Perspective

[Session 15, 26.03.2024 ]
 
Perspective
 
I finally look at the scene unfolding right before my eyes, Lady Jennett on the ground, her dress soaked through with blood. Eira’s greatsword is dripping with it, she must have got her good. Jennett is still breathing though, and Letitia has frozen solid, her gaze locked on Eira’s sword. I feel woozy, seeing her blood pool on the ancient tiles reminds me of Herodes and how I killed him. Just… watched him die, didn’t even attempt to save his life. I try to tell myself it’s because he would have gone after Rusalka, and it helps a little. But that does not mean he isn’t dead. I sometimes wonder if his family knows. If he had one.
 
I don’t listen to the conversation, not really. I watch the magic Kazys cast seep into the stones and flicker there, still running in a perfect circle. I feel the magical force beckoning to tell the truth, and I remain in place. A pang of shame hits me when I think about how I’ve lied to Valerian, first about my intentions, then blatantly about my worship. That is not who I am, and it eats at me, gnaws me now that I watch him approach the circle of truth. Rusalka stands between us, and I’m both grateful and annoyed at them, because I don’t know what I’d do if they weren’t there. Valerian stops, toes the line of the zone, and never takes his eyes off mine. Without even seeing Rusalka’s face, I know she’s prickled by it, the blatant ignoring of her. I hear bits and pieces of the conversation, about how using a human host is most effective, most ideal - as if she’s talking about planting tomatoes and not doing something where the end result is a torn up ribcage.
 
I ask Letitia who is the priest who came before Valerian. Was it Herodes? The thought chills me, but would have been almost comforting if the answer was yes. Valerian looks shocked when I ask, and I shouldn’t read too much into it, but. The small flicker of hope in my heart says I saw a flash of jealousy, before he culls it back down. Letitia says it’s not such a man but a Harold, much like the servants mentioned before. I hear Luciano ask, with scorn in his voice, why didn’t the ladies offer their own bodies, if the Lady of the Tide demanded a sacrifice to make her stronger. Her answer appals me, about how some people are simply more valuable than others. I try to stay calm, but each one of the questions her answers are couth but cruel. “After you’ve discovered truths about this universe, perhaps your perspective simply changes.” As if it were that simple. I think Valerian can sense my boiling anger too, because he steps a little closer before he remembers himself. Rusalka gives way, but never lowers her weapon, as Valerian steps up to me, his hand cold when it touches my arm as if to calm me down.
 
I don’t think he can. I think of the macabre sight from the servants’ quarters, all the twisted, torn-open bodies of those the ladies have deemed worthless, and there’s only venom in my voice when I ask her whether she’s ever actually seen them, once they change. After they’ve hatched. The word leaves a bad taste in my mouth.
 
“Isn’t birth always a gruesome thing?”
 
I flinch. There’s no emotion, none whatsoever. And that’s really what scares me the most of it all. How callous she sounds, how… bored, almost. Rusalka is seething too, but her anger is aimed at Valerian, who refuses to meet her eyes. Or my eyes, for the matter. She asks whether he knows, about the bodies, about the murders on the island. Kazys’ zone of truth is still active, and even though I think I know the answer, my heart still breaks. Of course he does, he’s been living in their pocket for the past five years. One thing I have to know, just one.
 
“Have you ever felt remorse? You know it kills them, right. You have to know that.”
 
I need Valerian to look at me, but he never does. He looks pathetic, right then and there, and I don’t need him to respond to me, not really. I have my answer, but his excuse of killing the host first kills the parasite, too, just shatters my heart all anew. A less painful death? That’s.. That’s the salvation? A mercy killing is still a killing, if you’re the one causing the pain.
 
No one tries to stop me when I turn on my heels and storm off. I think Valerian tries to follow me, but Luciano stops him before he gets too close. Mentally I thank him for that, but I don’t stay to listen to what words Valerian and Luciano exchange. I don’t hear them, the sea thunders in my ears to the rhythm of my heartbeat, loud and loud and irrational. I only notice that I’m crying when the stairwell ahead of me blurs to a slide of colours, but I manage to blink through them until I get down to the lower level, where my boots sink into the blessed, ancient sand. It takes me a moment to march to the little cave bay the Creature had taken as his home, and just. I don’t know, this is about as far as my plan had taken me - go the fuck away from everyone and find the sea.
 
It takes me more than a few tries to get my breathing to calm back down. I count the minuscule waves, and breathe with them. I pick up small, flat pebbles and try to skip them. One, two, three, four, gone. One, two, gone. One, two, three-
 
I hear Valerian behind me, trying to say something. However, before he manages, Luciano also traips closer. He and Valerian shoot nasty glances at one another, and briefly I wonder what that is about, before Luciano asks me for the pearl of sending, the one that was given to me by Belinda. Apparently, we can more efficiently ensure word gets out by sharing the news with someone off-island. Lady Adei. Isn’t she the one who insisted we come here in the first place? I dig up the pearl from my pocket and hand it to Luciano. I know he notices I’ve been crying, but there’s not really much I can do about that now, is there.
 
He leaves soon after, clearly awkward with me and Valerian and … whatever this conversation is about to be. I feel hollow inside, all carved out and empty, like I left my entrails back at the bridge above. I stare at Valerian as he tries to start once more. A part of me wants to pity him, offer him something to hold on to, begin this myself. A large, pettier part of me wants to see him struggle. “How many?” I ask him, and he shuts his mouth again, almost comically. “How many people have you killed, do you even know? Did you know their names, who they were? Or were they just some nameless servants to you?” When he doesn’t answer, I continue, my voice raising. “Fuck, I thought I had to save you from them, but you were with them all along, weren’t you?” I know I’m crying again, but it’s tears of frustration now. Valerian refuses to look at me, and it’s only contributing to my anger. He looks like a wet dog, cowering for forgiveness. I’m still fuming, not ready to give it to him, not without an explanation. But my heart is heavy, and this might be my last chance to come clean to him.
 
“I could cast a spell, you know. The same one as Kazys, I think. But I don’t know if it’s even worth it, you know? Believe me if you will.” And I tell him, about the ring, where I got it from. How it’s not mine, how it’s never been mine and never will. How the first time I heard of his lady of the Tides was from him, and I was merely curious to learn more. Valerian looks shocked, almost taken aback. He has no right to that, not now. A part of me still wants to hurt him with my words, but a larger part of me needs to be understood. Of how it all started out as a ploy, but somewhere along the lines, it turned into something much bigger, more important. I take the ring off, and it feels like a weight coming off my shoulders. I kind of want to drop the ring into the sand just to see whether Valerian would dive for it, but the little voice in my head tells me it might come useful later, and for once, I listen to it.
 
I tell him I wouldn’t have slept with him, if it hadn’t meant anything to me.
 
Valerian tells me that there’s… a shell, beautiful and painted, in his room, that he wishes me to have. I ask him why does he think I should take anything from him, but he insists it’s important. Warns me, about not keeping it too close to myself, but still close by. I wonder what would happen if I kept it with me, like I keep the other one.
 
For a while, I can almost pretend that we’re back in his bed, just talking. I ask him, about the Lady of the Tides. Why would she request such sacrifices? Valerian insists it’s because she’s trapped, and needs to be helped. I counter it, with how my worship of the sea has never required me to kill for it. The sea has teeth of its own, far more dangerous than I could ever be. Why would he need my help? Perhaps it is enough if we respect the sea, and live by its laws. Perhaps that’s all there is to it. Valerian seems confused, but keenly listens. I kind of really want to just. Take his hand, draw circles on the back of his palm. I won’t. I tell him that if the Lady of the Tides is of the sea, then I shall respect her. But I do not think killing is the right way of contacting the gods, their powers far exceed ours. I get an idea, and tell Valerian to hold out his hand. I have to struggle with the belt straps a little, but eventually, the conch slides off its confines, and I give it for Valerian to hold. I tell him it’s my most prized possession, and it reminds me of the sea. Of its god. Gods? But when Valerian touches it, he screams in agony, as if burned. For a fleeting moment, my mind is unsure whether to pick up the conch or help Valerian - I grab him by the arms before he falls to his knees, the conch safely falling onto the soft sand between us. I think the others have heard us now, and are probably looking, but my sole focus is on Valerian, who keeps mumbling in a language I don’t know. It’s probably celestial, my mind supplies.
 
Eventually, he sobs with a small, devastated voice; “Why is the sea rejecting me?” And oh, I thought I had had enough for a heart break already but I guess someone really likes to stomp on the shrapnels of what’s left of it. After a moment, I think we’re both just trying to calm back down, Valerian kind of… searches my eyes. I don’t have an answer for him, because I don’t know where we stand, not right now nor in the future. What I do know however, is that I wish to kiss him, and I’ve never been able to deny myself. For a brief second, I’m afraid whether my kiss will also hurt him, but thankfully it is just him, soft and familiar. He tastes of salt, and I suppose I do as well.
“I have to leave,” he rasps, eventually.
“Where are you going?” I ask before I can silence myself. I don’t know if I should know the answer, but he answers nonetheless. “The Capital.”
 
The Capital. I’ve never been there before, but ... Perhaps I shall, one day.
 
“I have to go,” Valerian tells me again, and reminds me to find the item from his room. I hold him, and feel him disappear. I’m left alone on the sand, the water barely lapping at my feet. I pick up my shell, and trace the familiar shapes of it with my thumb. It had burned Valerian, but not me. Never me.
 
When I get back up again, Eira, Kazys and Letitia are gone. Luciano and Rusalka are guarding Jennett’s limp body. I’ve never seen my sibling this hesitant before, but slowly, they get up, and open their arms for a hug. We don’t hug much, not since we were little, but this is a comfort so familiar it brings new tears to my eyes and I have to blink them back. I wipe my eyes before Rusalka notices, and tell them I have to go to Valerian’s room, I’m fairly certain the teleport will take me there. Rusalka tells me to be careful.
 
The disorienting feeling of physically changing your location in the blink of an eye does not get any easier with practice, it seems. When I open the door, I find myself in a familiar corridor, and quickly make my way to Valerian’s quarters. I see a few servants on my way there, none of whom seem to be surprised by my presence here. For a brief moment, I wonder how fast the word travels in this keep. The door is unlocked, and looks .. normal. It was only this morning when I left here. On the desk by the window, I notice the journal I eyed earlier, as well as a downturned portrait. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I lift up the frame. I’m greeted with the visage of a beautiful, dark-haired man, whose golden eyes seem to glow even through the painting. It is not Valerian, but neither I assumed it would be. I turn down the portrait once more, feeling… disquiet. I find what I’m looking for in one of the drawers: a beautiful, painted nautilus shell. I pocket it, and as I’m starting to leave, I grab the journal with me. I don’t know if Valerian is still on the island, but perhaps I should make sure it gets to him, if he’s not.
 
Or at least that’s what I tell myself.
 
On my way back, I run into Eira and Kazys - without Lady Letitia. They tell me she’s been arrested by the castleguard, and everything happening in the keep has come to light - angering the guests and servants alike. But since we had agreed (had we?) to deliver lady Jennett safe and sound to lady Letitia once she admitted to their crimes, we must now get her out of the cave as well. For a brief moment, we simply stand there in the corridor, before Eira asks me if I’m alright. It’s sweet, to know that she cares, and the tears that I’ve just managed to dry threaten to spill again. I tell her that I shall be, but not right now. I think she understands.
 
When we return, I channel … whatever divinity flows through me. The sea, I’ve thought of it, but I don’t know anymore. It is enough to stabilise Jennett though, and with one stern look, she stays down and doesn’t fight. We deliver her to the guards, and Luciano and Rusalka flag down one of the many servants to ask if we might enjoy some late dinner in our rooms. With dessert and wine, preferably. My stomach reminds me that I haven’t eaten, but I don’t really have an appetite. Instead, when we arrive at our rooms, I draw myself a hot bath, and for a moment, I just… let myself be. An idea strikes me, and I fetch the conch from my pile of clothes, and then submerge it in the bathwater, and then do the same. Under the water, the echo of waves is much louder. Much, much louder. I listen to it until I run out of breath and have to resurface. When I return to the others, the lull in conversation tells me they’re all, what, sorry for me? Walking on eggshells? I don’t know what it is, but I both appreciate their worry and wish it would be gone soon.
 
I eat with my friends, I drink wine and get drunk. I should probably slow it down with the alcohol, but for once, I do not care about the buzz, it feels good. It hurts less. I suppose I should be happy, for we managed to stop any further massacre from happening, but I’d rather just not. Think at all. I’m ready to fall asleep when Kazys suddenly notices that someone has been in our room - nothing seems to be taken, but items are left in places where they weren’t before, as if someone had searched for something, and then tried to put everything back as they had been. For a while, we frantically search what it might be, but find nothing. Apparently I had commented something earlier about the Hanivers knowing exactly where we’d be sleeping tonight, so Kazys had secured the windows earlier out of I don’t know, paranoia? But now it only seems wise. We secure the door as well, and honestly, I don’t remember much of the rest of the night. I must have fallen asleep.
 
My dream is familiar. My feet buried in the soft, warm sand, warmed by a day of sunlight. The sun is setting soon, painting both the sky and the sea with its hues, brilliant and vibrant and beautiful. Although I cannot see anyone, I know that I’m not alone here. In my hands, I’m holding the seashell, the one I tried to pick up what feels like so long ago but really wasn’t. Instead of waves, the sound coming from it is an apology, repeating like an echo. I do not recognise the voice.
 
I wake up to commotion, once more. For a small moment, I wonder whether we are under attack, and try to find my rapier - it’s resting somewhere on the floor. I feel dreadful, like overrun by cattle, trampled and aching everywhere. However, what seems to be the source of the commotion is…Eira? Eira is missing, and someone is sitting on her bed, in her clothes. Holding her greatsword, the weapon she doesn’t let us handle. In her place is an elven woman, roughly the same height as Eira. Her eyes are peculiar, one golden and one blue, and there’s something about them that I cannot quite catch. Rusalka seems suspicious even when this new person insists she is Eira, speaking in Eira’s voice.
 
Maybe it’s the hangover, the budding headache, or something else, when I decide to climb out of bed, and hold my arms out to her. Slowly, Eira lets me hug her, and … yeah, it feels like her. I don’t know why I did it, never in my life have I hugged the previous Eira, but it feels right, I assure the rest. For a second, Eira looks at me strangely, but I just assume it’s because of the hug. But I think we’re good. We’re good.