*Jaw drop* Another captivating chapter Foxy! I'm really anxious to find out who he saved, and if he manages to save her. Looking forward for more!

15. A twist towards a New Beginning

From the heart of the storm the savage and unceasing wind whips the froth from the waves into a mist slashing over the deck of the tossing ship, reaching into every corner and turning each into a salt-encrusted purgatory. Laden with a cargo of pirates, passengers, passions and peril, the quivering ship lurches through and against the storm, the howl of the wind counterpointed by the regularly protesting creak of its timbers and the shouts, faint against the wind's wrath, of the captain laying a course for the steersman. Night has not fallen, yet the storm has darkened the daylight down to a gloomy murk, with only the flashes of intermittent lightning from the heavens to show a sea whipped up to a surging violence of heaving waves. A god's eye view from above would show a tossing and corkscrewing ship thrust along its twisting course by force of wind and wave, steered by a mixture of cunning, fear and greed, and guided by a single, unwavering will.

Ex-Archmage Morkwin's. Morkwin, now in deadly fear and even deadlier hate.

No props to sustain him, now. The famous chair has been left with his vainglorious robes and the rest of the psychological armour that insulated him from his insecurities: lying in his personally designed office, gathering a fine layer of dust from being neglected for the first time in its existence. In the halls of the Archmage, the presence of Morkwin's personality is absent - the Mages no longer tread warily and talk with an unseen guard on their lips. For Morkwin has left all this, his former life, to gamble on recovering his fortunes with a single venture.

Daryen...he is the key to all this. It was his disappearance that brought all this to pass...and now I am beset with enemies both before and behind. And perhaps within, too, for I cannot rely on the trustworthiness of this pirate crew forever.

And yet I shall not - I CAN not - give up. In spite of all that has passed, I will win it back - with even more than what I had before! - with the force of my planning and will. I was not born to be defeated by a disappearing Mage, or by this puny storm, or by an unreliable crew, or even by those treacherous and backbiting fools of the Council...

Morkwin's mind flashes back to the last Council Meeting, and while his face had been set in stone throughout all the lashing of the salt-encrusted wind, he now grimaces in remembered pain.

Why had he not seen it coming? After many years of manipulating the Council, it should have been obvious to him that at least one of the Council would have studied him, and learnt from his successes. He also had put too much faith in the power of the seeing stones to alert him to any plots to undermine him. The conspiracy to overthrow him had been hatched in meetings held away from their offices, far from the stones: not, he later discovered, because the conspirators had discovered the secrets of the stones, but simply because they believed he had human spies everywhere, even in their offices, and so their meetings had taken place in either places with no human nearby, or in public places with massive human turnover - such as in the market. A sudden wry grin breaks through the black hate and fear clouding his mind. To succeed in the beginning because my enemies underestimated me, and to finally fall because they overestimated me - now that's irony for you. The half-smile suddenly changes to a snarl. But I will never forget the insult they piled upon injury at the end! To strike me, to pull me down is one thing - but to humiliate me was an injury beyond all forgiveness. Yes, you traitors, no matter how long it takes - or arduous the effort - I shall strike all of you down!

I never imagined...before I could spring my surprise on them, they sprung one of their own on me! With planted 'evidence' that purported to 'prove' I had been taking bribes to 'support my luxurious life and ostentatious display'...with no warning and no time, I could not prove my innocence in the Council. And thus was I not only removed, but disgraced as well. I still remember the mingled fear and triumph in their eyes as the final vote was announced. They knew they had achieved their end through lies, and they knew I knew, and they feared me. Yes, traitors, you were right to fear. I never forget an insult.

A sudden lull in the wind slows the violence of the ship's progress to something almost approaching bearable, and Morkwin half-straightens up from his crouch to move forward to peer over the bow. He has to adjust his position, as the ship makes a sudden turn. Morkwin frowns. While he is not a navigator, he knows the stars well, and he can see that the ship is turning well away from its course. He braces himself against the reduced roll of the ship, and moves forward again, this time with the intent of talking to the captain.

"Ahoy there! Sera! Sera Mage! Hold on the ropes! Wave coming!"

Even as the words penetrate his consciousness he finds himself grabbed from behind and thrust unceremoniously to a post, where a rope is thrust into his hands. Morkwin opens his mouth to protest, then as he realizes the sailor who has manhandled him is rapidly lashing himself to the post by the waist, he follows suit too. Lashed tightly, he risks a glance around.

From astern, he sees a huge wave breaking. towards the ship, and he understands now the reason for the sailor's warning. The wave gathers height and speed as it races to the ship, and Morkwin feels fear for the first time in the voyage. It is impossible that the ship can survive this...

The onset of the following wave accelerates the ship forward in a surge just before it reaches the stern, and this saves the ship from the full force of the wave's fury. A tremendous lurch, the stern dipping first upward and then downward and pulling Morkwin to the back - he thanks his luck that the sailor had warned him in time to enable him to lash himself to a firm anchor - then the wave breaks over him, and Morkwin is underwater. He clenches his teeth and holds his breath. Just as he is beginning to wonder if he will drown after all, he feels air on his face again, and he opens his eyes a fraction. They have not sunk! The suction of the water falling off the ship is dragging him again. He grips the post, not completely trusting the rope tightening in response around his waist, till the suction eases. Shaking with reaction, he draws a rasping breath, and his mind registers that the ship is turning again. And that the captain, walking surely and rapidly with the seaman's bow-legged waddle, is approaching him.

"Sera Mage, I think you should go below decks - this storm is abating, but we still have these freak waves. Good thing my man warned you in time for you to secure yourself. You can't see much of anything from the deck, anyway..."

"Ah, yes - that wave, captain. I presume you turned so that the wave wouldn't hit us from the front or the side?"

"Ah, you noticed that, Sera! Yes, these waves usually hit at the very end of a storm, and they always strike out of a lull. The best way to ride them out is to watch out for them, and turn away from them when they do arrive. But at least there's one good thing about them - when they come you know that the storm's nearly blown itself out. We should have calm weather in an hour or two from now."

"Interesting, captain. Thank you. And I think I will avail myself of your suggestion, and go down..."

Morkwin climbs down the ladder to below decks, smiling now. A metaphor has just occurred to him.

Freak waves strike out of calm, but they can be avoided by foresight. And after the worst waves, the storm dies out. A metaphor, indeed - the worst has struck in my life, and I am riding it out. If I overcome this, then the storm will pass.

And, of course, then I can strike back.

Still smiling, he descends into the bowels of the ship.

A quick apology to my constant readers.

I've been very busy of late, and of course there was this timeout given to me (entirely my fault, I did something really stupid ) and so the next installment was delayed.

But more installments, and some quite surprising plot twists, will be coming soon - that I promise!

-tracked topic-
I'll read till the hay fever burns out my evil eye
Keep up the good work :goodjob:

16. Raising the Stakes

"We then appear to have reached an impasse."

Divayth Fyr speaks softly, with his back to his audience. He is staring out of the window at the stars.

Perhaps he does not want his face to be seen, or he wishes to show contempt - even to a King and his court - for the rejection of his proposals. Perhaps it is the old actor's trick, of forcing the audience to concentrate on him. Or it could be that it is none of these, and that Divayth is genuinely tired of the bickering which is all that the meeting has produced so far.

The room is large, and it contains only four in it: Divayth, Silath, 'Mind-Like-Whip' and Penwin, the Hlaalu representative, but it seems full nevertheless. Four powerful personalities, four large egos in a room will always create a tension and a sense of narrowness, even in King Silath's chamber that is both large and tastefully under-furnished. With only five chairs and a single agate-topped table in front of King Silath, the room should appear empty, yet the space which the lack of furniture creates has opened room for a speaker to walk out and pace in the center of the room.

Which Divayth has just done.

Resuming his slow walk, he now turns to face his audience. They have moods and faces ranging from guarded to hostile, but none have removed or reduced their attention to his words. Divayth has the reputation, and the power, to command such attention: the power of Telvanni allied to the power of his own personality and intelligence means that no one's attention wanders when Divayth speaks.

And he is speaking again.

"To recapitulate: we have come here to try to decide how to further proceed in the wake of the crime that has happened here. I am sure that none of us expected that three such shocking events would happen all at once - the murder of Lady Venera, the fire in the Castle, and the disappearance of the Mages Guild representative to the investigation into the secrets of Isle of Valleron. It is only natural that some of us may believe that these events are connected, and that drastic action is necessary.

However - "

- here Divayth pauses, and looks directly at Silath, and smiles -

" - we have to understand that there are many who have an interest in this business, and that precipitate action by one of the parties may not go down at all well with the others! In this connection, I think it is time to openly and candidly talk about what has not yet been mentioned today. Let us be frank - all of us suspect that perhaps one of the parties in this room has had something to do with the murder of Lady Venera Valleron. The motive being of course the possession of the many magical artifacts that were being daily uncovered on the isle, in addition to being the possixr of the key to the so-called 'Valleron pearls' which is still unknown..."

"And THAT's-sss-swhy the Mages Guild rejects s-s-your proposals, sh-Silath! All of us object to your plans to take sole control of this island!"

'Mind-Like-Whip's' rough Argonian voice, with sibilants hissing under stress, cuts across Divayth's smooth tones, drawing an instant flush from King Silath's face, His frown and his fury follow an instant later in a bellow that shakes the room.

"And a FINE MESS your Guild has made, Argonian! Even a child can see the connection between your Emissary's disappearance and that woman's murder - murder in the rooms of my very own castle! He wanted the secret from her, and when she wouldn't give it to him he killed her, then set fire to my castle and ran! D'ye think I'm going to trust any of you lot after this? The island's in my territory, and I'm going to get to the bottom of this - in my own time and with my own methods!"

"Well, excuse me for objecting, your Majesty - but I, on behalf of Hllalu, most emphatically object. Perhaps we are far too cynical, but certainly a case could be made that the events could also lend themselves to the interpretation of the act of someone wanting both the Mages Guild and Venera out of the way, and setting fire in the palace to cover his tracks. Besides - there is the legal aspect to consider. I am sure your Majesty has not forgotten that you agreed to suspend any claim to ownership of Isle Valleron till the claim of Venera was fully judged, and as she has died before that judgment was made the case is still sub judice. And -"

"You DARE to accuse ME of MURDER...IN MY OWN COURT?"

"Hlaalu has spoken no such words, Your Majesty - but many outside this room are most probably doing so even as we speak. And to return the legal aspect of the case, the Lady Venera dying before the case was judged, the interests of the suit follow to her heirs. And I am in possession of Lady Venera's will, which explicitly states that in the event of her death by violence, House Hlaalu is heir to her possessions - and thus now on behalf of House Hlaalu, I formally state to all of you that we intend to prove her legitimacy posthumously."

"What? FORGERY!"

"F-Fffforgery indeed!!! I also refuse to believe this!"

"Your Majesty, and Mage 'Mind-Like'Whip', I strongly advise you to choose your words with care. House Hlaalu is not famed for its fighting prowess, but let me assure you that a direct attack on both its reputation and its rights will meet with a response as vigorous as its resources will allow. And our resources are deep, indeed. This will is definitely no forgery, as we have impeccable witnesses to its signature."

"And I tell you to your face that this appears to be very convenient indeed, Penwin! The disputant to the isle is dead, and suddenly you have a will making you the heirs! Why couldn't it be that you were the one who has engineered this whole mess? I did not keep my Crown be being a fool, and trusting any great House - especially yours, famed for its cunning where its interests are concerned. Do you think I don't know that your House has hired assassins to kill for rewards a hundredth of what can be found on the Isle?"

"House Hlaalu - "

"Enough!"

Divayth has not raised his voice, yet it cuts through the squabble like a whip. He has also turned, and is facing them with arms folded.

"In all your bickering and suspicions of each other, has it not occurred to you that there is another possibility for the cause of this assassination? That an external actor has done the assassination, kidnapped Mage Daryen, and set the fire to confuse and confound all of you? And that in being disunited and suspicious as you are now, this creates an excellent opportunity for him to attempt to steal this Isle's treasure while you quarrel?"

There is a long, pregnant silence, which 'Mind-Like-Whip' breaks first.

"Well said, Sera Divayth, and nicely reasoned. Yet the core of our dissension still remains - none of us now trust the others enough to allow them sole authority in the search for the Isle's treasure, and it would be too unwieldy to create search teams consisting of members from all the interested parties. Yet I suspect you may have a solution, and if so we would all be glad to listen to it...I presume none here object to Sera Divayth at least offering a solution?"

Divayth's eyes sweep the room. The tension is thick, with suspicion even thicker, yet none appear to be openly hostile to his speaking. When he is assured he has all their attention, he speaks again.

"What I propose is this. This isle is to be legally declared under the joint protectorate of all the parties, and all parties to declare that the decision of the court on the ownership of the isle, whatever it may be, will not take effect for ten years. During this time the joint protectorate will stand. In these ten years, the isle is to be guarded by ships and patrols manned by members of all parties, and excavation to be done by teams of each party one week at a time. All artifacts discovered by the teams to be placed in a joint treasure room, where it will be judged by a team of experts on its worth, and whomsoever wants that artifact will have to offer fair compensation based on that value to all the other parties."

"To prevent any party from secretly smuggling out discovered artifacts, a search down to the skin policy - again, carried out by all the parties - to any person leaving the island will be carried out. Finally, a joint declaration that no ship other than those authorized by the protectorate is to even approach the island, on pain of immediate attack."

"I believe this is the most acceptable compromise that all of us can make. What do you say? Be it not better to gain a portion of the treasure without strife, than to gamble on a war that may lose you all of it?"

Divath looks at the slow realization dawning on their faces, and he knows he has won. They will ask for time to think over it, but in the end they will agree.

While his face remains impassive, a small quiet smile lights up a corner of his heart.

For I know something you don't, Seras. I know that one Valleron is still alive, although which one I know not. And my own research places me in a much better position to find her...and if I do find her, I think I can offer her a far better proposal than any of you.

Light steals in through the windows, and Divayth blinks in surprise. They have talked through the whole night.

17. A Rose by any other Name

Candlelight creates shadows that move and change identity, molding themselves to the contours of cave walls to create images that emerge from the depths of the subconscious to taunt and haunt those foolish enough to gaze long into them. Look, and you will see: whatever haunts you, whatever you have feared or desired, even that which you did not know you did - if you gaze long and deep enough into the shadows, they will tell the tale of your mind. And your heart. The reality lies, but the shadows do not.

Right now Daryen is seeing a heart. And a dagger. And...and, nothing at all.

Staring at the flickering shadows, seeing and yet oblivious to sight, Daryen's mind is picking at the scab of a conundrum that refuses to heal. Ever since he has carried Visleith - or Venera? - to this cave, stocked it with whatever provisions he could lift using his own strength and feather spells, one part of his mind has mercilessly castigated him for choosing a course of action that can have no good ending, no matter which way he chooses to play it. And even as this voice of fear was constantly whining in the background, he had been working in a cold fury of speed and precision: planning, moving, counter-checking, pausing at the least suspicion of discovery or the possibility of a flaw, for seventeen hours at a stretch he had not paused to rest for a moment. A grimace briefly flickers across his face. If he had not taken a brief nap, after the exhausting journey from the castle to the cave and the emergency medical treatment of his wounded love immediately after their arrival at the cave, he could well have collapsed during that time.

As it was...he did collapse, immediately after the last part of his seventeen hour marathon of work, planning, revising, and work. But at least I made sure that I could not be disturbed, he thought to himself. This time he smiles. Creating a false wall that sealed off this section of the cave, and at the same time embedding a very cleverly disguised trapdoor in it - that took a lot of work, Magika, and some good old fashioned sweat and tools as well. And I am almost sure that no one will think of looking for a trapdoor in the roof of the tunnel, rather than the floor or walls!

As suddenly as it had appeared, the smile vanishes from his face, morphing into a frown. He glances at the coffin, and grimaces.

I can delay no longer.

For three days he has been putting this off. His reasons were valid - it does take time to heal, even if the means of healing are magical. Yet even as he had decided on the healing process, a part of his mind had been screaming its protest against the way that he had chosen.

Why did his being shudder at the thought of using to coffin to heal her? He thought he had long passed the stage of superstition with regard to coffins, and in any case it was not a coffin - it was the box that had kept Visleith alive for him. Daryen glances at the coffin, and in spite of his self assurances a small shudder erupts in his mind. This provides the trigger for his doubts to leaps again to the fore of his mind and resumes the duel with his self.

I had no choice.

Oh yes, you did! You could have used your own magika!

And that would have meant continual attention to her. And how then could I have sealed the cave? What if a search party had discovered us? We would all have been imprisoned and tried for murder.

You used Magika which you did not understand. No good can come of this!

Enough! What's done is done, and no use thinking over what might have been. And we can put this off no longer. We both have to know...now.

Ending the mental dialogue between the opposing sides in his mind. Daryen slowly moves to the coffin and again casts a detect life spell on it.

He blinks.

The spell shows that whoever is in the coffin is not only alive, but awake. And is in full health.

Trembling, his mind a riot of emotions, Daryen undoes the catches on the lid, and shoves it aside.

And she is there, arms folded across her chest, her eyes open and looking at him.

Before he can speak, she smiles. She waits for him to speak, and when he does not, her lips open.

"Hello again. I know that you're Daryen...but you'll have to excuse me. I don't know who I am."

Wow, I've just finished reading the collection of chapters on the first page and I really feel this story is an underappreciated gem. I enjoy writing from time to time, and I even occasionally allow myself the luxury of thinking I'm fairly good at, but something like this that's so beautiful and carefully crafted catapults everything back into perspective for me. The characters are all well-rounded, vibrant, morally-ambiguous and, to some extent, unpredictable. Everything is that right blend of fantasy/realism for me - all the fundamentals of believable characters, not only allowing me to, but forcing me to empathise with them, mixed in with a fair amount of mysticism that adds a bit of flavour to the otherwise dull, monotony of everyday life. The story's like a tap in the desert, dribbling out the cool, refreshing water a little at a time so that the parched haggard can never bear to tear himself away for very long before he's drawn back to that familiar sensation which satisfies his body with a primitive and carnal euphoria.

Haha, okay, I'm getting a bit gay and over the top here, but seriously, I love your writing. Criticising it would feel like an 8-year-old pointing out with evident glee to a university lecturer that his shoes are untied, but I think out of the respect I have for this piece of writing that I kinda owe it to you.

I was reading through it pretty slowly (I'm tired and have a headache) and so a few of the grammatical mistakes really stuck out to me. It doesn't really impede the story, but it breaks flow a little bit. Here's what I came across anyway (and since I haven't even looked at the second page yet, I'm sorry if anyone else has pointed these out):

* "No. In spite ot my weak position, having no family background or faction strength, I was determined to get to the top of the heap by my own efforts alone - at it's to that end that I have been furiously and quietly researching my own special area of Magic."

* "Mudcrabs has sought these caves for shelter, and dug them deeper to escape from the slaughterfish"

* "Achmage Morkwin -- [There's a little inconsistency that bothers me a little, and that's the non-static spelling of "Archmage/Arch-Mage/Arch Mage"]

* "Even the veteran Mages of the Council were stunned – they had expected Morkwin to be cunning and devious, but the depth and subtlety of his plan leave them unable to speak. Patronius opened his mouth, then shut it. Finally Urg-Lokath spoke, and in his voice was found both admiration and a hint of wariness."

^^There might be more, but that's what I picked up on with my ailment of a head that feels like it's been put in a vice for a few horus. But I guess the fact that I'm still reading and am about to turn the next page pretty much proves how much I enjoy this story. Enough to be put in physical pain.

Just out of interest, and this may come off as slightly creepy and intrusive, but may I enquire as to your gender? I was pretty interested when you wrote from Venera's perspective and I was wondering if that came from male speculation or a real female's opinion. I'm not sure which would disturb me more.

Haha, I'm kidding, it's all good stuff . I look forward to reading more!

Edit: Oh, I just turned the page and realised that my question was answered within about 5 lines, which makes me feel like a bit of a wally now :$.

Edit 2: Sorry if this is getting a bit cavillous and patronising, but you seemed adamant in your want for criticism. To feed your hunger I throw you scraps!

* "Moonlight being both, it discovers even in darkness, and reserves in its relevations. Visleith beside me in moonlight is reveled in beauty, yet the weak light also hides. Eyes just a shade too dark to see into, the shadow of her hair sculpting new shapes into her face. How strange the angles on her cheeks. Love's clutch clings to the familiar and shapes the strange into the serene even as the familiar slips beyond our grasp into darknesses we do not want to explore."

[^^As of note, one of the most beautiful paragraphs I've read in a long while]

* "We walk. What she has told me has drained me of words, and now only the sound of our footfalls on the beach disturbs the soft mummur of sea and wind. The tang of sea on my lips. The kiss of breeze on my ears and cheeks. The scent of the world, carried over the bosom of the ocean, to my nostrils."

* "and I discover that I nave kissed one illusion in the flesh, and more than one in my mind!"

* "Some memories will be needed – that is a fact. If your mind tried to acess a memory, for whatever reason, and then discovered that you could remember that the event in your memory had happened, but the actual memory of how it had happened was lost, your mind would lose its sense of identity, and you would go insane."

* "One of my smugglers was much more intelligent that I had thought, and he had hidden his curiosity well."

First, I am male IRL. just over the half-century mark - though it is true that I have been told I look and especially act much younger (ask my internet mother, SUMMER, about that!) - and the reason I can write deeply from a woman's point of view is that in my life, I have known many women as mother, sister, friends, teachers, lovers, enemies, victims, exploiters, wife and ex wife, enemy turned friend, students, and the entire gamut of characters you can find in life...

THANKS for finding the annoying little mistakes in grammar and spelling...much of this story I type at one sitting (yes, there was a preexisting story, but this one is EXTENSIVELY revised) and post at once. Hence the flaws.

It is due to the attention and care of constant readers like you, that encourage the writer to continue writing...

And I came to prose novels by way of poetry, my first love. Be warned. I am known to break into rhyme on the slightest of provocations.

Wow Foxy. I missed so many chapters and really don't know how. I seem to have lost a bit of my attentiveness. But I found this near the front today and stayed until I had caught up. It's beautiful. Your writing skills which have long been excellent have become nothing less than works of art.

Your deep understanding of others and keen observations of people shines through. I love you Foxy, just so you know.

:goodjob:

WOOO HOOO HOO HOOO!!!!


MUMMMY!!!!

I thought you had deserted me - or at least my writing...

And I love you, of course, that's a given -


BUT THANKS THANKZ THANKSSS FOR TAKING THE TIME TO VISIT AND READ MY HUMBLE EFFORTS!!!

*does a backflip morphing into the funky chicken*

Yay! More! :woot:
:goodjob:

Ahh, I see, I was beginning to think you were some sort of child prodigy with words or something. I've just finished reading the latest installment, and now I face the trauma of having to wait for more :c

18. When a mirror stares into a mirror...

I need to be alone, and yet I'm never alone.

There are two of me. At least. I don't know if there might be more. It's not that I can't remember who I am. It's that I don't know how to choose who I am.

I remember far too many things. The problem is that they don't always match. I remember sunlight, light sparkling off the blackness in Divayth's armour as he turns and frowns to me and tells me to listen closer and I can also remember leaning over and telling Daryen that "...She looks like me because she is me. That bastard Divayth has grown her, from my flesh, in a bottle. She's a clone." And I can recall the pain as the dagger went through my neck and the joy I felt in thrusting it into her neck. Her neck. My neck. No, not mine. It's a story I read. The plot is fascinating, but it's all fiction.

There is too much light, there's no darkness, I see everything. Except one thing. My identity. Who am I? I see all these things in my mind, but I don't feel them at all. In fact, I feel almost nothing. And somehow that frightens me.

One more time. I close my eyes and try to remember. Image. Voice. Sounds, the touch of flesh, of paper, of wood and steel...

Visleith Valleron is planning to sleep and restore herself for another six decades. She scrolls through her memories, and chooses which ones to keep permanently and which ones to store away. She feels the spell she has cast flood into her mind, and ... the transition is abrupt: she feels as if a part of her mind has been lost, and at the same time renewed vigour and mental lightness. Sinking into the coffin, she closes the Lid. Smell of varnish -

Venera Valleron remembers that she feels cold, and looking at herself she sees she is naked. This feels both natural and at that same time she feels something is lacking...a figure in black looms. Looking up, she sees a sardonic, intelligent face towering over her. He is carrying something in his hands: she half-knows what it is, and yet cannot remember the name -

"They are called clothes. Wear them. You already know how, if you will be patient the memory will come to you."

Visleith Valleron wanders around the library, staring at all the books her ancestors hoarded even while they were slowly being reduced to poverty. And I too will never sell them, she thinks. In fact, I think I will read them all - all the two thousand and more of them. It's a good thing I'm twenty three, that will give me forty years or so to read them all. Ay but I shall be old then and -

Visleith Valleron walks into her restored library and smiles. I'll celebrate my hundredth birthday tomorrow by reading the last book here.... the diary of my great-great grandmother. I left it for last because it had no information I needed. But I once promised to read all the books of my ancestors, and I will keep that promise. Ha. To think that I once thought sixty three to be ancient. I look even better today than I did seventy seven years ago. And to think it all came about from the combined knowledge of these books...and my own resourcefulness, of course. She frowns -

Venera Valleron is speaking. "The Valleron Family's lineage is over a thousand years old, and includes seven links to the throne by marriage. The first of these was..was...

"You have not been paying attention, Visleith. I must remind you, you must know all that I am teaching you so well that you can recount it without hesitation."

"Sera Divayth, why do you call me Visleith sometimes when my name is Venera?"

A swift smile, like glass shards glinting on the beach. But he always refuses to answer this question. That angered her at first, but now it only exasperates -

Venera is at the ball. She sees the figure who has been described to her, Ah yes, even from the back I can see that this Mage Daryen is a pompous know it all ass. Well...we shall have some fun. Swinging her hips, she moves...

A thousand memories. But they mean nothing. I do not feel that I am Visleith. Or Venera.

The trouble is that I do not feel that I am somebody else, either. It is as if I am a Librarian in that Library this Visleith remembers: I see them come in and come out, and I know that the books are about one of them or the other, but none of the books describe me. Yet I know all the books.

Well...some of the books, and the titles of all the rest, at least. That is the part that worries me. My memories of both Visleith and Venera are sharp, but incomplete. I see their lives, but in fragments. Their lives are like stories told in a series of books: I seem to have read the first book, and the last, and some in between, but I know that over half the books in that series have been untouched by me - although I know their titles.

Yet I know they can be comprehended - if I really want to. But to do that I would have to go and read those books And there is something in me that does not want to. Something in me that regards those missing books with a mixture of boredom, hate...and yes, a little fear. I don't want to know. I don't want to know what is in their books. It's their story. Not mine.

Then I shall just have to write my own, it seems. Create a life for myself. At least I shall have plenty of material to draw from. At this thought I smile, and laugh out loud.

"Dibella's mercy, you laughed! Do you feel better?"

I look up, knowing what I'll see when I do. Yes. Of course. Daryen's face, lean, troubled, bending down towards me. I rise to my feet and take his hand.

"I think I do..."

"Do you remember your name? What happened just before you were wounded?"

"I remember - "

I break off, for suddenly a thought has flashed into my mind.

What are Daryen's intentions towards both women? I know from Visleith's memories that Daryen was close to her, and indeed perhaps in love with her...and I also know from Venera's memories that Daryen was strongly attracted to her as well. And I know from my memories that Visleith and Daryen have talked about restoring the treasure - whatever that was -

Perhaps it would be best if I still pretended to be dazed and amnesiac. How do I know that word? Never mind, Later I'll find out. Now I will just continue the deception.

" I - I remember the pain of the knife...and the blood feeling wet and first hot then cold... and your attempt to use a restoration spell on me...and then the next thing I know is me waking up here. "

"And? And, before that?"

"Before that - my mind is still a jumble ... I remember faces, but I don't know their names. And I remember places, too, but their names are gone... sometimes I think I almost know names, but they vanish when I try to concentrate..."

"Then how did you remember me?"

"It's strange. You're the only one I remember..."

"And what was that memory?"

DANGER -

Think. Think fast.

He's interrogating you now. And if you talk too much, you will get caught in a lie. Speak as little as possible. Ask for a rest. You need time to figure out a story.

"All I remember is that you're called Daryen - oh, my head aches! I want to lie down..."

"Steady, Venera. Now let me lift you to bed. The Gods, but you're a feather! You've lost weight!"

"Oh, thank you, Daryen. My head hurts - "

I cry out in pain and surprise as he suddenly dumps me on the bed and turns me over. Before I can recover from his surprise, he has whipped my arms behind my back and tied me - there was a rope ready! He must have been planning this!

"WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING!"

Ignoring my screams, he swiftly binds my feet as well, with a length of rope between them just enough to allow me to shuffle. For a moment thereafter he pauses. I smell my own sweat of fear, and beyond that hear his deep breathing - then, suddenly, a weight lifts off my body as he rolls away. I roll over too. My chest is tight and I feel there's too little air in the room. His eyes are blazing in his face and yet - are those tears I see on his cheeks?

"So it's you, Venera."

As I watch, his eyes fill with tears, and silently, in a grotesque mockery of grief, he weeps, without making a sound. As I watch spellbound, I see his hand go to his waist, and slowly draw out a knife.

My voice fills the room with echoes.

"NO! No, NO! I'M NOT HER!!!"

:woot: An other chapter!
Slightly confused now, but I like it.
:goodjob:

And I am glad that you have done so!

Yes, I know that probably this chapter will leave you, and many other readers probably, slightly confused. Bear with this writer. He is trying to create tension through ambiguity...who is the woman who has regained conciousness? Follow the breadcrumbs...

:D

And I'm supposed to be the evil one...

*parodying the Roman Wit and Writer, Cicero -


" A little evil now and then
is relished by the nicest men "

:D

:unsure:

Woot?

Yes :woot:

Ok, wake me when the next chapter is here. :snoring:

So you are confused, too, Mummy?

Like I said, follow the breadcrumbs.

Hint: what are the properties of the coffin and the necklace of 'valleron pearls'? An earlier chapter speaks of them.

And remember Murphy's Law holds true for magic as well...

To all my constant readers, apologies - I will be slightly busier than usual in the coming week, as I have a rather..unique... proposal of marriage, and wedding, to help another forumer with.

But fear not, this story shall continue to delight, exasperate, and mystify all constant readers...until the end, where all shall be revealed in its golry!

I was hoping for a new chapter for my B-day but no. The poem was awesome though.

Who is getting married Foxy? :unsure: Hope they are worth missing a new chapter but I does sound like an awesome cause. :clap:

Mummy. go to the Fallout 3 Mods and look at the thread "Geeky Wedding Proposal". 'Nuff said!

19. The Calm before the Convergence

Let us rise now, and take a god's eye view of all that transpires on Valleron. It is good to do so, and will enable us to feel like gods for a while: gods who move around their puppets to fulfill their own ends on the plane where they cannot directly exist. Pretend that we have their powers to observe, and to search deep into the hearts of mortals: and that with our powers of Divine observation we also have the gift of Olympian detachment, and can remain unmoved by the both the anticipation of great fortune and the abyss of despair at a hope banished forever. Feel as a god, and feel that all things are ephemeral: and in laughing at both hope and despair, become one with Sheogorath. He will understand. He will.

Look at the World, this plane we inhabit with our minds as well as our bodies. From a great distance we shall see it as a blue and white orb fragile in the deep black of an infinite night. Plunge down into the blue, and from the sky we shall see Valleron. First as a black speck in the foaming ocean, we shall come down to see it as a shape surrounded by the sharpness of its reefs and rocks surrounding its beaches, with only the white of the breakers to soften those black fangs. Closer yet, and we will see shapes moving with puny slowness on the ocean, specks from our God-eye's view: they are the patrolling ships surrounding Valleron, jealously guarding it from the interest of the world outside and from the greed that they know springs eternal from their own suspicious hearts.

Let us range further from the island a while, and we shall see...what? Yes, drifting in the sea barely out of sight from the patrollers, a single ship.

On its deck, many men. Armed. And also a single man. Unarmed, as far as we can see. Let us move closer, and see who it is...ah, yes, Morkwin.

Shall we enter his mind, hear his thoughts, feel the tides of his emotions? Let us do so, by all means.

We strike tonight. I have watched the patterns of the patrol boats, and as I suspected, they have become predictable.

When one passes, we shall get into our longboats, and row to their route. The next one, we board. They will not see us: I shall arrange for one empty boat to be in front of them, and for it to be set on fire just as they come to it. I know they have no sight discipline, so their Captain will not order watches to look to the sides with their eyes sheltered to the light. All their foolish sailors will be gawking at the burning boat, and in this moonless night the bright fire will destroy their night vision. Meanwhile we will be slowly approaching them on both sides, and then we will board them. Surprise, and the strength potions I have given my crew as well as my enchanted weapons mean that the fight will be swift.

After we have their ship, we will beach it, and lie in wait in and around it. As each patrol ship comes in to see why their comrades have beached their ship, I will take them...it will be as easy as snaring a fish in a net.

I know that reliefs for the crew come once a week. One came yesterday. Once we have wiped out the patrol boats I will bring all my crew ashore, and we will have six days before our presence is discovered.

I have to gamble that I will discover the secret of the island in six days.

I believe I will succeed. They have already done much work, and there must be reports and notes in their base camp on the island. With that as a base, and with my own knowledge, I should be able to pull this off.

And when I do...

When I do, I shall make those traitors who pushed me out of the Council, pay. All of them. Every one.

Now let us leave Morkwin, and cast our God's eye across the island. Through darkness of beach and rock, across scrub and bush and stunted tree, we come to caves...and further along, a cave which even to the casual glance shows signs of excavation.

Move inside. and let us wander through the tunnels, and the many side branches. Others may be lost, but we know where we are going. Moving to a spot in the tunnels much like any other, we see a trap door in the ceiling. Through it we pass and from a short crawlway, we see a room...

It seems to be an interrogation room.

A woman, her cheeks stained with tears, sits tied in a chair. From our God's eye perspective we can see she is sobbing, and even as we look a single tear trickles from the corner of an eye, tenderly and delicately glistens down the ridge of her nose, trembles at the tip before plummeting down into the dust at her feet. Yet she sits straight and her head is erect.

Facing her but slumped forward, his head bent forward, his gaze on the ground, her - captor? interrogator? - stares at the teardrop shining in the dust, before slowly raising his head to stare at her. As we see his face we will note that his cheeks, too, show the tracks of tears running to his grizzled chin. However, unlike his captive. he is dry-eyed.

He speaks. We will listen.

"So tell me again, Venera -"

"I've told you, I'm not her!"

"So you're Visleith, instead? I'm supposed to believe that?"

"No, I'm not her either! I told you, I don't identify with either of them!"

"And yet you know of events in both their lives."

"That's what I don't quite understand either...I remember things, but it's like they happened to someone else....I've told you all that I remember! Surely you must believe me, because some of the memories have you in them...and you haven't told me that I'm lying, so they must be true!"

"I haven't told you they were true, either. So let's try to find out what it is that you do remember. We'll start again.."

Let us look into Daryen's heart, for yes, it is he who is our interrogator. No, not the beating of his physical heart - although that, too, is worthy of looking, as it is beating feverishly fast. Not from physical exertion. No, it beats in rhythm to the throbbing of his mind and soul, as his thoughts pursue a speculation terrible to even contemplate.

It's the coffin - it has to be. I was a fool to think that I understood it. While reviving her, it must have downloaded all Visleith's memories into her...and that has scrambled her own memories, so she no longer knows who she really is.

Ah, but can any personality be completely subdued? Will not one day Venera's personality reappear?

And what do I really feel about her? I should kill her. She has killed Visleith, after all. And yet..

...and yet, all that is left of Visleith is in her mind. Should I try to do the unthinkable...remake her as Visleith? Is it even possible? .

Let us leave this tableau frozen while we drift, ghostlike, out of the cave. From out God's view we see an island quiet on the surface, yet pregnant with the potential for explosion. As Gods we smile down on our puppets, and whisper -

Choose. Choose, and haven chosen, step forward. It will amuse us to see what transpires.

Now surrender the cloak of Divinity, and let us be mortal again.

:woot: More weirdness!

I read that, very cool idea.