Surfacing Ch. 19

My brooding evaporated when I glimpsed a thin, dark figure peeking out from behind the tree Tamuril leaned against. She wasn't aware of it, still bowing her head. I tensed before reaching for my hand crossbow, the surge of energy calming at satisfying speed as I brought it forward and loaded it efficiently, focusing on a shot I could make if there was any threat to those two.

I couldn't make out facial expressions or weapons detail on the tall, thin figure, but I could hit center mass of something that dark standing in the shade of the tree. It reached out, pointed fingers far too long to be Human or Elf; there was no weapon I could see but it was close to touching the top of Tamuril's head. The lines seemed to blur around the edges as I drew in a breath and steadied my arm.

I pulled the trigger and the bolt struck the tree, barely missing the shadow as it pulled back and disappeared around the trunk. Tamuril gasped and looked up, seeing only the small bolt, I was sure.

*Fuck,* I thought, already pushing myself up to move forward. My cover was blown anyway. I quickly reloaded.

Tamuril looked briefly to the sides but had her green eyes pinned on me as soon as she detected the movement. She held Isboern a little firmer, who had not shifted and for all I could tell was unconscious.

"Sirana?" she whispered.

I pushed down my hood so she could answer that for herself but put my finger to my lips, signaling for her not to speak again. She frowned, saw the loaded crossbow in my hand and glanced back up at the bolt stuck well above her head, so far up that she had to presume I was either a horrible shot or she wasn't the target. Considering I'd once caught Pilla out of midair with my web pellet, I hoped she wouldn't think it was the former.

I saw her reach for something in her boot as I got closer, and I let my cloak fall open to place my free hand on my womb in response. The uncertainty I saw as I successfully drew her eyes down was enough for me to be certain in my approach. It was very much like the last time we'd parted ways; she couldn't deliberately aim for my gut with intent to harm, she just couldn't do it.

The crossbow was up and aimed as I stepped quick and silent as I could in a wide arch around the tree, all my senses were wide open to give me a hint what had just been there. It was gone, of course, no longer behind the tree trunk. Had it not somehow sensed my releasing the bolt and pulled back, it would have been struck somewhere in the ribs as it leaned over.

I saw nothing, but what was more disturbing was that I also smelled nothing. The relatively still air and the humidity wouldn't have erased all scent so quickly, even if I wouldn't be able to feel lingering body heat as I might down below. I studied the ground, looking for crushed leaves and prints in the soil, some kind of trail left behind. There was none, and nothing else out of the ordinary—perhaps most indicated by the fact that Tamuril was sitting with Isboern's head in her lap. I was the only threat she'd sensed.

My eyes hadn't just tricked me, had they? A Sun mirage? Was it too hot...?

But I'd seen a tall, thin, dark shape reaching for the Noldor. In plain daylight.

I shook my head slightly, and we stayed still for a long while, watching and listening to the forest as it continued its normal song. I eventually began to wonder why Isboern hadn't awoken yet. Wouldn't he have sensed me and thought he and "Tami" were under threat? The Guildsman would be in position and watching us by now as well; he'd done a good job not giving himself away while I doubted my own instincts. The trade-off would be, if he had taken a position similar to mine or even the same one, that he wouldn't be able to hear us very well, but he could probably make out the expressions on our faces.

Tamuril's expression right then was cautious...and resentful.

"Say something," she whispered.

"Guild's watching, mind your voice and face," I replied, not a whisper, but that smooth, low, Underdark murmur that didn't tend to carry very far and wasn't nearly as harsh as Surface dwellers tended to make their whispers. Mourn was just as skilled, and he'd taught more in the Guild—another advantage they had.

Schooling her expression was going to be extraordinarily hard for her as I observed her trying to bring it to one of placidity. It wasn't working very well. Her pale skin subtly shifted color with her emotion; her eyes and mouth remained extraordinarily expressive, communicating her distress loudly, and her leaf-green eyes glittered with building moisture that never seemed to drop onto her cheeks but gave depth to her gaze nonetheless.

"Why did you shoot at me?" she asked.

I paused a moment, taking that moment to tug my bolt out of the trunk and reclaim it. "Not at you. Thought I saw something behind you."

Tamuril slowly shook her head. "I can sense living hearts that close, animal or civilized. I sensed nothing."

I grunted softly, unhappy I had no answer or proof why I acted. I looked down at her. "Your Common has become better."

"So has yours. You have practiced."

"Did you forget a lot over a mere two years in your shack?"

She frowned at me and did not answer that. I looked down at Isboern, his face buried to where I couldn't see it; I could hear his breathing, though. It was in sleep.

"Why is he not awake?"

Tamuril looked away into the trees. Her jaw firmed up.

"Would he wake if I kicked him?"

She looked back immediately, her eyes widening in anger. "Do not touch him."

"Would he wake?" I pressed. It was easy to stare her down from a standing position; for once, I was taller.

"Maybe not," she finally admitted. "I told you...sometimes he does not have a choice."

So he was vulnerable with only the druid watching over him? His Templars would be thrilled.

"Oh? Is he 'communing' again?"

"I do not know for certain, Sirana." She wetted her pink lips, seeming to think on that in one direction or another. She mimicked my Underdark level of speech. "So...when you asked me to lead you to the necromancer tower, you never wanted to kill the master. You wanted to gain the apprentice."

Would she believe me if I said that had been an accident? Would I rather her think that, yes, I'd planned just that and really knew exactly what I was doing? I wasn't sure; that would mean I had a lot more expectation to live up to.

"What makes you certain of that?" I asked.

"Your baby. Willven told me there's a connection between Gavin and the father, and it has something to do with his own quest. Were you looking for Gavin on behalf of your baby's father?"

Absolutely not; I'd had no idea, and Auslan hadn't even factored into it at the time. That had just...happened. If Lolth wasn't playing the game with me this time, and if Musanlo was only now getting the hint, then Nyx and some other was surely ahead.

I finally shook my head, again wary of my expressions in case the Guildsman could read them. "I told you true when I asked you to lead me to the Tower. My queen wants the necromancer dead."

"But you did not kill him."

"I will. I had the chance to find Jael first. I took it. The apprentice was, at the time, a convenient addition."

Tamuril stared at me, her face holding a depth of emotion I wasn't sure how to read; it included sorrow but wasn't limited there. "I cannot believe this was chance, you finding me, my leading you to..."

I smiled playfully. "I've been told directly it was not."

Despite her own words, she pursed her lips and did not look happy about that. "By whom?"

"Nyx, I think. Though she is very hard to understand." I paused at her expression then shrugged. "Strike that. Perhaps it wasn't direct. I am not a visionary, Tamuril. You may know more of any 'quest' than I do since your psion has a hard time lying."

She may at that, but as she pursed her lips I saw she wasn't ready to share the details. However, she did say, "Is it true...you have some potential as Varasa?"

My smile lowered.

When I didn't answer immediately, she added, "I am so familiar with the feeling, Sirana, I know you did not use any talent on me as we bargained. You do not have the control to be that subtle, and I was left to my own will. Was it latent when we last talked?"

For a while, maybe it was. The last I had used it was with Rausery on the mountain, then I wasn't around any magic for a while to make my sapphire glow again, and after I was, the stone was out of my possession until Mourn showed up.

Yes, very little progress on any "talent" until that damned Dragon-blood showed up with magic as potent as Brom's.

"It must have been," I answered.

"Wh-where did it come from?" she asked, and it was plainly obvious why this worried her.

I scratched my chin, a gesture I hoped would make it plainer I was considering a trade. "Tell me where Willven's comes from."

"And...you will answer if I say?"

"To the degree that you do."

Tamuril was skeptical. "Tell me first if it is hereditary. An ancestor of yours had the gift?"

I shrugged. "No. Now you."

She looked startled. "No?"

"No. Why? Is Willven's hereditary?"

"Yes," she answered. "Not every child. His grandmother was the last one. They have stories of such gifts going back as far as they remember."

I smiled a bit. "How long is that?"

Tamuril frowned and didn't answer. I thought it an odd question over which to get stubborn.

"What? Four generations, five? Maybe two or three centuries."

The druid busied herself by combing the Human's hair with her fingers some more. "Why is yours not hereditary?"

I sighed. "Ritual sacrifice."

Her head jerked up and her eyes were wide with horror. "What?"

I turned with my back toward the hidden Guildsman so he wouldn't see how I was trying not to laugh. "I doubt it could be repeated, Tamuril. We haven't figured out how to bestow new magic and psionic talents on anyone at will."

"What are you saying, it was a...an accident?"

I nodded. "A psion died under unusual influence, and part of what he was exists in me."

"Then you have no one amongst your own to teach you," she whispered.

I studied her face. "Why does that frighten you?"

She was breathing faster; she was frightened by what I said. "I...ah..." She swallowed, looked away to the left as if trying to decide how to explain. "Someone with magical potential does not always become a mage, but they may live their life being untrained. At most, they may have a few odd incidents happen in their lifetime. It...it is not that way for psions. Left untrained, they will eventually go mad, develop separate persons in their head, or become comatose."

I stared at her. "Among Humans."

Tamuril considered then shrugged helplessly. "I have only known Human, true. But I have seen it once, and this is what they tell me." She bit her lower lip. "There are psions down below?"

I narrowed my eyes. "You seem so certain none of them are Elves. I only said none of my ancestors had the gift, not that there were no psionic Drow."

"Now you splinter words to make me doubt?" She frowned. "I trust Willven. He said there was nothing in your understanding of your power, no history. You've never seen it in your own kind before."

I scowled. *Fucking Godblood.*

"So where have you seen it, Sirana? Who was the sacrifice?"

"Oh, Willven didn't lift that detail as well?"

"He's empathic," she stated firmly, and I had no idea how that made her point, or even what that meant.

"Empathic. So?"

She looked kind of cute when she was exasperated; I still enjoyed watching her face flush. "He senses your mood and emotions better than visual detail. He does not flip through memories like a book!"

I raised one skeptical eyebrow. "Does not? Or cannot?"

"Does not," she repeated. "Unless in dire need. His oath not to abuse his power. He is much stronger than his grandmother was."

Oath not to abuse his power...?

"You must be jesting."

"It costs him to break it!" she said, much more loudly than I thought wise.

I winced, putting my finger to my lips again and flicking my eyes to the left. She seemed to recall we were being watched and she forced herself to settle down.

Tamuril looked down, shook her head and made a sniffing sound, smoothing through the drying, blond hair again. I couldn't believe Isboern was still unconscious; this wasn't normal.

"Why is he not awake yet?" I asked again.

She shook her head again without looking up. "I do not know."

"What happened before I arrived?"

Now she looked up. "Before you shot at me?"

"It wasn't at you," I insisted. "I thought I saw something sneaking up behind you."

Tamuril's eyes were a lighter green than the Summer leaves above our heads, more like what I'd seen in Spring, when I first met her, but somehow they were piercing as Gavin's icy stare was at times.

"Perhaps you should ask Willven for help," she said. "It may be a symptom of..."

I glared as she drifted off, unwilling to speak of a mental break down for me. "I would have brought up an oddity like... perhaps I was trying to help you."

Her expression changed; it actually softened and perhaps she was a bit embarrassed. "A good point. You made to defend us, whether what you saw was there or not. I apologize, Sirana."

Damn. It took all the challenge out when these two just rolled over and let go of the bone. I expelled a breath. "So. What happened right before Willven became like this?"

She looked away. "That is...private."

Not helpful.

Then she said, "But I would add that you must believe in our connection if you would act to defend us."

"Or maybe because I hadn't yet the chance to ask how your bottom healed."

She remembered then she really shouldn't let down her guard after conceding a point with me. Didn't she know how this worked?

"My bottom is well, thank you," she answered, lifting her chin and releasing her breath slowly.

I was grinning. "No scars?"

"I cannot really see."

Too easy.

"Want me to look?"

Her eyes began to tear up and overflow. I was stunned...She wasn't about to weep on me, was she?

She did just that. She completely befuddled any further fencing in a sinking bog of tears. Down below, this would have been the signal to escalate the pain, to begin breaking her down now that her tolerance had so suddenly reached an end, and she would tell me anything I wanted. I wouldn't get away with that here, so I was left standing awkwardly and wondering what to do next.

*This is less fun that it used to be.*

Some of her tears dripped off her chin and landed in Isboern's hair and she shuddered quietly, holding in as many of the sobs as possible while gasping for air. I was kind of tired of not getting anywhere with her. She blocked me at every turn. What was most effective with her?

"What about the jynitha myotcee powder?" I asked, grasping for something to distract her from whatever I'd said that was so horrible it had made her cry.

She sniffed, willing to be distracted. "Genetha myocete?"

"Yes, that."

Tamuril nodded. "I have it still. I have used it for three of Willven's men with lung fester. It has helped."

"Worth the trade?" I was just curious.

She shrugged, lifting her face just enough for me to tell they were reddened again, but from just the tears, not any venom. Interesting.

"I do not know that they live, but it allowed them to defend Manalar. Given what you found at the necromancer's tower...I suppose it was inevitable."

"Just as well you received something for it, hm?"

She nodded.

I shifted my weight slowly, crossing my arms. "Was that medicine used before Jael arrived?"

Now she looked up warily, her wide eyes thankfully drying but cheeks still wet. "Yes."

I smiled. "What did you think of the city Willven was trying to save?"

It took true effort on her part not to look down again. "I knew he could not save it as he hoped to, but that was for Musanlo to reveal to him in time. I only planned to stay with him as long as I could, to help him through it."

I watched her long, pale fingers run through his hair again. "Hm. Do you worship Musanlo?"

She shook her head.

"Whom do you worship?"

She pursed her lips. "I will tell you what happened when Jael appeared, what I witnessed, if you cease asking me about what is personal to me."

For now, I added silently. We were only trading the one time. And I definitely wanted what was offered; I needed whatever would help me understand what had happened to Jael.

I nodded, taking to lean against a tree standing up, relieving just a bit of the pressure from my legs and protecting my back from interference from the Guildsman. "Very well."

She nodded and closed her eyes, breathing in, then out. She opened them and looked at the leaves of the low bush to her right and then back at me. "I had joined Willven as his squire, appearing a young Human boy to others without magic, and this fact—along with his dislike of the Witch Hunters—kept us outside the city walls as we prepared through the season to stockpile and to train."

I knew this already from several sources—Krithannia, Mourn, Auslan's vision—but I kept quiet to see how close Tamuril's version was. Interesting that she said "we prepared," though. She clearly allied much more closely with the Humans than her own race. But then, her own race had given her reason to, not only Tamuril herself telling me they thought her "tainted" for being raped by Drow, but the separation had begun much earlier than that, from what the dark-haired Noldor had said.

"Even out on the flats, the Hunters would bring him 'reports' from the Bishops, we saw them once or twice every day," she continued. "In the days before Jael's capture, Willven was anxious, his dreams strange, and he could only tell me he sensed something lurking at the trees' edge. He doubled his watchmen."

"He didn't go out searching?" I asked.

Tamuril shrugged. "He is not reckless in his responsibility to his men, and he knew it was only one mind. There have been other attempts on his life. He would draw a killer out in a crowded place, not single himself out hunting him down and give the assassin a better opportunity to isolate him from those under his command."

Much to Jael's frustration, I was sure, as Isboern kept himself behind a wall of a hundred Men. She would have liked him to jump on a horse, take a few bodyguards, and come out to challenge her. It would have been something she might have done in reversed roles. He probably would have died in that case.

"Eventually, Jael made a mistake," the druid said. At my expression, she said, "She stalked our camp for twelve days, Sirana. She did not have a good source of clean water so near a Human city and an army, and she had to keep moving to avoid patrols, which were frequent and changing pattern every day. She likely did not sleep for long, if at all. Willven simply waited her out. Sooner or later, if she did not retreat or move forward with a plan, she would be too tired to keep up her stake alone."

Much as I didn't like it, Tamuril was right, and Isboern had been cautious and smart in handling my Sister. Jael would have had to make the choice to retreat, and she didn't, likely spurred by the Ma'ab imminence and her desire to return home. That was why she was caught.

"What happened then?" I asked. "Describe it to me in detail."

Tamuril nodded. "I was awake watching over him as he slept when a Templar arrived. He reported a scuffle going on near the edge of camp, the Witch Hunters chasing a cloaked figure. Willven wanted to be able to question the assassin so we knew we had to get to them quickly."

Her eyes drifted away to the side for a moment. "When we arrived—"

"Wait," I interrupted. "How quickly?"

"What?"

"Something happened in between. What was it?"

The druid exhaled and looked up briefly. "Willven's mount is known for moving very quickly when the need is great, it no longer disturbs the Templars. They see it as a divine gift from Musanlo."