The trip to Regis’s home wasn’t long, as his family was established in the outskirts of downtown. It was a small but tidy house that bore the trappings of his family symbol, the silver griffin, on the family banner out front.
Now that Fiona thought about it, the symbol was also part of the Fiefdalian flag, too–it must be a significant animal in the the kingdom’s history; it was something she’d ask Greg later. She put a gentle hand on the collarbone of the tall, thin skeleton man, and he turned slowly. She handed him the bracer after taking it off, and he glanced down, putting a bony thumb to trace across a faint tracing.
“Is that…” she trailed off, and saw a faint stenciling on the inside of it. “‘For Marielle’. You had this planned for a very long time.”
“As soon as she was four years old. I loved my daughter to pieces, so does her mother. I can’t imagine they’ve taken my disappearance well. But, Margarette, she knew that…she knew I would never leave things unfinished, this life or next. I always followed through, I was always there for them.” He let out an airless sigh, and rapped on the door gently of the two story rusty red bricked house, with darkly painted timber accents. It reminded her of something out of Switzerland, almost.
“Regis, maybe I should go first? They see a skeleton before they see me, they might freak out,” she called out quickly. He took a slow step back im response. “Let me talk to them, okay, and break the ice?”
“I…yes, I understand. Even on Cepalune, seeing undead is not always a good sign.” He took a slow step back, while she waited on the patio, and she heard a bolt click in the door. Fiona glanced up, the two moons were lit up, now, casting different hues of light on the world. Eventually, a woman with mousy brown hair and a face hardened by an adventurer’s life showed up at the door, craning her head out.
“Hi, can I help you?”
“Yes, Missus Tel’darn? May I call you Margarette?” the woman nodded slowly, and waved for her to continue. “I doubt this is news to you, but, surely you’ve received word of your husband?”
“I already know. I got word from one of my contacts in the town watch.” Instant trickles of tears and heartfelt memories gushed from her eyes when she rushed up to the cloaked form of Regis, who hugged her gently, guided by muscle memory, where muscles no longer existed. “Regis, you should have found rest, dear. I’ve missed you.”
His blue fiery eyes dimmed almost to greenish motes, and his jaw opened slightly, in an airless exhale. “Oh my dear, I’m so sorry I left you and Marielle alone. I was trying to bring closure to one last thing, before I moved on. I found it. I found our legacy. Can you go get Marielle? I don’t know how long I can hold this.”
Fiona could see small particles of dust emanating from him. It was his bones, turning to nothing but motes in the air, and her gaze darkened. A finality in death seemed hard-earned, on this world.
Distantly, she could hear the festival underway, and the sound of the small precession of floats likely going up one of the main streets. Occasional flashes of wizardly fireworks dotted the air–not to the same level as the harvest festival a few weeks prior, but still captivating in their own beauty, trying to emulate blues, oranges and deep reds.
She glanced back to see a small child approach the doorway, gasping and rushing towards her mum and her father, embracing her fallen father as if not a single day had passed. As if his demise had been one of a temporary nature. Fiona wanted to take a step back and let them have their moment in the privacy of their home, but Tucker butted his head against her palm, letting out a soft purr.
“Yeah Tucker, I know, but maybe they…” she sighed softly and stroked the cat’s fur, with him pushing against her outstretched hand gently. Tucker apparently had a desire for much needed head scritches. She heard soft-whispered words from the reunited family, and Regis showed his daughter the bracer–and then, beckoned to Fiona.
“I’d like you to meet someone, Marielle. Can you introduce yourself?” he asked quietly.
“Well, I uh…” she trailed off, but took his lead and straightened up. She knelt to face the girl with the chipped smile and bright blue eyes, trying her best to hold back a tear by rubbing her cheeks. “Hi Marielle, I’m Fiona. I knew your father a little bit, from the guild.”
“You’re the hero who beat up the dragon. Everyone knows you,” she called out in a soft voice, trying her best to mask her sobs with something like a stuffy nose. “You…you went and helped my dad?”
“I did. I didn’t know your dad too well in my early adventuring days, but…I do know a thing or two, about how important closure is to people,” she answered softly. Even now, she thought about regrets from before. “I really wanted to help out.”
“You got me one last night with my dad. That’s…that’s the nicest thing anyone has done for us.” The girl tried not to sniffle, and Fiona smiled in response.
“Ah, it was nothing. Though, I was a tiny bit worried about my friend Bonnie getting nipped by a sewer gator. They don’t like fluffy tails at all, they’re so mean!” Marielle giggled at this, and she managed to steer the mood, at least a little. “Anyway, I’m glad I could help. Your father wanted you to have the legacy of his family. I see that it found its way to you.”
Marielle glanced down at the bracer, which snugly fit on her arm–almost as if the item was enchanted to match any humanoid size. Marielle hung her head low. “I just want my dad. I know him and mom want to say a couple of words. I know he wants me safe, but…”
Fiona patted her on the head gently. “He was thinking about his family, first and foremost. Sometimes, love transcends…uh…well, you know, when the squishy parts of us–”
“Turn to dust?” Marielle finished.
“Well, I wouldn’t put it that way,” Fiona laughed anxiously. “The point I’m trying to get at is, love outlives us. You know?”
“Yeah, it does. My dads said that, more than a few times." Fiona tried to ignore the itching and twitchy sensation as Wingding tried to get her attention, and Marille took the bracer off. “Here, you should take this. You’ll get–”
“It works only for you and your mom, Marielle. It’s right where it needs to be.” She placed the bracer back in her hands, and she looked down, glumly. “Hey, cheer up kiddo. Maybe with this, you could do something in amazing in due time!”
“You mean, be a hero like you?” Her eyes brightened at this idea of hers, and she smiled. “I’d love to be an adventurer like my dad.”
“It’s a lot of work, kid. A lot of danger. Don’t do it, unless you’re really ready for it. I know you want to live up to your dad, and your mom…but, sometimes, you don’t need to be an adventurer, to be a hero. You know?”
“Aww, that’s what mom is always saying,” Marielle pouted. “What about you? You don’t mind throwing yourself into danger?”
“I…I guess I don’t, actually. I’ve faced down danger before. I think I was more scared, for other people, than I was for myself.” Fiona glanced at Regis, talking quietly with his wife, tear-streaked face and all, but smiling, and likely saying something endearing to her husband, back for a brief moment of time. “Ah, don’t let me deter you, Marielle. Know that your dad stayed true to his word.”
Marielle sniffled, and nodded softly. Regis beckoned to both of them, and Fiona followed. “I think my time might be just about up. Marielle…know that I love you, wherever I may go, okay?”
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“I know, dad. Do you have to go?”
“I do. It isn’t natural for the fallen to linger. Myself included. But I am proud to have had a loving family who go on to do great things.” Regis might not have a throat, but even voice was choked up slightly, as he hugged his daughter and wife. Fiona felt like this might be the moment to depart. But, Regis whispered something to them, and they hovered by the door, nodding solemnly.
What’s going on? She pondered, and Tucker nudged her again. Regis approached her, his eyes dimmed lightly.
“I’ve said my farewells. They’ve…had one funeral. It was a blessing I got one last chance to talk to them. I wanted to talk to you, Fiona. While I still have time.”
“Me?”
“Yes. There’s something important that I didn’t glean earlier.” Regis bowed his head beneath the cowl, and motioned for them to walk down the cobblestones. Marielle and her mother held each other at the doorway, and Magarette gave her a subtle nod. Fiona took that as her cue, and then walked down the path of the front yard.
“So…I know we didn’t know each other that well. But, it always hurts when a fellow adventurer meets their end too soon,” Fiona said quietly.
“You’ve had an interesting life, haven’t you? When I use my mark…it shows your aura isn’t the same as others. It’s different. It burns brighter. Why?”
“I’m uh…not from around here, you could say. I came from Earth. Another world, far away.” She scuffs her shoe, and he nods quietly.
“I thought as much. I’ve seen other travellers from afar. They always read different…especially when they expire. I’ve run into more than a few of them, with my powers as a medium–a link between the living, and the beyond. It is also likely responsible for my stability, unlike the mindless.” He folded his hands within the cloak, head down, as if deep in thought.
“I was pulled from certain death. Or resurrected. Or reincarnated, I don’t know what to call it, Regis. Fiona Swiftheart died on a Lunesday, on a world far, far from here. And if it sounds like I view it distantly, it's because I do…and I still don’t have any answers.” The words come slowly for her, in the chilly evening air. “I…I don’t know if I had any unfinished business back on Earth.”
“Ah. No mere summoner brought you, then. A god, or a goddess, brought you here. But I don’t know which one. There is a faint mark–the gods always leave a trace, that even mediums can read–and this one is obscured. Like someone smeared their signature, to avoid a trace.” Fiona paid attention.
“Why has no one ever mentioned this?”
“Few can see this. Maybe the administrators, but…” Regis trailed off. “I sense though, you’re still pondering your life, Fiona. You charge into battle with enthusiasm, and you’re protective of your friends. But, I think, you’re still trying to find your own center. Your own purpose in life.”
She let out a soft huff. “You know, you sound like Greg. He has…always had a good read on me. Even if he doesn’t say it aloud. Look at me, Regis. I’m a woman far away from everything I’ve ever known, duking it out with scummy princes and thieving dragons. Or, maybe it’s the other way around, scummy dragons and thieving princes?” Regis chuckled at that, and she frowned. “C’mon, I’m trying to be honest.”
“I know. I think you’ll never rest, until you have answers. I also think there’s something else. You were brought here with purpose.”
“But, why me? So far, I have no answers, Regis. I only recently really tried hard to start digging. I–I didn’t have a class until I showed up at the license office, a few weeks ago.” More motes of light and dust emanated from Regis, and his gaze flickered to his essence fading, then her.
“Everyone has purpose, Fiona. You are no exception. I think someone chose you for a very important task. The gods do not do so, without express intent. And I think it's tied to your mark.”
She’d tried to ignore the itching sensation that had been going on for a minute, and Regis gazed at the flash of light on her wrist. Fiona watched with fascination as the small winged heart now appeared to have grown pauldrons accenting her wings–and they bore the mark of the griffin that she had seen on the Tal’darn family crest. Regis traced a bony hand onto her wrist, eyes dimming. She glanced up at him. “I know this one. Even dead gods can speak through the mediums, but this one has been silent longer than all the other fallen. Feo’thari is gone…but not forgotten.”
“But, what does it mean? I’m no goddess, Regis. I mean, I’m pretty sure I’m not.”
“I think that answer will come in time. But…for what it's worth…you’ve got a brave heart. I guess it is, indeed, in the name.” Fiona chuckled softly even as Regis gave her bony grin. “But for a real bit of advice…go south. I think the Bar’dathi might have the answers you’re looking for. I can sense the trace of the divine, and it leads in their direction. Something of Feo’thari survives. But, to re-emerge after so long…I can only grasp its meaning.”
“Bad, or good meaning?”
“For there to be a spark of something left of one of the most important, and criminally forgotten goddesses of our world? I would say it’s a good thing, dear. But you might have some leg work ahead. As they say. Good things never come easy.”
“No. They don’t. Regis, I–” she decided that words weren’t enough for this, and gave the skeletal man a hug, and she let out a soft sigh. “I don’t wanna lose the good things in my life. Especially Greg, but don’t tell him I said that. He’d clam up and do that stern faced thing like he always does. And Bonnie, and Darla and…oh it’s too long a list.” A meow of protest got her attention. “Yes, you’re on my list too, Tucker, front page.”
Fiona saw his time was up, as bits of bone turned to dust, and a golden glow emanated from his bones, and he motioned gently for space. “Don’t grieve for me, dear, I’ve had time to move on from the world–you, still have a center to find. Go find it. I have this feeling that the title you chose has more meaning than dramatic flair.”
She nodded, trying not to cry. “When I get there someday Regis, I’ll look you up…with whatever comes next.”
The glow became too intense to look at, and Fiona averted her eyes. When she looked again it was an empty street–the only thing left was the outfit Regis had been wearing, to keep his appearance inconspicuous.
Despite her best efforts, she felt steaming hot streaks run down her face, despite her efforts. Even Tucker’s gentle efforts did little to brighten her mood.
“You think mommy’s crazy?” she whispered after she knelt down, and hugged her cat. “Because I’m starting to wonder if I am.”
“You’re not.”
She gazed at Margarette, having dried her tears and approached them, and gently picked up Regis’s cloak. She held the garment close to her chest, before nodding to the two of them. “My husband…knew a lot about people that they didn’t know about themselves. He was always like that. Tapped into what makes a person, I mean. He was never wrong. Not once.”
“I wish I could have known him better.” Fiona tried to hide her strained voice, to no avail. “Did you…should I stay the night?”
Margaret smiled faintly. “I think that would make Marielle's day, if you could.”
Fiona nodded softly, before letting out a soft breath. “Ah, I missed the festival. But, I guess I got to see first hand that not all roaming souls are lost. Some of them do find their way home.”