Sorrow is Dead
Unknown Date
Chapter 1: Guest Room in the Green Goblin, Early Morning
Atalaya fought the return to consciousness. She knew she didn’t want to wake up but for a few blissful moments she wasn’t sure why she didn’t. She realized that she was tucked up tight against Vasilya’s body with his arm tightly clamped around her waist and his chin resting on the top of her head. “Safe. I’m safe.” The thought circled around inside her as her shallow breaths increased in frequency. “I’m safe. Then what is wrong?” Suddenly, like a dam bursting and releasing all its water in a single rush of current her memories hit her. Silent tears started flowing again as the knowing burst through her as a shudder of pure emotional pain shook her body. The Eye was shattered, but Sorrow was gone. Nevil couldn’t bring him back. He was just gone. They had the shell of his body but…
“Shh,” Vaz murmured, his voice almost as hoarse as it had been following the life drain he had recently undergone. “Please, stay here.”
Atalaya squirmed and turned to face him, her hand reaching for his check and smoothing away the trail of tears that rested there. “I’m here,” she whispered. “Your brother…” her voice petered out. Her hand brushed a lock of his hair off his face as tenderly as any mother would have soothed her crying child. She recalled bits of their conversations about family. How he had lost his family to violence. How devastating that had been. How he had longed to find others of his kin. And then, about how he had reestablished a kumpania which encompassed Seraphina, Sorrow and Joan; how Sorrow was his brother. Suddenly a small flare of anger sparked in her gut. “How could he do this to us? To Vaz? Why? Why didn’t he tell us the truth and let us find another way? There had to be another way.”
Vasilya felt the change in her body’s tension and his arm around her tightened. “Shh,” he whispered again. “Cirilli sleeps across the room’s threshold. I’m not sure why she came in. She didn’t say anything at the time. She is either guarding us, or making sure we don’t leave her too.”
Atalaya nodded silently. After a moment she whispered back, “Either would be in her nature.” She let the darkness of the windowless room enfold her as she continued to trail her fingers through Vaz’s hair. The tactile comfort helped her to push the anger back down leaving her nothing but sadness and pain. “Just hold me please. I need you,” the pleading request escaped from her. “And you need me,” she finished silently to herself. “We need each other.”
They lay quiet and still, Cirilli’s restless slumber occasionally intruding on Atalaya’s awareness. Finally Vasilya drifted off into his own restless slumber. When the sounds of Aristotle beginning the morning’s baking reached her she began the slow process of easing herself out of Vaz’s grasp. Once free, her hand itching for another reassuring touch to his face or maybe his strong but gentle hands hovered above his body. A moment later she turned to her packs and as quietly as she could she pulled out Amaurëa and her short sword. She wasn’t quiet enough. Cirilli turned over and pushed up on an elbow. Her eyes darted quickly to Vasilya and then landed on Atalaya. “Where are you going? I’m going too,” she added fiercely. “I’m not staying behind again.”
Chapter 2: Greeting the Morning
Atalaya placed her sword belt with the sheath for Amaurëa attached around her waist. Then threaded the sheath for her shortsword to the other side before fastening the buckle. Placing a finger to her lips, her voice just barely loud enough to be heard, whispered, “I go to greet the day and then perform some katas. Bring your sword if you are coming too.
Cirilli nodded, scampered to her feet, her sword already in hand and shoved her feet into her boots. “I’m ready,” she whispered. “I’m going.”
Atalaya nodded. Stepping over Cirilli’s bedding she gestured for her ward to proceed her down the hallway. Stopping in the kitchen she spoke briefly to Aristotle explaining that she and Cirilli were headed to the commons and would be back for breakfast shortly. He took in the red eyes and rumpled clothing and nodded, silently handing each a mug of cool water, while subtly blocking the doorway until they drank. His own sorrow was etched in his eyes. “I grieve for him too,” Atalaya nodded as they walked away.
Reaching the commons outside the city gates she put down her shortsword, drew Amaurëa and lost herself in the katas.
Cirilli took a position behind her, matching her movements. Atalaya could hear her breathing, harsh and rough. Angry. Defiant. She heard the whistle of air around the blade, the girl's voice wordlessly snarling with effort. Then, a ragged cry, a sob. The clatter of steel on gravel.
She screamed, a despairing, shuddering howl that echoed against the ancient stone walls, sinking to her knees in the cobble-strewn white sand. She hugged herself, shaking with sobs. "I can't," she choked wildly. "He didn't come back. "'Laya..."
She threw her arms around Atalaya, clinging to her with frightening desperation. "Joan's gone," she hiccupped. "I saw her late last night. I didn't sleep. She sat for hours. On the floor. Just holding him in the dark. Like he was asleep, but he wasn't. For a moment I thought maybe you were wrong, that it was a mistake. I wanted that so much." She drew in a sobbing breath. "Eventually she put him back into the bag and left. She didn't know I knew." Atalaya could feel tears wetting her shirt, her hair. "He's not supposed to be gone. I need him so much."
Atalaya held Cirilli tightly, swaying slightly from side to side as she felt her own tears return. “He loved you Cirilli. Remember that. He loved you and was proud of you.” Atalaya sat down, pulling Cirilli into her lap and holding her as if she was a small child. She placed her sword, unsheathed, next to her within easy reach. Then she turned her attention back to Cirilli. Her hand stroked her hair as she murmured, “Cry. It’s okay to cry and be sad. And it’s okay to be mad at him too.” Atalaya wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and began to try to slow her breathing and center herself as she continued to hold Cirilli.
Slowly, Cirilli’s tears began to slow and her breathing began to match that of Atalaya’s. When she felt that Cirilli was calm enough to listen to her, Atalaya started to speak softly, reflectively as she stumbled to find the words to help Cirilli understand. “I think he knew, as far back as Candlekeep, that this might be the result of destroying The Eye. Looking back I can see how he avoided really answering some of my questions. But I thought that he and Inman had everything figured out. They told me that they did. But now I think he knew and chose to sacrifice himself for us. For everyone. And he knew that we wouldn’t have let him if we knew what he was going to do.” Atalaya grew silent, her tears flowing yet again. Her face turned towards the rising sun and she let the early morning rays fall on her closed eyes. “He loved us. You and Vaz and Joan. All of us. I know he did. And we love him.” And then almost to herself she added, “We need to find a cleric. Maybe Father Brinehanded.”
They sat together for a while longer. When Cirilli had control over her emotions again, Atalaya shifted slightly and reached for her swords. “Alright. First shortsword kata. I’ll call it. Get your sword.”
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