Welcome to this season finale of Forsaken by Shadows!
Before we dive into this last chapter of Part 1, I want to take a moment and thank a few people. The simple fact is that I would never have been able to make it this far into this project without the support, encouragement, and advice of my friends and family. I won’t be able to name all of you by name, but I wanted to shine light on a few folks who have been instrumental in the production of this story.
First, I want to thank Jonathon, the Dungeon Master and producer of Sojourner’s Awake! Podcast. Jonathan has become a dear friend over the last year, and he has personally previewed every episode before it launches. He makes sure my mistakes are fixed and encourages me in my attempts at voice acting. If you like dramatic, improvised storytelling, check out his work at Sojourner’s Awake!
Second, I want to thank Rhett, the producer and DM of Stack O’ Dice. Rhett and I met on the eve of releasing the first chapter of this story, but his impact has been huge (to include a collaboration in this very episode that I am quite excited about). Rhett has created a community of RPG enthusiasts and content creators on Discord that embraced me and walked with me through the ups and downs of learning to record and edit sound. His podcast, Stack O’ Dice, is a fantastic family friendly play through of D&D set in a homebrewed world, along with interesting and creative world-building episodes that have challenged and inspired me as a writer.
The folks I have met through both Sojourner’s Awake and Stack O’ Dice have been some of the kindest, most creative people I’ve encountered. They were my first subscribers, my first fans when this private project went public. They’ve written me kind notes and compliments on my work, and have helpfully pointed out typos that snuck through the editing process. Without these two podcasts sharing their platform with me, I would’ve been screaming into an echo chamber for a lot longer than I did.
Another contributor I want to thank is Jack. Jack works as a video editor, and he took the time to advise me on how to create the YouTube versions of this story. He previewed my early videos and sent me the most thoughtful and analytical comments on the writing and story. If any of you are writers, you know that nothing makes an author happier than people who take the time to think deeply about your characters.
Finally, I want to thank you, my listeners. I never thought I would have listeners. I never thought this project would make it past a handful of friends. You make all the hours I have poured into bringing Rismyn and Mazira to life worth it. My heart’s desire is for this story of redemption out of darkness to continue to bless and entertain you.
Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.
One last thank you before we begin. To my husband, Michael, for all of the love, support, and joy you shower upon me each and every day. You gave me the push I needed to believe that I could do something more with my words. When I write about Rismyn falling in love with Mazira, it’s easy to illustrate, because you fill my heart with the same enchanted feelings. Thank you for being my best friend.
~15. The Meaning of Smiles~
The last glow of Narbondel told Rismyn the hour was late, as he neared the end of his journey back to Tier Brech. The walk had been long and uneventful, but somehow more draining than the rest of the day’s events. It took all his strength of will to summon the last dregs of his energy and levitate himself into the safety of the cavern ceiling.
Rismyn never considered taking one last, long look at the city of his birth as he reached the illusionary stalactite. What was there to be sentimental over? He had hated everything about his life here except Mazira. Since she was no longer here, his entire focus was forward to where she lay.
Worry tempted his feet to rush onward, but exhaustion dragged him back. The now familiar stone passageways were as still and quiet as ever, which left him hopful nothing terrible had happened while he was away. He would make his way to their refuge and find Mazira exactly where he left her under Torafein’s stolen piwafwi.
Or perhaps he’d find something better. Perhaps he would return and Mazira would be awake, waiting for him, somehow knowing he was coming back for her. Yes, that would be best. Then his efforts today wouldn’t have been wasted. Then he could lay his head down on her lap, like old times, and share with her the burdens eating away at his heart.
Except that he wouldn’t dare. If there was one thing his long isolation had done, it was to make him acutely aware of all the ways he’d used her comfort unfairly. He’d leaned on her when she was already breaking and did nothing to lessen her strain. True, he’d shared his healing balm with her until Toloruel saw fit to give her more. He’d given her hugs when he came upon her bereft with tears, holding her without asking for songs in return. Mazira used to laugh and smile with him, and even told him once that he made her life better.
But were those words true? Or did she sense the hunger in his heart and feed the beast of his ego out of fear of what he would do if she didn’t? Was it not Mazira who had taught him how to read expressions to his own advantage? She had shared with him every trick in her book to twist his siblings into doling out lesser punishments. Feigned misery, exaggerated deference. He’d watched Mazira employ them all. What made him think she had treated him any differently?
Rismyn stared down at his hand, feeling the phantom sensation of the sting when he struck her all those years ago. Mazira had been right to play him for a fool. He didn’t deserve to have her care about his aches or concerns. Nor did she deserve to have to suffer through his revelations about the true meaning of love.
Assuming he could even trust his heart to feel such pure and wonderful things. Had he offered her hugs and healing balm out of kindness, or because he liked the way her body felt pressed against him? If he had truly loved her, why had it been so easy to raise his hand against her?
Rismyn shuddered. No, he would never burden her with one-sided affection again, whatever the emotion truly was. He would return her to the surface and take her to her home. Then he would go find solace elsewhere, maybe learn to atone for the selfish life he had lived and the crimes of race. He was only twenty-five. Surely in the centuries of life that stretched before him he could find happiness somewhere.
But Rismyn couldn’t fathom happiness without Mazira. Peace, then. He could settle for peace without joy.
At last, Rismyn reached the cave and, holding his breath, made his way through the narrow passage. He breathed only when he saw everything as he left it. Setting the packs down, Rismyn knelt beside Mazira, gently removing the fabric from over her face. She was as perfect and undisturbed as ever, breathing evenly and deeply.
And no longer burning scarlet.
Rismyn almost doubted what his infravision showed him. Instinctively, he traced a finger along her cheek, feeling for himself what his eyes told him to be true.
Her fever had finally broken.
Relief warmed his chilled soul like the rush of magic which heated Narbondel every new day. Feeling lighter than he believed possible, Rismyn cupped her cheek, marveling at the tiny miracle.
Another improvement, another sign of hope. Though his heart was growing weary of hope. He rose and went to one of the packs, rummaging until he found a waterskin. He set it down in the crack so that it would catch the drippings of the spring. He didn’t know how long it would take to fill, but hopefully, it would before his location was given to his mother.
Then, he returned to Mazira and slumped against the wall, the weight of his misery threatening to overwhelm once more. Although Mazira was getting better, he was still tired. Still alone. Still bearing the guilt of killing a woman who may or may not have deserved it.
Thinking was doing him no good at all. He needed to sleep. Things would seem better after he slept. Rismyn let out a deep breath and shut his eyes. “Please don’t hate me,” he whispered to the darkness, desperation stealing the words from his throat. “I had to do it. I’m so sorry.”
“Rismyn? Is that you?”
Rismyn sucked in a breath. He must be truly exhausted, for he imagined Mazira had just answered him. But the hallucination was better than the weight in his soul, so he let it be. The Mazira of his mind could hear his confession. She could bear the burden his real Mazira didn’t need to suffer.
“Yes, it’s me,” he said. “I know, I’m sorry. I hope you can forgive me. We needed the supplies. I had to do it.”
“I don’t understand. What did you have to do? Where are we? What’s happening?”
Rismyn frowned, his eyes still shut. These weren’t the things he imagined his imagined Mazira saying. He expected her immediate understanding and comfort. Confused, Rismyn finally opened his eyes–
–and stared in shocked disbelief.
Mazira, the real, flesh and blood Mazira, was awake. She was sitting up, staring around the cave in wonder, her lavender eyes glowing softly as she beheld the world in her infravision.
“Mazira!” he cried, far louder than he should have. He fell forward onto his hands and knees, all exhaustion gone. He touched her face–for her temperature–then her neck for her pulse. Finally, his hands landed on her shoulders, and he was so glad to see her he forgot his resolve that he needed to give her distance because she hated him. He pulled her into a tight embrace, his throat constricting with tears he refused to shed.
“You’re awake! I was so worried. How do you feel? Does anything hurt? Are you hungry? I have rations, I...” but he trailed off as he realized that she hadn’t returned his embrace. Images of their last meeting in the cleric room surged unbidden into his mind. Frantic, he released her and scrambled back. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. It’s just…I…” he shook his head. Too many words. He was chattering too many words. “I’m sorry. How do you feel?”
Mazira stared at him, almost as white as when she had lost all her blood. There was a slight tremble in her bones. This was all going wrong. He’d only had twenty seconds with her and he had already hurt her. Would he ever learn?
When she finally spoke, her words shook. “How…” she began. She clutched the piwafwi in her hands as if she would shred it. “How do you know my name?”
Rismyn’s whole body burned. He had called out her name on instinct, for the moment he learned it he had ceased to think of her as Kitty. “You told it to me,” he said, slowly. “Right before...don’t you remember?”
Mazira shook her head, stricken.
“I’m sorry,” he said. He should have known it had been a mistake. She had been on the brink of death, after all. “I...I won’t use it if you don’t want me to. But you’ll have to tell me what you want me to call you because now that I know I am never calling you by his name again.”
Mazira looked down at her hands. “I swore I would never give my name away,” she breathed, and he wasn’t entirely sure she was speaking to him. “It was all I had left…”
Rismyn couldn’t possibly feel worse if he slapped her again. Not only had he learned her name by mistake and used it against her will, he’d also given it to Kalos and Pearl. They would probably sell it back to his family, and then everyone would know her precious secret. If she didn’t hate him before, she was going to loathe him now.
He was about to apologize again, and even considered groveling when she turned her face up to the ceiling.
“But, it’s okay, if you use it.” He recognized her posture as one she used when she tried to refrain from crying. As if gravity could keep her grief in. “You’ve always been so kind as to let me use your name, after all. Just, please don’t tell it to my master.”
He wasn’t exactly relieved, but he nodded all the same. “Well, you don’t have to worry about that. He’s not your master any more.”
Mazira’s gaze turned sharply to him. “What do you mean?”
“It means we’re escaping,” Rismyn said. “I should have done this ages ago, I know. I’m sorry. But after what happened at the Academy…” he shook his head, still unable to bear the thought of it. “We’re free now. We’re never going back to House Tear.”
The effect of this statement was not what Rismyn expected. Mazira stared at him, blinking slowly for a full ten seconds. Then the blood that had drained from her face rushed back, with all the force of her broken fever. “No!” she cried, grasping the front of his adamantine shirt. “No, Rismyn, you have to take me back. You have to. Please!”
Her sudden panic shocked him, and at first, he didn’t know how to respond. He pushed her back gently so he could better see her face. “Absolutely not. Mazi…” but he couldn’t finish saying her name, now that he knew what it meant to her. “He’ll kill you.”
“Not if I go home,” she begged. “He’ll forgive his Kitty. He always forgives his Kitty. Please, Rismyn, take me back. You don’t understand what he’ll do if I don’t go back!”
She was on the verge of hysteria, and if she didn’t quiet down, who knew what danger she might attract. Not knowing what else to do, Rismyn pulled her into his chest, crushing her in a tight embrace and muffling her sobs against his body. “Hush, Mazi...it’s okay. He can’t hurt you anymore.”
“No,” she moaned, and she beat her fist weakly against his chest. “No, you don’t understand. He’s going to find us, and he’s going to kill us, and then he’s going to steal another little girl and I won’t let him!” She broke down into unintelligible sobs, clinging to him. “Please take me back...please…before he finds us and it's too late...”
Rismyn’s heart thundered as his sense of dread increased. He hadn’t considered the possibility of Toloruel taking another slave. Worse, part of him didn’t care, so long as he had Mazira safe on the surface. But he knew that was wrong, and once more his selfishness cut him. His jaw tightened as he tried not to hate himself. There was no time for self-pity, Mazira needed him.
“That’s not going to happen,” Rismyn said, stroking her hair. “I won’t let it happen. I’ll find him, and I’ll kill him. Then you’ll be safe, and every little girl on the surface will be safe forever. Do you hear me? You are free, Mazi…” He shook his head. Why did he so badly want to say her name? “Free. And I am taking you back where you belong. I’m going to protect you.”
But Mazira only cried harder. “I don’t believe you,” she whimpered, going slack in his arms and burying her face into his shoulder. “Why…” she choked out, in between hitching breaths. “Why did you take me away?” Her grip on his shirt tightened. “Why did you leave me?”
Rismyn never knew words could cut so deeply. He wasn’t sure which stunned him more, her complete and total rejection of the opportunity at freedom or her accusation of abandonment. She sounded so helpless, so pitiful. It tore his heart in ways that felt physical.
“I had to take you away,” he said, and he heard the desperation in his voice. He needed her to understand. “You would have…they were going to let you…” But he still couldn’t say it. What if he were just dreaming, and saying the words would make her fragility all the more real again? No, he would not say it. So he addressed her second concern. “As for leaving, I wasn’t gone long. I had to get supplies or we would die out here.”
“No,” she shook her head. Or at least tried to. With her face still pressed into his shoulder, she only accomplished smearing her tears further into his armor. “Not now. Why did you leave me then?”
And finally, Rismyn understood. She had no recollection that he had left her in the cave for a day. She was referring to when he left her for Melee-Magthere. And of all the wrongs he had done to Mazira, he knew that this sin was the worst.
He had left her alone in that house of monsters. Consigned her to misery and pain. It didn’t matter that he was just doing as he was told, following his mother’s orders. That was no excuse. He knew what sort of life Mazira was living. He had had a choice. He knew that, now. And all his life he had been making the wrong choices.
What was left of his heart dissolved. Rismyn held her tighter, if it were possible. He didn’t know what else to say or do, as his guilt and shame condemned him to silence. So he just held her while she sobbed, stroking her hair and murmuring encouraging refrains that he didn’t believe himself. How could he make her pain go away? How could he atone for fourteen years of abuse and neglect?
And that was only his lot to pay. That didn’t take into account the ledger of his brother, his mother, and his sisters, the debt for which he was determined to make up.
Mercy, she deserved so much better than him. But until he got her to the surface, he was all she had.
There must be something he could do for her. As children, he would offer her hugs, because she taught him hugs made things better. They always made him feel better. But he was already holding her with all he had, and still, her tears never wavered.
There had to be some way to ease her suffering the way she had always eased his.
Wait. That was it.
The answer struck him like a candle igniting, and made him wince in the very same way. Hugs were not the only thing Mazira had taught him to appreciate. From the very beginning, he had gone to her craving one thing. That one thing led to all the other things until he was captivated by everything that made Mazira Mazira. But it was that one thing that started it all, that shed the first tendrils of light onto his bleak existence.
The only problem was, he didn’t know how to utilize the tool. He’d never tried before, and they certainly didn’t teach him this skill at Melee-Magthere. Bone-monsters and necromancers he could handle. But this? This sent shivers all down his spine.
But then, Mazira was shivering. Shuddering, really, as some invention of her mind welled out beneath her lashes.
What was wrong with him? Was he always going to be this selfish?
No. He was tired of living for himself. So, with a tremulous breath, he did what he always believed would be the death of him. He started to sing.
“Home is the heart of my love,
Though the road be long and weary
And the journey ever dreary,
My soul will find warmth and fire
In the hearthstone of my dearest’s smile
If only at the end of the day
I enter my lover’s embrace
I will always come home,
I will always come home.”
The moment he began the song, Mazira went stiff in his arms. He only made it through the first verse before his courage failed him. The Common words tasted strange on his tongue, and he didn’t like the sound of his own voice as much as he liked Mazira’s. Her sudden silence–though that was the whole purpose of his singing–had the opposite effect on him than he intended. Rather than be pleased he comforted her, he was convinced he had offended her worse.
But when Mazira pulled back from his arms, she was smiling. The tears were still falling, but she laughed.
Which only made him flush with embarrassment. Well, he might not have been soothing, but at least he had given her something to laugh about. If a fissure would like to open up and swallow him whole, Rismyn would’ve quite appreciated it.
“Sorry–” he began, but she cut him off.
“You remember.” Her smile faltered, and there was pain in her eyes. She drew back from him, wiping her tears with her palm.
“Of course I remember,” Rismyn said. He didn’t know what to do with himself anymore. “I could never forget.”
And gods knew he had tried, back when he believed he was broken for loving surface-songs. He’d tried so hard to scrub himself clean of every taint Mazira had left on him, but how could he lose the best parts of himself?
Mazira made a sound like she was in pain, and he saw her eyes glisten again.
“No, no, don’t cry!” He said, distressed. “I’m sorry, I–”
But she held up a hand to stop his torrent of words. “It’s not your fault. It’s just been so long since I’ve cried, I think my body is making up for lost time.”
“Really?” Rismyn asked, feeling a smattering of hope. If she truly hadn’t cried in a long time, then that was a good thing, right? It meant her time alone in House Tear wasn’t as bad as he imagined it must have been.
“Mm. I’d say it’s probably been years. I haven’t cried since–” She looked up at him suddenly, fear flitting across her eyes. Then her gaze dropped into her lap and she said no more.
Rismyn flinched. Hope must be a thing with moth wings. Fluttering and fragile. Her silent accusation hung heavy and taut between them, shredding through his hope before it could soar too high aloft.
He understood her perfectly. Mazira hadn’t cried since he last made her cry. In all his fantasies and mad ravings of how that afternoon in the ritual room concluded, none of them had ever considered Mazira alone, crying, after she had mocked him so fiercely.
Beholding her now, her face crisscrossed with hot tear lines, he wondered how he could have ever invented any other tale. And now here they were again, alone together for the first time in five years. And Rismyn was still making her cry.
“Mazi…” He leaned forward as though to take her hands, but hesitated.
Mazira jerked her hands away, a motion she tried to cover by wiping her eyes again. But he wasn’t fooled.
Shame burned in his gut like a pit of acid. He took his own hands back, fidgeting with them. He didn’t know what to say or do to communicate how awful he felt, how sorry he was. Faltering, he ran his rejected hands through his hair. He wasn’t used to it falling into his eyes just yet.
“What happened...that day…” he began, hoping the darkness would supply his words. “I was wrong. More than wrong, an idiot. I looked for you, to tell you how sorry I was–am! I still am, but I couldn’t find you, I thought you were avoiding me.”
No, no, no. This was not going right. Even his apologies sounded like accusations of wrong on her part. Weak excuses for his behavior, a pleading in his words for her to absolve him of all guilt. Desperate, he surged on, throwing more words at her as if that would solve the problem of too many words.
“Which, of course, if you were avoiding me, that would have been completely right to do! I definitely don’t deserve your mercy, I never should have–”
“What happened to your hair?”
Her question sliced off his caravan of thought. Mazira tried to smile as she asked it, but there was a sharpness, a finality to her tone.
She didn’t want his apologies. She didn’t want to talk about it.
Rismyn slumped back, completely at a loss. He couldn’t think of anything to say to bridge the gulf that had come between them. He was worse than poison for her.
Mazira seemed to sense the tension. She laughed in a way he supposed he was meant to believe was genuine. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’ve just been wondering, you look so different. What were you saying?”
But her eyes were wide with fright.
Rismyn’s lips twitch in a dead smile. “Oh, this?” he laughed his own nervous laugh, running a hand through his hair again. Pearl had left it hanging longer in the front, so that it framed his face, but cut the back shorter. He supposed it was as good an act of defiance as any since his noble rank had demanded the opposite. “Just trying something different.”
Mazira’s relief was palpable. Apparently, allowing the subject to change was the first correct thing he had done all day. “I like it,” she said. “It suits you.”
“Thanks.”
Silence fell thicker than the darkness. Silence he didn’t know how to broach. Until he registered the constant sound that had been his companion all this time. The dripping no longer echoed now that he had set the waterskin to catch it.
“We’re going to have to move, soon,” Rismyn said. “It won’t be safe here much longer.”
“Why not?” Her eyes trailed about the cave again. “Where is here, anyway? You never told me.”
“Truthfully, I don’t know.” He was a little more at ease, now that words were flowing between them again. “Somewhere in the Wilds above Menzoberranzan.”
It was clear from her stunned expression that Mazira had thought they were still in the city. The color drained from her face, and for one terrible moment, Rismyn feared she would burst back into tears.
Instead, her jaw set in grim determination. “How did we get here?”
Rismyn blinked. The memories of how they arrived in this small refuge were still vivid and painful to him. “I carried you here…after…what do you remember?”
Mazira tilted her head aside, considering. “I don’t know. Let’s see”–she put a hand to her brow– “I remember feeding Mistress Mindra’s spider. And then Master–”
“Toloruel,” Rismyn corrected sharply.
She flinched, and Rismyn’s shoulders fell.
“Use his name,” he said, more gently. “He doesn’t own you anymore.”
“And...then I was summoned.” But she didn’t correct her previous statement. “I remember walking through the city, and going to Melee-Magthere, and…” she hesitated. “And seeing you in the class.”
So she had noticed him. His heart warmed ever so slightly.
Mazira eyed him more closely. “Your hair was still long.”
“Yeah,” he laughed. “It’s a recent change. From today, actually.”
He could see a question in her eyes, but rather than ask whatever it was she moved on recounting her memories. “I remember the other one, too, the one who grabbed me.”
Dreder, she meant. Rismyn wouldn’t have minded if she had forgotten that detail. He could feel his expression darkening as she said it.
“And then…” she frowned. “I remember being afraid. I remember you were angry.” She shook her head. “And then I woke up here.”
“That’s all?” he asked, incredulous.
Mazira blushed. “Well, that and the dream.”
“Dream?”
“Yes.” She looked like she regretted mentioning it. “It’s nothing. Just a strange dream.”
But he could tell by the way her eyes shifted that it bothered her.
“What was it about?” Rismyn asked. He wasn’t exactly eager to fill in the gaps in her memory. It had been terrible enough for him to live through. She didn’t need to know.
Mazira looked like she wanted to hold onto the threads of the previous subject, but she relented. “I was a child again,” she began. “Playing in a meadow. That’s a big flat area of land surrounded by forest.”
“I remember.” He settled back as she spoke. She had told him of mountains and fields, valleys, and the ocean. He remembered all of it, every detail.
Mazira nodded. “It was nighttime, and all the forest around me was in pitch black shadow, a shadow I couldn’t see through. The moon was lighting up the meadow, but it wasn’t the moon, at the same time.”
“What was it?” he asked, to prove he was listening. She had taught him the storytellers in her traveling village expected the audience to ask questions. It kept them engaged in the moment.
“It was…” she frowned as the memory eluded her. “Yes, that was it. There was a cat, sitting in one of the trees. A great big cat, but not like the beasts in Menzoberranzan. Do you remember what I told you about house cats?”
Rismyn nodded. “They were small and kept as companions.” It was the creature Toloruel had named her after. A creature he couldn’t fathom, for the only cats that he knew of were monstrous things; exotic predators from the surface and six-legged displacer beasts.
“Right.” She almost seemed pleased, and for that he was glad he asked her to tell the story of her dream. “Well this cat was as big as me, and her eyes shone like moonlight, and everywhere the cat looked, I had light to see by.” She paused, looking thoughtful, before shaking her head as if clearing a thought away.
“Anyway, I was playing with my dolly, the one Mama made me out of a dress I’d had when I was a little girl.” She stared up at the cavern ceiling. “Then there were monsters in the forest. I could hear them, snarling and howling. I knew they were coming for me.”
Rismyn began to grow concerned. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to ask her about this dream, after all. “That sounds like it was a nightmare.”
But Mazira shook her head. “No, it wasn’t. I was never afraid because somehow I knew as long as I stayed in the cat’s gaze, I would be safe. So I kept on playing.”
“Oh,” said Rismyn. He was trying to visualize what she was describing, but the only forests he knew of were mushroom groves, and the only cats were vicious monsters. Moonlight, he supposed, flickered like candlelight. He knew of play and dollies because Ashlyrra, just a few years younger than he, had been permitted such joys. Girls had that privilege in Menzoberranzan. Rismyn had been careful to keep all his childhood games in his head.
“There was more,” Mazira went on. “While I was playing, a little wolf cub came limping into the meadow. And then I was frightened because he was one of the monsters, but he was injured and frightened, too.”
This was easier to visualize. He’d seen wolves, albeit from a distance. Bloodthirsty, savage things that were kept as pets. They were often starved to the point of death, then let loose into confined spaces with unfortunate slaves. At least, that’s what his classmates told him.
Suddenly, Rismyn realized his mind was wandering, and he missed Mazira’s next words. Chastened, he turned his attention back to her story just in time to hear her say, “I tried to feed him sunlight.”
“What?” he asked, confused by the sentence.
“I know, it doesn’t make sense.” She shrugged. “But I tried, anyway. I cupped my hands together and held the light to his nose but the cub refused it. But I knew he needed to eat it, or he would get worse and worse. So, I turned the sunlight into little berries. Sunberries, I called them.”
Rismyn went very, very still. “What…?”
Mazira pressed on, not noticing his change in demeanor. “I took the sunlight and formed it into little golden berries. And I fed them to him, and his wounds got better. Then I was hungry too, so I ate as well. And we played together in the meadow, and every time we got hungry, I made more berries.”
Now Rismyn was openly staring. It was impossible. Surely she didn’t make the sunberries. She was unconscious, helpless. She must have just been influenced by his feeding them to her, although he distinctly remembered that he never said his name for the fruit out loud.
But Mazira was still talking. “And then one day I couldn’t make any more berries. Then the wolf cub went off to find food, and I was scared for him. I pleaded with the cat to watch after him because he was going back into the den of monsters. For a long time, the cat didn’t move. She just watched me with her moon-eyes. Then, suddenly, she leaped into the night, and I woke up.” Mazira glanced at him expectantly, waiting for some kind of response.
Rismyn didn’t say anything. It was just a dream, he told himself. Just a strange dream influenced by the things happening around her. She must not have been so deeply unconscious as he thought.
But even as he thought it, he found he didn’t believe it.
Mazira shifted self-consciously. “Rismyn, are you okay? It was just a dream. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Rismyn shook his head, still in disbelief. “No. Not a ghost...but...maybe a god.”
She straightened, clearly shocked by his words. “What are you talking about?”
“Those sunberries...Mazi, I think you saved our lives.”
She laughed a little, because what else could one do in the face of such irrational explanations? “It was only a dream.”
“Was it?” He leaned forward in earnest. “While you were just dreaming, I was surviving on miraculous sunberries here, in the waking world.”
Mazira looked confused, so he told her everything. How he carried her into the cave, the cave that had no cracks or water in it when he arrived but had somehow developed later. He told her about the strange, sun-colored berries he found that healed him and saved her from the brink of death.
Which led to the question of why she had been on the brink of death, which meant he had to explain that she had been stabbed. And then the horrible game of keep away that Dreder had started. By the end of it, he’d told her all that had happened, from his flight from Menzoberranzan to his recent return for supplies when the berries stopped coming.
“They wanted me to kill someone,” he said, as he came to the end of the tale. “A rogue priestess.” He was no longer looking at Mazira, for he wasn’t brave enough to face the condemnation she was surely showing him.
Rismyn opened his mouth to go on but found the words lodged in his throat. It was bad enough he’d had to admit that her mortal injury was essentially his fault, the result of challenging Dreder. Did he have to admit he was a murderer too? Of course, he’d killed Gylas, but somehow he managed to leave that detail out of the story.
Rismyn clenched his fists and searched for a lie to cover up his crimes. But before he could come up with one, Mazira spoke in a tremulous whisper.
“So, what happened?”
He looked up at her, searching her face for a hint of her thoughts. Was that truly condemnation behind those lavender eyes? Or was it compassion? Or had she simply not yet decided what she felt, and was reserving judgment until the end.
He wanted so badly for her to understand him. The way she’d understood them when they were small.
“So I did it,” he confessed. “I didn’t think about it. I just...went and did it. And afterward, I realized what a horrible thing it is, taking a life.” He shuddered. “But I didn’t feel that way when I killed Gylas after he hurt you. So I guess I’m not so pure after all.”
Mazira’s eyes widened in surprise. And possibly fear. Then, to his absolute shame, her eyes welled with tears.
“Oh, Rismyn, I’m so sorry.”
Which was not the response he expected. “What? Why?”
“What you’ve had to go through.” She scrubbed the tears from her eyes. “What an awful ordeal. I’m so sorry.” She looked away. “You’ve done all this for me. You’ve thrown away everything you’ve ever wanted. I’ve been a terrible burden to you. If you take me back–”
“Mazira, no!” His tone was so forceful that she flinched and drew back from him. But Rismyn was too furious with her words to notice he had frightened her. He sat up straighter, facing her directly. “Don’t you get it? I didn’t throw anything away. For the first time in my life, I’ve done something worthwhile.”
“But I’m not worth–”
“Yes, you are,” he insisted. “And nothing you say will convince me otherwise. I’ve spent my whole life living as an arrow in my mother’s quiver. Just a mindless tool; sharp, pointed, and disposable. Well I won’t play her games for her anymore. I won’t be a tool for anyone's games. I’m never going back to the drow way of life, and I’ll be dead before I let you go back. Do you understand?”
She was trembling. “But...but...my master…”
“Toloruel,” he corrected again, seething. “I know you’re afraid. Well, I’m afraid, too. But didn’t you hear me? Didn’t you hear yourself? You were saved.”
She only gaped at him, and Rismyn didn’t know if it was confusion or disbelief. So, he continued to explain himself.
“I know what a mortal wound looks like,” he said. “I’ve learned to give them and I’ve learned to spot them. You should be dead, Mazi.” He shuddered again when he remembered how cold and pale she had been. “I suspected it was a miracle you survived, but you confirmed it with your dream. And if a god directly intervened in your life, then you have something more to live for than slavery. I’m not about to get in the way of fate by taking you back to House Tear. Are you?”
Mazira tried to look anywhere but directly at him, but every time her eyes escaped his, they inevitably came back. She looked stricken, and she started to curl in on herself. “Do...do you really believe that?”
“Absolutely,” he declared, which was a complete and total lie. He certainly wanted to believe it, but his track record with deities wasn’t a great one. It was an interesting idea, and possibly even a good theory, but faith was not something he was in high supply of at the moment. Still, it made an impressive speech, and if it convinced her to cooperate with their escape, all the better for it.
Mazira seemed just as astonished by his declaration as he was. She looked down at her hands, over to the crack in the wall, and then back to Rismyn. He said nothing while she absorbed the words and processed them.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, she nodded. “Okay…” she said, but her voice was weak and her face had lost all color. “Okay...I...I’ll try.” She nodded again more resolutely. “But we have to stop him, Rismyn. We have to keep him from doing this to someone else. Promise me we will stop him.”
“We will,” Rismyn said, another statement he didn’t believe. Toloruel was older than him by a century and more. Rismyn was an Academy dropout. Unless this whole divine-intervention thing was true, there was no stopping Toloruel. “I promise.”
Mazira looked like she wanted to be sick. “Is it odd that I feel so tired since you’ve said I’ve been sleeping for days?”
“Not at all,” he assured her. She had, after all, miraculously returned from death’s door. He wasn’t familiar with miracles, but if they were anything like magic they were the more exhausting the bigger they were. “Here.” He got up and went to one of the packs, pulling out a bedroll and coming back to her. “I can keep watch for a bit. This’ll be more comfortable than stone.”
Mazira reached out to accept it, but Rismyn held onto it for a moment.
“There’s one more thing,” he said, kneeling to her eye level. “I need you to hear this, and then I promise I won’t talk about it again.” He took a deep breath. “I hurt you before. In more ways than one. I know it and I’m sorry. I swear I will never hurt you again. Ever.” He released the bedroll.
There was more he wanted to say. He would have liked to tell her she was the most precious thing in the world to him, that he loved her and would always protect her, but Pearl’s warning was still fresh in his mind. So he settled for the apology and hoped that would be enough.
Mazira smiled, and he finally recognized her false smile for what it was.
She didn’t believe him. Had she ever believed him?
“Thank you,” was all she said, taking the bedroll from him. Then she went about making herself comfortable, and Rismyn turned away so she could rest. He didn’t know what else to do, for the only words he had left were words he was forbidden to share.
Forsaken by Shadows Chapter 15: The Meaning of Smiles