Posted on: Sunday, 29 March 2009
She stood before a memory. The gates of Candlekeep, her childhood home, yawned wide before her. The twin crimson standards of the great library hung limply on either side of the entrance, but the doors were gone. The guards were gone. The sights and sounds and smells of childhood were gone, from Hull’s good-natured shouting to the stink of Dreppin’s cows. The great keep was empty and hollow.
Cassandra reflexively tapped her palms against her hips, chest, and face. The sheath of her sword, heavy with its steel, clanked against the hardened leather cuisse and greave which protected her leg. A chainmail shirt protected her breasts, but the metal of her glove was cool against her bare cheek. No helm. Partially armored, then, and partially armed.
She glanced around. She was alone. She’d had dreams like this before, but this one seemed different. A stale wind struggled to lift the red-gold strands of her hair, and she tucked them back with a faint expression of distaste. The scent of decay was in the air.
“Do not fight.”
Cassie whipped around, yanking her sword from its sheath despite the trembling fear in the words, and then nearly dropped it in shock. Imoen stood before her, frail and shivering against the empty backdrop of the keep’s outer grounds. Imoen, whom she’d spent the last month struggling, clawing, and ripping her way through Faerûn to find again – Imoen was here. Tears of joy and relief blurred the figure before her into a palette of pastel, threatening to wash the vision away as suddenly as it’d come.
“Imoen…” She sunk to her knees, the sound of her armor echoing against the walls, and took her sister’s hand in hers. “Imoen, I’m here.”
She was ignored. Imoen continued speaking in the same halting, far-away voice. “Do not fight. To fight is to lose. Come to me.”
“I’m here.” Cassie held the younger woman’s hand to her cheek, letting her feel the wetness there. “I’m here, I promise. I won’t leave again.”
“You cannot fight alone. Find me within.”
The faded watercolors of Imoen’s form began to disintegrate. The tips of her hair broke into multi-colored dust, stolen away in the decay-laden wind along with her clothing, her skin, and her voice. Cassandra clutched the hand she held tighter, only to feel it fracture and shatter under the pressure. It, too, began to slip through her fingers like so much sand, and the blue-eyed warrior grasped at the grains in disbelief.
“No! Don’t leave me!”
Her sister’s form wavered, shimmered, and then tumbled into nothingness as the wind greedily stole the last precious shards.
“Imoen!” Cassandra threw the sword into the dirt and screamed her name into hateful silence of the keep. No answer was forthcoming. Her eyes burned as fresh tears spilled down her cheeks and spattered into the lifeless dust below. She struggled to control the heaving and shaking in her chest.
