Session 28 | Chapter 2
Perona hums while she makes breakfast– she hums while she cooks. I file this moment away in my memory, taking note of the way the stone castle walls bring a slight earthy smell to the kitchen. I catalogue the crackle of the onions cooking in the pot, the scent of tea wafting from the mug I hold tight in my palms, the cool feel of the wooden butcher’s block counter beneath me.
I swing my legs lazily back and forth as I watch her movements from my perch. Bringing my mug to my lips, the contact brings flashes back to me of Perona kissing me less than an hour before this. My heart swelled in that moment–the relief, the acceptance, the elation–it’s something I never truly thought was possible for me.
And yet here I am. Here we are. Together? Something like that. We settled into this simple task so quickly–like my declaration was just a normal thing– that we didn’t get a chance to truly discuss what this means. But it feels like enough at this moment.
For as long as you’ll have me.
The heavy wooden door creaks open as Layna enters the kitchen. This is the first time I’ve seen her leave her room since we executed the abomination in the basement– Ciamathy, a dragonborn from Layna’s past that was altered into a white dragon. The vile creature was a child of the Dark Queen, meant to hurt Layna, hinder our mission, and continue this perversion of dragonkind. My skin crawls remembering the way his lips curled around his teeth as he smiled, the way he nested into his minor hoard. Thank Bahamut it was a minor hoard, because the thought of facing him in his lair after our party took such a beating with the giant…
The only saving grace is the image of Ciamathy being split in two is imprinted in my mind. Alba taking her greatsword and cleaving the dragon was one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever had the pleasure of witnessing. The act of looting his body, picking the wretch clean of all that he was, knowing we will use his flesh and bones to destroy Tiamat, is poetry if ever I’ve heard it.
Layna still looks a little haunted, but facing an abuser, a past foe that you thought was dead, would do that to a person. Even the strongest of us would falter under those conditions. My mind flashes back to the image of Bahamut this morning in my vision, informing me that not only was my conclave’s practices not something he approved of, but that the next dragon in our path is targeting me.
The first bit of information doesn’t make sense to me–again, from what I’ve seen certain practices seem a little extreme compared to the rest of society, but isn’t that the point? My conclave was created in the harshest conditions in order to birth the toughest of Bahamut’s warriors. Does he feel that the training methods are not just? Or the restrictions that are placed on the members of the temple are too extreme? He did follow that comment with the statement that, for lack of a better way to say it, I’m allowed to be happy and have a life in addition to my devotion to him. And if the next dragon is “mine”, is there a chance a foe from my past will be given a draconic form meant solely to destroy me?
I shake my head, packaging both of those thoughts into crates and stashing them in the recesses of my mind. Those are problems for another day. We are on day two of a five day journey to the willow tree, and Perona is still humming while she cooks. I refuse to let this moment be tainted. I am choosing to be happy.
Perona has been building a soup base for lunch, the perfect healing meal after so much fighting and traveling. Her consideration for those in our group never fails to amaze me. There is a nurturing character to her that I’ve never experienced before outside of the temple infirmary. But even still the healers from the conclave don’t compare to Perona; their movements and treatments were methodical, robotic, step-by-step healing and mending measures.
The graceful, languid movements Perona takes throughout this soup making process is natural, driven by care and intuition, by love and the desire to nourish her friends. Her hair sways along her back as she slides from one station to the next, finalizing the preparation as she chats with Layna. I’ve been so lost in my thoughts and Perona that none of their conversation has registered with me.
I’m pulled from this reverie though as the sound of the heavy door shutting echos through the room and Perona places a ladle before me, asking me to taste test the stock so far. Delicately, I sip from the spoon, doing my best to not burn my mouth, but also to savor each drop of the liquid she has worked so meticulously to craft. The broth is rich, flavored with vegetables and the dragon meat we harvested from Ciamathy’s body. There’s a metallic taste on the back end of the flavor that I am vaguely familiar with from when one of Tiamat’s brood was downed by my conclave. The bonfire and party that followed the roasting of that particular kill was feral and raw–a true celebration of the might of Bahamut and his warriors. The memory of that day sends waves of energy through my veins and my skin burns as the thought of Perona turning that creature into sustenance for our cause.
“Um, good morning,” Raesh declares from the doorway, half in and half out, like he can’t make up his mind as to if he wants to interrupt. It’s only now that I realize Perona and I are alone and Layna must have left with the earlier sound.
“Good morning!” Perona chimes before returning to the pot to continue stirring the contents.
“Maire,” Raesh continues hesitantly, “When you’re done here, I just wanted to check in on how your morning meditation went today.”
I nearly jump off the counter at the subject–thrilled to discuss Bahamut’s message to me about our journey and even my own personal developments, but also to hear if the dragon god had anything of note to share with the cleric as well. Being able to compare and pull our messages together has helped to create a fuller picture of our group’s mission outside of my own calling.
“Oh that’s great! I’ve been wanting to check on how yours went too!” I cheer, coming down from the counter I’ve been sitting on as I watched Perona cook all morning. I reach out and give Perona’s hand a squeeze before turning back to Raesh, “Let’s go chat!”
✦•······················•✦•······················•✦
In the shelter of a colonnade flaking the main courtyard, Raesh stops, turning to face me as he fidgets with tidying his shirt.
Eagerly, I ask, “So what-what’s up?”
“Uh, first–would you uh tell me a little about your conversation with Bahamut?” His body language is guarded, hesitant but for what reason, I can’t discern. His tone is light, a forced kind of causality that only people use when they’re trying to get a certain piece of information out of you. He adds, “I’d love to hear what he’s been saying to you.”
My mind immediately goes silent, vision focused and ready for any threats that come my way. But Raesh isn’t a threat…he is my ally. But if that’s the case, why is he asking me this question? And in this way?
My mouth speaks before I can guard myself and I say, “Why do I feel like this is a…trap?”
His eyes go wide and he raises his hands, “No, no! No trap. I promise you it’s not a trap. I also talked to Bahamut this morning, and he…told me some things.” My brow furrows unconvinced, and Raesh adds, “I’d just like to hear what he told you first. You know gods like to talk in mysteries and tell one person something and other people other things. This is all amongst allies and just for my own confirmation.”
Everything about his words and body language has me on edge, ready to strike to defend myself at any sudden move, but this is my friend. Raesh has been along with me in this journey, a fellow acolyte to the Platinum Dragon and a confidant in this challenging time. I can trust him can’t I?
“Okay…” I cautiously begin, still feeling the tingle of fear at the back of my neck, “Well according to Bahamut, my conclave was actually batshit crazy, and probably could be categorized as a cult.”
Raesh is steady as I begin to speak and share my vision, which only causes me to be more careful as I pick my way through this conversation. He knows you’ve chosen to deviate your focus from Bahamut, Huntress. He’s sniffed out your tenuous devotion to the Lord of the North Wind. He knows you’re no longer worthy of your mission.
The Priest’s voice stabs into my consciousness, blindsiding me. I wince at his words, fearing their truth more than I care to admit, but I push through and continue sharing my conversation with Bahamut. “So, yeah, it’s going to take a while to unpack that…I wonder if the Feywild has therapists?” I muse, trying to bring some levity to the tension between the gnome and I.
I stammer, feeling my mouth working faster than my brain to try to fill the silence as Raesh remains unfazed and unamused by my joke, “Um, he told me that I’m allowed to have a life, so…I went and chatted with Perona. That went well.”
My skin is hot and sweat is building on the back of my neck as my chest starts to feel heavy. With each passing statement I share from my vision, the more I feel the walls of a cave closing in, that I’m willingly walking into this dark unknown and accepting the fate that awaits me on the other side.
“He told me he didn’t leave me,” I inform him next, sure that this is something that another follower can’t deny or be unresponsive to. “...That I still have his favor, which was really relieving.” His stance is relaxing a little, but it looks wrong. His arms hang stiffly by his sides, like he’s forcing a nonchalance and this observation only continues to fuel the anxiety building in my chest. “Oh, he also told me the next dragon apparently is targeting me, or I need to target them. But thankfully that seems to be a while away. He sees us being in the Feywild for some time, so admittedly, I’m kind of ignoring that since it’s not like an immediate threat.”
That’s right–the immediate threat is in front of you, the Priest snarls in my ear. A wisp of breath tickles at my hairline, sending chills along my skin.
My voice pitches higher, from the voice in my head and the forced image of Raesh before me, “You know, jus-just trying to live. Um, I feel like we didn’t get all that deep, but I don’t know, i-i-it was what I needed right now.” There’s a waiver at the end of my declaration, and I curse myself for allowing that level of vulnerability to show in such a situation. “So what did you talk about with him?” My eyes meet his and hold his gaze firmly, fearing that if I look away I will miss the tiniest detail providing hidden insight to his words.
“First off,” he starts. The mask slips briefly, revealing some of the dragonborn he previously was at heart – my ally, my friend. “I’m very glad to hear you got the news you needed, and it seems like it’s sending you on a better path.” A light smile plays on his lips as he adjusts his stance.
I can’t–can’t move. I’m hanging on every movement of his mouth, every twitch of his eyes, and the way the moss on the stones behind him envelopes this space as a wetness permeates my nose. It smells like the temple basement, like the metallic smell of chains and rust. I can’t.
“I do want to…” he continues, seeming to choose his words carefully. And just like that, the mask slips back into place and this gnome is all that remains. “I want to say that he-he said things about someone close to you.”
The edges of my vision blur, focusing my sights on the gnome in front of me even further. The back of my mind fills with the building din of screams, screams of torture, screams of escape, screams of fear. My jaw clenches and I reply cooly, “Someone close to me?”
“This person was, was not who you thought they were, and he said that they might be trying to manipulate you,” he adds, and finally he stops moving, his form coming to a resolution as he finally shares his declaration.
“Close, close to me now?” I repeat. The words feel foreign on my tongue as my mind battles to go through the people I would consider “close” to me while the screams wage war on each that appears.
Goose.
Goose.
Perona.
The party?
Do I consider them close?
Layna?
Zeref?
Raesh?
Raesh–
“Yes,” his voice jolts me from the mental battleground.
I tilt my head and ask once more, “Now?”
He nods once, “Yes, yes now. And I–uh–want to be open with you. I don’t want you to be blindsided by something.” He takes a small step towards me and my body stiffens. “I don’t know what’s happening,” he reminds me, gingerly holding his hands open to me, like I’m a spooked horse he’s trying to recapture.
Recapture.
“Everything has been very vague to me,” he admits.
I scoff and finally move, stepping to the side and putting some space between him and I, careful to position myself where I can’t be backed into a corner. “Then why do you think it’s somebody close to me now if it’s vague?” I spit at the gnome.
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He recoils slightly, but composes himself quickly. “Because I don’t want to be wrong. I-I was…this is secondhand information to me. I know nothing. Just what I’m told,” he dances around the question, filling the air between us with excuses and avoidance.
It makes me sick. My stomach physically knots seeing the supposed cleric of Bahamut before me. The once-dignified, opalescent dragonborn now turned simple gnome, acting like he could be the voice for a god. For my god.
“Then what were the words exactly,” I snarl, my lip curling at the sight of him once again fidgeting and unable to hold firm in his stance. “What were his words?” I repeat when he hesitates.
“Um…what were his words?” he muses and I nearly scoff once more, but he continues speaking, finally holding a semblance of strength in his posture. “That the god you believe is false.”
My fists tighten at my sides so hard that I feel my nails dig into the flesh of my palms. The edges of my vision bleed, bathing everything but the gnome in front of me in red. My heart races, burns, pounds in my chest. “So what’s been presenting to me is not Bahamut?” I force my mouth to utter the words, feeling bile climb up my throat as I try not to even contemplate this absurdity.
He holds my gaze firmly, once again coming to stillness, and declares, “What I mean is your Bahamut is not Bahamut at all…”
Blood.
I want to make him bleed.
My swords are in the room. So is my bow.
I could use my hands.
Huntress… the Priest enters my thoughts in a singsong, mocking tone. The disgrace…
“But that’s just what I was told,” he continues, taking a step back and putting his hands in the pockets of his little pants. “I mean everything I’m getting is secondhand information, so I can’t accuse. I’m just saying you should be wary.”
“Why shouldn’t you be wary?” I spin the conversation on him, throwing this mockery of faith back in his face. Gods how I wish it was my fist instead of my words!
“Oh no, I definitely am–”
I slice through his sentence, causing him to take a step back. “I mean if I remember correctly, you were the one marked by Tiamat.” My words are laced with poison, with energy to enter the body and wound indefinitely.
“You’re absolutely correct. I mean it could be a pot calling the kettle black situation. I’m not saying I’m in the right…I’m just saying that–”
“So then let’s rephrase this to…” I interject and then pause, allowing him a moment to see the mistake in front of him. See that a warrior of Bahamut from the Cloud Peak Mountain Temple could not be deceived like a simple cleric could.
He begins, once again choosing his words deliberately, “Someone is being given misinformation.” A smile begins to play at the corner of my grimace. But not for long, because he then opens his mouth to tell more lies. “The fact I’m being told that someone is being given misinformation…I don’t think that I would be the one. I don’t think I would be told that there was a liar if my god was the liar. If anyone says there’s misinformation at all, everything comes into question.”
His words hit me in the gut as for a brief moment I entertain the idea that I’ve been lied to. “Do you want to hear what I’ve been told by Bahamut?” I say his name with confidence, reassuring myself that my devotion to the Dragon God is sound. “It is,” I bite at him while ticking off the statements on each of my fingers, “You are set on this path to vanquish the Cult of Tiamat and liberate all drakes, wyverns, and wyrmlings under her perversion.”
Calmly, he replies, “Okay.”
“Then,” I continue, “It is ‘Stay on this path. You are on the side of righteousness of justice. Stay. You have allies.’ Then, it is ‘You’re allowed to live your life, but hey, you’re also part of a cult and a dragon is coming to get you.’ Where in there would be manipulation?”
The gnome’s mouth opens but nothing comes out at first. He looks like a fish gasping for air, begging for a life-giving element, and I hold my stance, waiting for death or some semblance of reason. “I do-don’t know…” he stammers finally.
I roll my eyes, over the charade that’s playing out, and go for the truth, the jugular–whether it’s mine or his, I don’t know–”The only room for manipulation in there would be I’m not allowed to have a life, and if that’s what you’re telling me…” My words fade into the tension between us, floating like lethal dust ready to explode.
“Then Bahamut sucks.” His response is quicker than I expect and it startles me for a moment. The gnome–Raesh–adds, “I understand that. It’s not a good look on anybody.” He holds my gaze firmly and I am reminded that this is my ally, my friend, my brother under Bahamut’s faith. The red begins to dissipate from the edges of my view and an ache builds in my chest. It strains with every breath I suck in trying to settle the energy radiating through my veins.
“No,” is all I can bite out, clenching my teeth this time against the uncontrollable shake of my body rather than venom towards a target.
Raesh paces within the tight space, eyes cast down, and arms gesturing between him and I. “I-I just know that someone is saying deceitful things…it might be my own conversations for all I know. But, I just want someone else in my camp to know what I’m being told. They’re either lying to me or they’re lying to you,” he reasons. His eyes lift to meet mine and something in their softness feels sincere, “So either way, someone is getting lied to.”
His words break down the barricade on my mind. Despite having been the one at the lever to launch these accusations back at him, it occurs to me in earnest that if it isn’t me being deceived, then Raesh is the only other possibility. What does that mean for him and his faith? The crushing weight of being untethered from your god must be pressing on him as well. I shake my head and take a delicate step towards him, wanting to ensure he knows I mean no ill. “I don’t want to fault you for being the messenger, Raesh,” I insist, “But I want you to understand that it might not be me being manipulated.” If it is in fact the cleric being lied to…he needs to be as vigilant as he is advising me to be.
His shoulders stiffen almost indistinguishably as he guards himself from my words. “Oh no, I understand!” he exclaims before continuing in a more even, assured tone, “I am going to do what I do no matter whether Bahamut is behind me. Bahamut chose to give me a purpose, but that purpose does not define me.”
Screaming fills my mind once again.
That purpose does not define me.
His words ricochet off the recesses of my consciousness and the metallic taste of blood fills my mouth. My tongue throbs and I clench my jaw, forcing myself to not collapse at the facade of moral superiority before me. The temple warned me of this–warned me that the rest of Bahamut’s followers are not as firm in their devotion and that is why we must endure our trials and training in such a harsh capacity. How else can the most elite of his army stand against deceit and attempts to assuage our cause? Nevertheless, his words hurt. I feel we’ve created a kinship, a rapport, over the months of traveling, discussing Bahamut and all his teachings. Hells, I’ve told him about my fear of losing favor with our god!
My hand grasps the air beside me, instinctually reaching for Goose before I remember he’s with Layna, keeping the elf company after her traumatic reunion with Ciamathy. Feeling adrift without the drake’s presence, I murmur, “That feels like a little bit of a low blow.”
Instant regret is plastered across his features, “I did not mean for it to be!”
Shaking my head, I lean against the stone wall behind me, momentarily allowing myself to rest. You’re going to let this gnome shake you? When he’s the one that’s called your faith into question, huntress? This man couldn’t even hold his draconic form! Who is he to judge you? Prove your worthiness to the Platinum Dragon! Fight!
A laugh blubbers out of me at the sound of the Priest’s attempt to motivate me into action rather than cut me down himself. “That’s fine,” I reply, coating each word in sarcasm, “No that’s fine if you didn’t mean it that way. Just my entire existence is defined by this god.” I shake my head and push off the rock. Debating on if I should just leave this conversation now, I add, “Yeah I mean it’s not like I already had enough to think about with my conclave, but–”
Raesh reaches a hand out, lightly placing it on my forearm. “You have also given me a lot to think about. Because, I totally-uh-”
“Took his word for it?” I cut him off, pulling my arm away from his touch.
Concern builds in his expression as he continues his original statement, “I totally see where you’re coming from. It could also be me being lied to.”
“I have never once been told my allies were being manipulated or that their deity was false. But hey if that’s the manipulation, then that sucks in a lot of ways,” I throw the words back at him, waiting for his volley back. Fight for your god dammit!
He straightens his posture and tidies his clothes once again. “I think anything regarding Tiamat or the cult, or evil in general, is not good. For anybody involved. I think it sucks. But I also think we’re doing everything within our power and knowledge to make an impact where we can.”
I scoff, sick of this moral indignation parading as a devout follower.
“And we can’t fault anyone for anything they’ve done,” he adds.
“Oh no!” I blurt mockingly, “I don’t fault you! I don’t.” Just like I don’t blame Tiamat for the destruction of dragon kind. Just like I don’t blame her cult for the emotional torture of Layna. Just like I don’t blame the Priests for my scars.
He must have missed my sarcasm, because he replies once again placating me, “I want you to know that I support you in whatever is happening. And I hope you would support me–”
“I do,” my mouth utters the declaration without my brain operating. The instinctual reaction surprises me–is that truly how I feel? At my core? Do I support him even in his conditional devotion to our god?
Raesh takes a breath and proclaims, “If it comes to that, and I have to break ties with what I see as Bahamut…then shit’s going to happen.”
A laugh escapes me. “Yeah I mean even if I’m not the one being lied to, my entire faith would have to be reconstructed. Even cults for good aren’t usually encouraged.” I straighten myself. Maybe something is here where we can build each other up. I can help him find firmer footing in his devotion to Bahamut and he could teach me how Bahamut’s word is spread and worshiped in other parts of the world. Perhaps there is a way we can lean on each other in this to build us both up… “So yes, I will have your back. We will help each other through whatever this outcome is,” I promise.
Raesh’s features soften and a smile plays at the edges of his mouth. “I appreciate that,” he replies, nodding his head. His gaze falls to the stone floor beneath us and he adds, “I’m going to go cry in a corner for a little if you don’t mind.”
Understanding the urge entirely, I nod once, allowing him the dignity of privacy. “Yeah…back at you,” I return the sentiment, but my mind is already wandering.
Raesh proceeds to walk down the colonnade and out of sight before I move an inch. While outwardly I’m stark still, internally my mind is running a circuit–replaying every word he said, leaping over the tenuous threats and returning to the original statement that nearly sent me to my knees.
‘The one closest to you is not who you thought they were.”
Panic tightens my chest once again and I know for certain that I will be sore tomorrow from the emotional beating my body has taken today. There is only one being that statement could apply to. If Bahamut’s message to Raesh were those exact words, there is only one that is capable of this level of manipulation. My fists tighten once again and I wince as my fingernails graze the moon shaped cuts in my palms.
I’m definitely going to be sore.
A strange, yet familiar, sensation enters my mind. It’s the Priest…but there’s a sturdiness to his presence at this moment. Once again, rather than breaking me apart bit by bit, I feel as though his energy is holding me together. Do not let her infiltrate your mission, huntress.
Reassured, I set off directly through the courtyard and to the bed chamber Layna has been recovering and tinkering in for most of our journey. Her door is also thick wood held onto the stone by giant metal brackets and pins. And yet, the sound of explosions and the acrid smell of brimstone singes my nostrils.
For a moment, I feel bad for Goose. But that pity is replaced quickly by the fear, the hatred and betrayal that would consume me if what I suspect is true. Placing a hand on the smooth wooden surface, I press my body into the door leaf. It takes all of my weight to force my way into the room, not from a barricade, not from the weight, but merely from the sheer exhaustion stiffening my body with each moment.
Scorch marks speckle the floor, the walls, and the ceiling. Smoke plumes off some of the singed rafters and furniture in the room as Layna stands hunched over a journal scribbling wildly while taking a drag of her cigarette. Across the room, Goose stands poised for another attack, his form beaten and burnt in places as clearly he’s been Layna’s live target practice.
While Layna is consumed in reworking the mechanics of her guns, I nod my head for Goose to join me in the other corner. He slowly crosses the room, limping slightly from the bruises and burns. Giving him a once over as he gets closer, I state, “You know this isn’t what I meant by ‘Keep her company and keep an eye on her’, right?”
He rolls his eyes and shrugs. “You have a look on your face,” he observes, “What do you want?”
My mouth twists over the draconic language, scratching my throat with the guttural dictation. “Who are you? I know you’re a draconic spirit, but who are you?”
Abruptly he scowls, “Goose.” His curt response levels me and suddenly all my fears, all the truth I fought to maintain moments ago feels as though it’s turning to ash in my hands.
“We haven’t talked about this yet,” I continue, trying anything to get him to talk.
His mouth forms a thin line.
“Let’s talk about it!” I exclaim, throwing my hands in the air and walking a couple steps away from him.
“No,” he replies and I spin to face him once more.
Shock grips me, but I manage to repeat the word, “No?”
“No.”
I scoff, “Really?”
“Yes,” he asserts, his tone like an iron vice around my throat.
I cough, choking a little against the pressure building in my chest, in my ears, causing my limbs to go rigid, “After all these months, this is…this is what’s happening?”
Goose eyes me sideways, suspending me in his grip awaiting his response. I blink, holding back the tears threatening to fall, only to see him turn into a metallic green dust, reflecting and shimmering in the minimal light of the room as he disappears.
Fury fills my entire being. This little shit is not going to get out of this conversation! He is not going to become my best friend, my closest confidant, my inspiration in my darkest moments, my shoulder to cry on, my laughter in the quiet moments of travel–he is not going to become my everything and then disappear in a cloud of dust!
I yank my pendant of Bahamut off my neck, breaking the chain, and grip it tightly in my palm. Blood pools at the edges of my fingernail cuts, decorating the edges of the platinum image of the god with a crimson sheen. Through gritted teeth, I say the prayer, “Guide my footsteps. Make me a shield of the innocent and a scourge to the wicked. Hear these words and carry out your will through me.”
I hold my breath as the familiar sensation builds in my veins, feeling the power of Bahamut flow through me to create the physical incarnation of our bond as an emerald drake. The flow of energy builds and builds as it reaches the precipice where upon a successful casting the energy would be consumed to create Goose. This time though, the sensation builds to that climactic moment only to cease to exist.
My breathing is heavy as I suck in air, exhausted from the conversation with Raesh, the confrontation with Goose and now casting a taxing spell. My hands are shaking as I grip the pendant in my hand. I look down and see the edges of the once pristine pendant are tarnished, singed like the edges of this room and Goose’s body.
The spell didn’t work.
There is no connection to Goose.
There is simply…nothing.