Yelena
The light snowfall brushed against Yelena’s cheeks as she stood vigil in Caer Argent’s courtyard. Around her, keeping a safe distance, were her brothers and sisters in arms, their forms obscured by the deep turquoise funeral robes of the order. The local Chaplain of Amarata had been conducting the ceremony for the last hour, and at this moment was sprinkling some fragments of salt upon the coffin they all gathered round – the coffin that was soon to be lowered into the earth beneath their venerable monastery.
Cynthia’s coffin.
Di was behind her, saying nothing, watching in silence with the rest of them. Only now and then did Yelena look up from the object where the remains of her old friend were now interred and see the hateful glares that were cast her way.
Her eyes shifted to Agathae, who had elected to stand on the opposite side of the burial mound. The Tigran’s wounds may have been bandaged, but it still looked like her breathing was stuttered, coming in short, raspy bursts. She had said nothing to Yelena since they’d returned, and as Yelena tried to gain entry to her chambers, she found the door locked fast.
Now their eyes locked from across the coffin of their departed friend, and Yelena saw the same look painted in the Agathae’s face that she was used to.
Yes, she was used to it. But that did not mean that her heart didn’t sink to see it painted there on the face of one of her most trusted comrades. And her friend.
The Chaplain – hooded and obscured so that his features were imperceptible to all of the assembly – started up a short chant that would bring the ceremony to a close. Amarata’s hymn for those who died free.
"May this servant of Argent shine in the Kingdom of Our Lady," he said.
Yelena joined the assembly in the final words of the prayer.
"So let it be."
The Chaplain then produced Cynthia’s oakwood bow from beneath his robes.
"Who shall lay this warrior to rest?" The Chaplain then asked the crowd. "Who shall seal this spirit with the weapon they used to strike down the forces of darkness?"
The solemn crowd shuffled uneasily. It was customary that the members of the deceased’s company lay them to rest with their weapon of choice. Yelena sighed, knowing that it was her duty. She had been there when it had happened. It was only right that she be the one who see Cynthia off.
She looked over her shoulder to Dimedrious who nodded once without looking up.
But as Yelena stepped forward, it was another who’s voice broke through the brief silence of the collected warriors of Argent.
"I will."
It was the quiet voice of a usually boisterous Tigran – one who many had heard galivanting around the halls of the monastery always in good cheer, clinging to the necks of her friends, and fighting with righteous fury like the rest of them.
The quiet in her voice brought them all low, even Yelena, who instantly stopped in her tracks.
Agathae walked forward and accepted the bow of her friend with both hands. She remained straight backed, head held high, and walked with the pride of a monarch towards the coffin.
Yelena looked into her eyes and now could not read the emotion that was welling up behind them. Somehow, since they had come back, a wall had been erected there, between them, stretching to heights that Yelena’s mind couldn’t possibly scale.
Agathae lowered the bow onto the coffin and stroked the splintered oak with care.
"Cynthia Myrtel was a loyal follower of Argent," she said to the assembly, though her eyes remained fixed on the coffin where her hand lingered. "A noble warrior. And a good friend."
Her eyes suddenly flew to meet Yelena’s, and all at once Yelena was given a glimpse of the cold disdain that now lay there beyond the wall Agathae had erected between them.
"She should not have died like this," she said.
She then turned and walked back towards those on the other side of the burial site – where Yelena now saw Virtir and her company stood. The Yok’ra serpent took Agathae by her hand and they both stood side by side with their brothers and sisters in arms. And as the coffin was lowered, Yelena’s blood ran cold. She was looking across the abyss where her friend now lay, seeing her family on the other side of that great gaping hole in the ground – an abyss she never could cross again. Now, the divide was complete.
As the pearl-white snows of Caer Argent’s ground was shoveled onto Cynthia’s coffin, Yelena bowed her head and prayed, no longer acknowledging the presence of anyone around her. She felt Dimedrious’ heavy hand on her shoulder as the assembly made to leave and gather in the Great Hall for the Denouncement to begin. But she ignored it, and barely even felt him as he left her side.
She knelt beside her friend’s forlorn grave and took up a handful of snow in her gauntlet. She had been robbed of her chance to say goodbye. Even her grief had been denied to her.
She looked up at the towering spires of the monastery and breathed an intake of its cold air for what she knew would be the last time.
Now, there truly was nothing left for her here.
…
When she entered the Great Hall everyone was assembled in their proper stations. Once again, she met the stares of all of them – those that had spread the rumors of her condition, those that never believed but also avoided her, never electing to train or even read beside her in the library. There were also faces that had always regarded her as friend – and now even they turned their gazes from her. Now she really was a monster, and she once again clutched her chest as their stares betrayed the truth to her: there was evil inside her that was simply waiting for its moment to massacre them all.
She sat beside Dimedrious, totally isolated at the back of the assembly. None joined them in their pew – now ‘The Fangs of the Wolf’ was essentially no more. Agathae had joined Virtir on her side of the room, and as Proctor Azran began to address the members of Caer Argent, his eyes swept over Yelena only briefly.
But it was enough. He nodded subtly. She nodded back.
"Lena," Dimedrious huffed beside her. "No matter what, you know I’ll stand by you."
She smiled without looking at him. She was watching Virtir rise and take to the stage beside the Proctor.
Agathae stood beside her.
"Di," she said. "Whatever happens, don’t hate me."
She felt his face turn to face her in confusion, but she had no time to reassure him further. The Proctor had begun to speak, and her destiny was slowly coming to crush any future she had planned amongst these people she once called family.
"You know your degrees, and your stations," Proctor Azran began, straight backed and regal, making sure all understood that this was a formal address. "We are the protectors of Averix – the last line of defense from the darkness that dwells in the Deep. We are Argent. The line that those born of the Old Magister’s corruption shall never pass."
His gaze swept over them all – the hybrids of this earth who had been forgotten, abused, and cast aside by the world. Here, all assembled under one banner. And yet here they were, about to cast out one of their own. The Proctor sighed deeply but cast his aspersions aside. He was their voice, nothing more.
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"In our battles," he said. "We shall have victory."
The assembly repeated the statement.
"In all journeys, there shall be return."
The assembly repeated the line like a ghostly echo.
Then, keeping his voice steady, he finished the mantra.
"And in our deaths, we make our sacrifice."
He let the words hang in the air like a blade being left to dangle precariously above the heads of the warriors, and then he said what he had to.
"We have come together in this hour of loss, mourning the deaths of our fellow brothers and sisters who fell in the Battle of Yarruck, because a Denouncement has been called. One sister denies another their place amongst us. As Jael Argent once said – one voice can change the world if their words carry the weight of truth behind them. It is we, my brothers and sisters in arms, who shall here decide such truth for ourselves."
He paused again, letting his eyes linger on a few members, seeing the hatred that burned in the room. He looked at Yelena at the back only once more, and then let his eyelids close.
"Sister Virtir," he said. "Stand before the council of your brethren, and under the eyes of the Prophet swear to speak nothing but the truth as your heart knows it."
Virir did so, stepping with deliberation, facing the crowd with no fear at all. She gripped the edges of the podium like she was about to tear it from its hinges and toss it at them.
"I so swear," she hissed. "By my ancestors, and by the line of Argent."
"May Amarata herself strike you down if you lie," Azran said as he stepped aside. "Proceed."
Viritr rose, unperturbed, and cast her eyes over the assembly. The serpent’s thin, blackened irises settled on her prey and lingered there, holding Yelena’s attention. She was looking for fear, but saw only sadness.
It didn’t stop her.
"Brothers and Sisters!" she yelled. "There is a cancer within our ranks."
No one shouted in alarm, and no one screamed their dissent. No one said anything at all.
"There is one that harbors power born from the depths of darkness far below the Everloft. This one was brought to us fifteen years ago by Captain Dimedrious of the Fangs of the Wolf, who you know is a loyal and capable soldier."
Yelena saw Di’s claws clench beside her. Give me a reason, she was sure he was thinking.
"Yet even the bravest warrior can waver in their judgement," she continued. "For this Firvak was brought to us as the ‘sole survivor’ of a decimated village – a former husk of the twelve towns of the North. How was it that this entire settlement was burned to the ground and only this child survived? Still, none have ascertained the answer."
Virtir pointed her scaled finger directly at Yelena. She felt its touch on her brow like the touch of a venomous spider, poised to sting, to infect.
"That one," she hissed. "Our sister that calls herself Yelana – she is the child that lay amidst the ruins of her home. And she is the child that has brought darkness into our domain of light. You who stood beside me at Yarruck know this to be true – as a shape of blackest night, cloaked in a veil of vile magicks, this girl assumed the form of a Darkling born of the abyss. She cared not for her fallen comrades in arms – only in the wanton slaughter that will tar the name of Argent to the people of Yarruck forever. Even now, they consider closing their gates to us for good. Once again, the world turns its back on the hybrids of Averix. And it is thanks to the efforts of none but this creature."
Dimedrious’ growl could be heard even at the very front of the Hall. But no heads dared turn back to him. Everyone was waiting for all-out war to break out, finally. Yelena could feel it – the tense trepidation of a perpetually ticking explosive about to detonate.
"We have struggled for years to find our place in this world," Virtir continued. "And this being has infiltrated this holy place to subvert our efforts to build rapport amongst the people of Averix. To do nothing more than serve this world that once cast us out as little more than vermin."
And there it was – there was the hatred that burned for Yelena. Those eyes reflected the flames Virtir had seen her people consigned to as heathens and half-breeds throughout her life. Yelena felt the debilitating weight of such hatred burden her more than the declaration that was to come.
"I denounce you, Yelena," Virtir stated, and her voice was an echo that sang in the ears of all those assembled. "You have brought sin to this place, and doom upon all those you have touched. You do not belong amongst us, and yet it would be immoral to cast you out into the world to bring such ruin to the people of Averix. So, for the good of all we hold sacred, I call for your interment in the monastery dungeons."
She let those words hang in the air, and the room became so silent that some swore after that day that you could hear the snow fall to the ground outside.
Proctor Azran rose with a subtle sigh and nodded to Virtir, who stepped aside from the podium.
"Any who oppose this Denouncement may now rise," he called out. "Let it not be said that we favor only one voice in any matter."
Yelena breathed deep the air of the Hall for what she knew was the final time, and began to rise and walk towards the podium.
She didn’t make it far. The paw of Dimedrious stayed her ascent, and he flew out of his seat and stood in the center of the assembly with his cloak still flying around him.
"You well know me, as our Sister says!" he yelled to them all. "And so you know that I do not need to stand before you to make my voice heard. Rather, I would stay amongst you – my family – and tell you exactly what kind of woman Yelena is."
The crowd rose almost as one, as Dimedrious’ voice and natural charisma washed over them in an instant. The whole atmosphere changed. This was a rugged, battle-scarred veteran talking now.
"When I was but a pup," he said after a time, holding the crowd’s attention, turning in a circle to meet all their glaring eyes. "My mother told me there is nothing more dangerous than the unknown. People hate that which they don’t understand – and what they won’t try to understand. She told me that whenever the baker looked at me with hate in his eyes, or the young boys in our village didn’t let me play with them, they were only acting out this natural impulse. And that left a question in my mind that I needed to find an answer to: how can you hate me, when you don’t even know me?"
Murmurs began around the room, and Yelena looked on at her mentor standing above them all, rapt. She smiled thinly at his words, and momentarily forgot about what she had to do here.
She’d just never heard him talk like this.
"I went through life – through the abuse at the hands of humankind we all suffered, swallowing it all, training to become stronger, training my sword arm so that one day I could be bigger than all of them – all of the hateful, all of the people who wouldn’t even look at me in the streets. I wanted to be so big that one day I could ask them my question, and they’d be forced to give me an answer. I’d become something they couldn’t ignore."
He turned towards Virtir, and breathed a heavy sigh before he spoke directly to her up there on the podium.
"And yet I never thought I’d have to ask that same question to one of my own, one who has suffered the exact same treatment as I did as a pup – out there in the world that hates us. I thought this place was a safe haven from hatred. And today I am ashamed to say that I must ask our own Sister Virtir this question: how can you hate your Sister when you don’t even know her?"
Virtir narrowed her eyes but kept her composure. Everyone turned their heads to her, waiting for the answer.
"One does not seek to know evil," she said. "One needs only destroy evil when they see it."
"And that is exactly what our Sister has done since the day she was old enough to hold a blade!" Dimedrious roared, turning back to the crowd. "She has sparred with the strongest of you and kept her composure. She has hunted the minions of darkness throughout the Twelve Towns of the North and taken their heads just like the rest of us. And yesterday, in the town of Yarruck, she slew a Greater Voidspawn itself!"
A murmur of admiration went through the crowd. Murmurs of both disbelief and surprise trickled through the Hall as the rumors were confirmed.
"And yet," Virtir broke through the hums, licking her slitted lips. "She had unholy assistance, did she not, Brother Dimedrious?"
He did not answer her.
"You saw it," she continued, her fingers gripping the podium’s edges tighter. "A beast of shadow and dark magic that spewed from her every orifice, consuming her – lending her strength beyond what mortals under the light of Our Lady should wield."
"I saw a warrior who has sworn her life and arm to the line of Argent do their duty on that night," Dimedrious responded. "A woman I have been honored to call my friend."
His sad eyes found Yelena’s up at the back of the Hall, and her heart sank to see what he was doing. He knew he would fail. He knew this effort was futile, and yet he was giving her an admission of pure loyalty and friendship beyond what she had ever felt in her whole life. She would hold that with her, no matter what came next.
"You did not watch a woman vanquish the beast on that field of blood," Virtir replied. "You watched a Firvak undergo Voidspawn possession, and kill one of its own. Do you deny it?"
"Do you see it now, Virtir?" Dimedrious asked her back, forgetting himself. "Look at her – she wants nothing more than to fight on our side – the side of light! She has studied more of Lord Jael’s tomes than you or any of you ever have. She –"
"Captain Dimedrious," Virtir broke in. "Your personal observations and emotions have no place in the discussion of our monastery’s safety. I ask you again: do you deny that this woman bore the form of a Voidspawn as she struck down the possessed wolf of Yarruck?"
He grunted and grit his teeth. But he did not allow anger to overcome him.
"She does not bare the marks," he said. "Everyone can see it on her face – the tears of the darklings are not there."
"The Magisters of Old could often find ways to mask their instruments and deceive the faithful,’ Virtir said. ‘But if you will not concede to the truth before our Prophet, then I call upon another who will. Sister Agathae?"
The whole crowd suddenly lurched forward, breathing a collective gasp. It was the self-same sound that escaped from Yelena’s lips as she watched Agathae take to the podium, staring at her twitching fingers as they gripped its sides and her whole body shook.
"Sister," Virtir said, her fingers stroking Agathae’s gently. "Tell us what you saw at Yarruck."
Yelena stood now, her legs urging her forward and yet her heart keeping her in place. Her head commanded her only to look forward, to fix Agathae in her vision and hold her there, like it was trying to break away the walls, the faces, and even the Prophet above that looked on them with judgmental eyes. She held the image of her oldest friend, her comrade, in her vision while the rest of the world faded away.
Then Agathae’s face rose, and once again her eyes met Yelena’s from across the infinite abyss that had opened now between them.
"Aggie", Yelena felt herself mouth unconsciously. "Please, don’t."