozens and dozens of stones, pulling me into the earth, and in the same gasping breath, my soul feels empty. The air this high in the clouds is icy and thinner than we’ve grown accustomed to while traveling through Faerun. In this moment, with my eyes closed, legs dangling over one of the higher castle walls, the cool air is a welcomed reminder of the mountains. It transports me back to the gusting winds outside the temple, the piercing chill in the winter months, the energy and power of Bahamut.

My hands grip the edge of the ancient stone wall, and the urge to scream into the wind nearly overtakes me. Just let the wind take my pain. Let it take the hurt and the pain far, far away. My chest aches as I gaze out over the countryside below, trying to lose myself in the repetition of the forests below, the patchwork of shadows created by the clouds above the ground, the occasional structure carving out part of the landscape.

We would’ve seen all of this together.

As soon as I close my eyes again, the image of Goose dissolving into a shimmering emerald dust is etched on the inside of my eyelids. I grit my teeth to fight back the emotions building once again.

“Your closest companion is deceiving you.”

Bahamut’s message through Raesh reverberates in my mind. It was a warning. I see that now. Despite the anger and disgust I felt towards the gnome in the moment, I see he was in fact looking out for me.

What my brain can’t fathom is why the deception happened in the first place. To my knowledge, a draconic spirit is granted by Bahamut himself. How, if that’s the case, was this spirit able to bond to me, become my companion, and interject himself into my life?

My mission.

It’s the only logical reason for a lie of this magnitude. Somehow, a spirit under the control of Tiamat must have slipped into the Drakewarden fold and attached itself to me.

I shake my head–No, Goose killed cultists alongside me. His eyes gleamed as they were murdered, and with each step we took on this path, his power grew. That couldn’t have been from one that shared the same beliefs as those we are actively hunting. He encouraged me. He helped me become a better fighter. But maybe not good enough.

Was it just me then? Was I not a good enough warrior and this spirit was using me until I was no longer needed? A better agent for the Platinum Dragon would’ve recognized the deception, Huntress. The Priest’s words slide across my skin, down my neck and along the ridge of my spine. Chills form along my back and my body shudders against the otherworldly cold.

Flicking my eyes open to once more look out over the landscape, a singular cloud catches my attention. It hovers above a thin patch of trees bathing the land beneath in darkness. Just outside of the perimeter is light, bright and warm. I suck in a shuddering breath and swallow down the knot in my throat.

“I will not be kept in the dark,” I whisper to myself, letting the wind take my words away with it.

You are already in the dark though. You can’t see what is right in front of you. Instead of seeing an agent of deceit, you saw a pet–a friend. He extends the last word like a curse, mocking my naivety and ignorance.

My chest tightens and my breaths come in shallow gasps. The edges of my vision blur with a black smoke as I continue to try to catch my breath. My hands grip the edges of the castle wall, well aware of the danger I’m in, but my body can’t physically move itself off the edge.

You didn’t deserve a draconic spirit to begin with.

My arms start to shake and my legs slowly inch to the side so my body is straddling the wall. I fall forward, collapsing onto the cool, mossy stone. My fingers search for any grip to anchor myself.

Bahamut didn’t even warn you, Huntress. He told your traveling companion, his own cleric, of your shortcomings. You weren’t worthy of Bahamut’s rescue.

The black smoke pools thicker in my vision and spots begin to dance around me. Nausea roils over my body as I gasp again, desperately trying to fill my lungs with their lifeforce. None of them are good enough though. Each shuddering intake leaves my chest burning, aching with emptiness.

Empty. You’re empty, Huntress.

My eyes squeeze close and reopen, hoping that the black spots speckling my vision would have dissipated. I find they’ve only multiplied. Pressing my cheek desperately against the inside face of the stone wall, my eyes dart around for safety. I have to get somewhere safe.

No where is safe.

The ground. The small patch of ground at the bottom of this wall–it’s only a couple feet away. I know that. I easily stepped over the edge of the castle wall before and sat down to think. I didn’t even have to climb. It’s right there. It’s right there.

He was right there. Right in front of you.

My heart pounds in my chest, beating against my ribs, against my lungs as they try to suck in godsdammed air! My hands shake as I lean over. Away from the drop. Away from the edge of the flying castle. Just lean a little more. A little more and I can curl into a ball. I will be safe.

You aren’t safe, Huntress. You’re a disgrace. You’re a coward. Thinking a secret blood ritual would give you the upper hand on acolytes far superior to you. It made you weak. It made you a target. The Priest’s laughter echoes in my mind as I hit the solid ground, collapsing in a heap of fabric and limbs.

My body shakes uncontrollably.

Breathe.

Try to breathe.

Shaking.

Try.

Some warrior you are.

“Maire?”

I blink, coming back into my body, at the sound of my name drifting through the courtyard. Dirt and dust coat the side of my face where I’ve been laying on the ground. When I release my arms from wrapping around my legs, they’re sore and ache like I’ve just been in battle. I wet my lips and swallow, trying to bring saliva back to my mouth and relieve the ashen taste. Slowly, I press away from the earth and lift myself into a seated position against the stone wall. I wince–everything hurts.

Taken from NovelFire, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

“My Marigold?” It’s Perona calling to me.

My head is pounding and I press my fingers into my temples in a vain attempt to relieve the pressure building behind my eyes. She’s going to come looking for me any moment, if she isn’t already, and I can’t let her see me like this.

Taking more effort than it should, I pull myself into a standing position and set myself back on the stone wall. This is what I would be doing. This is what I was doing before–

Pressure threatens to build in my chest once more and I grit my teeth. You will not cry again. You will not cry again.

Quickly, I brush the dirt off of my pants and shirt then pour a little of the water from my canteen onto a cloth and clean my face. Once I’m convinced I don’t look like I’ve just spent however long laying in the dirt, I turn towards the courtyard with an unsteady breath.

What are you even going to say to her, Huntress? Are you going to tell her of your failures? You don’t even want her to see you with a little dirt on you. You think you can tell her of the emptiness inside of you?

I open my mouth, but no sound comes out. My body is rigid, stuck as though I’ve become a part of the castle itself. I can’t move. I can’t bring myself to go to her. To walk down there and have to face all of the others.

My shoulders slump and subconsciously I grip the bandage hidden beneath my left shirt sleeve. My stomach knots at the thought of the carvings on my forearm–the fact that I thought they were helping me…that they were a symbol of my devotion to Bahamut.

They’re a symbol of your failures, Huntress.

I blink at the Priest’s words, the weight of them pulling me deeper within myself. My body feels as though the hole left there by Goose’s departure is sucking everything from me, consuming every piece and turning it inside out before it all vanishes. My breath starts to shudder again as Perona’s voice calls through the courtyard, “I brought lunch if you’re finished with your talk?”

Swallowing down the knot in my throat, I open my mouth and can barely manage a whispered, “I’m up here.” The wind captures the words and carries them away. The scratchiness of my voice, the weakness of it makes me want to curl in on myself again.

Another breath. I use the momentum of the exhale to call out, “I’m–” The power builds in my core, burning like brimstone and sulphur, to amplify my speech. I snap my mouth shut, horrified at the feeling of tapping into the power I shared with Goose. The fact that I’m still able to pull forth from that place brings a fresh wave of nausea. Tears burn in the corner of my eyes, stinging my chapped, reddened skin.

You will not cry again.

I swallow the bile building in my throat down, sniff back the tears, and call out in my regular voice, “I’m up here. You should come see the view.” That was nonchalant. Perfectly nonchalant. I’m just looking at the view.

After a few moments, Perona climbs up to where I’m seated with two bowls of stew. She places them on the wall behind her and sits down beside me. Her usually graceful movements are tinged with an air of chaos and uncertainty. “Yeah, the view is breathtaking,” she says, taking a couple heavy breaths. A soft smile forms on her lips, but her eyes are a little too wide as they watch me.

She doesn’t know.

I envy her at this moment. She doesn’t know about my failure–about Goose. She wasn’t there when it happened. She wasn’t there to witness the conversation with Raesh when my vision went red. She didn’t see the green glint to the air as Goose dissipated.

The Priest’s inky presence slides against my mind and chides, It’s not like you sought her out after it happened, Huntress.

Shaking my head to dislodge his hold on my thoughts, I remind myself to smile. The lackluster shape feels invasive on my face, contorting my cheeks and amplifying the dying light in my chest. “Breathtaking right...” I mutter.

“Is this a new meditation spot or just a–a place to take in the beauty of the world?” she asks, scooting a little closer to me. She’s leaning away from me slightly, face tilted towards the sun, soaking in its warmth. Her leg brushes lightly against mine and I stare at the contact point, stunned at the piercing tingle in my numb limb.

At the mention of meditating with Bahamut, my body threatens to convulse again, but I snap my eyes shut, forcing myself to remain composed. Bahamut isn’t going to want to hear from me any time soon–maybe ever again. I grip my forearm once more, clutching it tight to my body, and quietly respond, “No, I don’t think I will be meditating here.”

Perona’s body goes still beside me for a moment before she leans her body more in my direction. “What happened?” she whispers, “You were devoted and passionate about that connection. What changed?”

My head drops, the knot tightening in my chest. “I can’t face him…” my voice is barely above a whisper as it waivers. My limbs feel leaden, detached from my body. A chill shudders through me as my emotions threaten to breach the dam I’m trying to construct in vain.

You will not cry again.

“Okay,” Perona starts, her voice measured, “You don’t need to.”

But I do. I don’t know who I am without him.

Perona shifts a little closer, wrapping one of her legs around my back and pulling me into her. She tucks my head against her delicately. My body feels numb, like this is happening to someone else. This is the closest we’ve ever been and yet every part of my soul is focused on the crushing weight of Goose’s deception. Of his absence.

“Cry, scream, or just let me be a place for you to rest. Whatever you need, Sunshine. Let me be whatever you need,” she begs, whispering into my hair.

Blinking rapidly, my mind reels, filtering through Perona’s lack of judgement, her lack of questioning, her lack of criticism. There’s no punishing blow. No repercussions for my shortcomings.

She doesn’t understand your failure yet, Huntress. She doesn’t know you’ve been disgraced. Tell her. Say the words out loud.

I clench my jaw, biting my tongue against the Priest’s words.

Sunshine.

“You know I’m not sunshine right?” I mutter tucked against her, thankful my face is hidden. With each breath, with each passing moment I feel the vibrancy dimming from my body. “I’m not warm like you…” I reach my hand up and brush it against Perona’s skin on the off chance that some of her warmth might ignite the flame in me once more. “Gods I’m not even good at what I’m supposed to do apparently,” I force the words out in a single exhale.

No–you’re weak. You are naive. A disgrace to the Platinum Dragon.

She hugs me tighter as she declares, “You are my warmth.” She runs my braid through her fingers, fidgeting as she’s trying to pull together the words to say. “You know when I was younger, my brother played a prank on me. I screamed so loud I damaged my throat and couldn’t sing for my performance the next day.” A light singular laugh of recognition breaks her train of thought before she continues, “When I think back on it now, it’s funny because I know he was trying to make me get over my stage fright, but I still failed at something I should have been good at.” She giggles lightly again. “You’ve even seen me fumble my sword and I’ve trained with it since I could hold a knife.”

She’s laughing at your pain. She thinks her training is equivalent to your decades of devotion and studying. She is mocking you, Huntress.

I shake my head lightly so that I hope it’s indiscernible to her. She’s trying to make me feel better, but the Priest’s words echo in my mind. Fear builds in my gut, consuming some of the void that’s encompassed my heart since–

Tell her, Huntress. See her reaction. You can’t hide this level of shame. Speak it or not, it is a reality. Hide your shame and you’re a coward. Speak it and there might be a chance for Bahamut to find honor in you again.

“Goose is gone,” I squeak, finally saying the words out loud.

Perona stops moving once again, my braid dropping from her fingers and her body going stiff beneath me. “Oh,” she breathes. I can sense her mind whirling, working through what to say to fix this, what to say to make me feel whole again. “I see…” she pauses before taking a deep breath and saying, “I’m sorry.”

The Priest cackles in my mind and I squeeze my eyes tight in a failed attempt to silence his grating voice. She’s ‘sorry’. How sweet is that, Huntress. She’s ‘sorry’. He pauses before filling my mind and wrapping a rope around my consciousness. She pities you. You’re pitied. Warriors aren’t meant to be pitied.

She holds me for a moment longer and when I don’t speak, she adds, “Tell me what you need. Anything. Any of it–I will do it for you.”

Bring him back.

Bring him back.

Take me back in time and tell me to not ask the question.

Take it all back.

Take me back to the conclave.

I don’t deserve to be here.

I have earned this pain.

“I think I just want to sleep.”