Chapter Twenty-Six – One Step Forward
Tara would have given a lot for just one more minute to think. What the Shieldmistress had told her was almost too much. The Vale had seemed so peaceful at first, but she couldn’t stand to be in that quiet place of drifting clouds and silence a second longer.
The rush of blue light as she willed herself back to Allerion was more disorienting this time, probably because she was already upset. When the faces of her companions came back into focus, startled at the act of her sudden disappearance and reappearance, she was breathless.
“What happened?” asked Kell, looking between them in open astonishment. “Did you see what I saw?”
“It’s happened before,” said Wenrik. “It comes with being a hero of Allerion, apparently. The Hero of Allerion.”
“Hero of Allerion,” murmured the fey, still amazed. “You don’t mean—the last Hero of Allerion? From the prophecy?”
“The very one,” grinned the Borzerk warrior. He seemed to take pride in Tara’s difference, and she was grateful for his humor. “So, did you find your answers, Hero? Why can’t we get inside the cave?”
Tara was only half listening. She couldn’t even look at Kell. “I—I need a second,” she said. “Is it alright if I sit down over there? I need to be alone.”
“Is everything alright?” asked Elita.
“Yes, yes,” Tara called back, even though she was staggering. She sat not far from the others, resting her head between her knees to wait for the wave of dizziness to pass.
Kell is supposed to be dead, she thought. In the Vale, the Shieldmistress had pronounced the fey’s doom as if it were an unalterable law of the cosmos. But how could that be? It seemed wrong, certainly cruel, to kill someone simply because they were “supposed” to die.
But Tara knew the fair elf was right. She herself had had a strange feeling about Kell from the beginning. His demeanor suggested some kind of subterfuge or double purpose, and Tara doubted she would have forgotten a character like him if she had actually been able to interact with him. But Altheria had said she was meant to find his body, mauled by the bear Tara and her friends had saved him from. She would loot his corpse for nothing but a few odd, unimportant items.
Tara clenched her fists. No wonder she hadn’t really remembered the fey. It had been a while since she played a new character, and the brief discover with an Elder-Kin’s corpse would soon be buried under the many quests she would follow, the hundreds of characters she would meet afterwards.
“Tara?”
She raised her head at the gnome’s concerned voice. Elita stood close to her, her gray-green brow furrowed.
“What is it?” asked the gnome quietly. “I’ve never seen you so upset. Not even on the slave ship.”
Tara shook her head. She couldn’t explain. Could she?
“What if…you were told…that someone was supposed to die?” she whispered. “What would you do if you were told that the whole world could end, that everything would be over, if one person in particular wasn’t dead?”
Elita’s eyes narrowed behind her goggles. “Are you asking me about sacrifice?”
Tara nodded. She gripped her shaking knees tightly.
“Are you going to die, Tara MacQueen?” asked Elita. The gnome’s voice was unusually solemn.
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“No!” Tara said at once. “At least…I don’t think so. Ugh! This is all so…different. And yet it’s not. This shouldn’t even be happening. It's not in the game.” She buried her face in her hands. “I want to help, but I don’t know what to do.”
Elita sat down beside her. “In that case,” she said gently, “I would advise you to do nothing. What you are speaking of is very serious, Tara. The life of a person is never to be trifled with. If they are—meant—to die, as incredible as that might be—the choice must be theirs. You cannot make it for them. That would be murder.”
Tara felt a rush of relief. At least the gnome wasn’t following the Shieldmistress’s line of cold, clinical logic.
“Then I should just…let things go on normally?” she asked.
Elita seemed to consider, one knobby knuckle curled under her chin. “May I ask who we are talking about, Tara?” she said. “Because if it’s me…you know I would happily die for my friends.”
“No!” Tara was earnest. “It isn’t you.”
“Wenrik? Horon…?”
“Don’t worry about any of them,” said Tara firmly. “You’re all safe. You’re essential characters. I mean…”
“Essential characters.” The gnome’s mouth quirked with amusement. “You do have a funny way of talking.”
“Well, it’s my visions,” Tara muttered awkwardly. “Anyway, you don’t have anything to worry about.”
“In that case…” mused Elita. “What about Kell? The Elder-Kin?”
Tara tensed. She didn’t need to speak for Elita to see the truth in her poise.
“That is indeed sad,” said the gnome quietly. “His kind are extremely rare, a mysterious and wonderful race. Even the gnomes have delighted in their ancient legends, and we have done what we can to keep the few of them that yet survive, safe. Why do you think he must die? Who told you this horrible thing?”
Tara moistened her lips. “It’s part of my—disappearing,” she said. “I have an advisor who explains the mechanics of life here. How things are supposed to go and what I’m supposed to do. Apparently Kell was supposed to die.”
She looked up at the others’ approach. In the few moments left to them, Elita touched Tara’s knee gently.
“You must do what you think best,” murmured the gnome in a low voice. “I’ve seen you in action for only a short time it's true, but I know you will do what’s right.”
“Enough of this whispering and conspiring,” growled Horon. The big Fenman couldn’t hide his curiosity entirely. “What is going on? Can we get into Wanderer’s Bane or not?”
Tara took one more bracing breath. She stood and was relieved that she felt stronger. “Yes,” she said. “On one condition. Only three may accompany me.” Three, she reasoned, because if I say two they’ll want to know why Kell can come with us.
“What nonsense is this?” protested Horon.
“It’s because of who I am,” explained Tara. “I’m the Hero of Allerion. I’m only allowed to take a set number of companions with me into danger.”
The Fenman folded his arms impatiently. “That is one of the most ridiculous things I've ever heard. Very well. Which of us three are you taking with you into the necromancer’s cave?”
“You, Elita, and Kell,” said Tara at once.
Wenrik couldn’t hide his slight disappointment. “Ah, what a pity,” he said. “I would have liked to face this Narion Nightsong. Are you sure I won’t be needed, Tara?”
“You are needed,” said Tara. “I need you to keep watch outside this entrance. It’s secret, remember? Even the necromancer’s people don’t know about it. So if they realize someone has gotten through here, they’ll know there are intruders in the cave. It’s your duty to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
The wolfish gleam returned to the Borzerk’s eyes. “I’ll be waiting for you,” he said simply. “Come back safe, Tara MacQueen. Though I confess I wonder at your choice.” He raised one humored, gray eyebrow. “A fey, a gnome, and a Fenman? You’ll get songs out of this, Elder-Kin, I’m sure of it.”
“I’ll sing them all to you on our return,” replied Kell. But the fey did not return Wenrik’s smile.
***
Tara heaved an uneasy sigh as they approached the entrance once more. She remembered her fight with Ikor the Skorge and the challenge of facing grimps for the first time. Narion Nightsong, the dark elf necromancer, was a memorable boss in his own right. Was she really ready to take him on at only Level 3?
She thought of Berga, the owner of the Old Troll tavern. She hated the memory of the old woman’s disturbed face, when their first meeting should have been full of the welcome she remembered from the game. Even more, she hated the bitter disappointment of losing Acalon.
Allerion wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was as if her familiarity with the world made her uniquely vulnerable, when it should have made her strong.
It won’t happen anymore, decided Tara. This time, I’ll make things right. I’ll bring Berga more than just an old battle horn. She won’t be so afraid of me if I bring her back her lost husband.
Tara squared her shoulders as she took the first step forward. This time, there was no resistance. She was able to enter the cave, bending her shoulders because the entrance was low.
As soon as they were in the storeroom, new words flared above them in electric, clear light.
OBJECTIVE: FIND THE BATTLE HORN
“What is this?” gasped Kell, recoiling.
“Nothing,” said Tara, watching the letters disappear. “It means we’re exactly where we’re meant to be.”