Atonement - part 5
(( It’s starting to get pretty fucked up from here ))
All she had was a name. Luckily, it was not a very common name. A plea that she was too ill for her duties at the Sunwell and a letter to the Magistry found Muireanne in a dusty basement in Silvermoon, curled up on top of a heavy crate with a moldering stack of books beside her. She'd foregone her priestly robes and tucked her hair up under some festooned hat, not wanting to be seen today. The enchanted lantern in the basement flickered, and she sighed, struggling to read the tome open on her lap.
Tyrdill Dawncaster. She found a record of his birth from over 100 years ago. Somewhat influential family, though his mother died. There was nothing extraordinary about him, and she followed his name through the volumes of the almanacs. The same story about the same life, condensed into two brutally short lines. Until, one year, there was three.
Deceased.
Frowning, Muireanne flipped the book over to check the year. It was far before Raisheal would have met him. Had an error been made?
Faced with a growing disquiet, Muireanne slipped a piece of paper to mark the page and pulled another book off the stacks. Death reports for that same year. If there had been a mistake, he wouldn't be listed in this one.
It was to her dismay, then, that she came across a copy of his death certificate. She paused, scratching the tip of her ear. Had Azionera been lying? Was Tyrdill just a random name she picked to throw her off? She picked up the most recent almanac and opened it to his name.
Where he was listed as alive and well.
Desperate for some kind of answer, Muireanne reached into the pouch at her waist and produced a ring of keys. These were what the letter had been for. With an attraction to the mysterious, it was only likely that Raisheal would be involved with somebody whose records may have been altered. She crossed over to a large cabinet in the corner, unlocking it, and pulling out copies of records from the year he had died onward. Luckily, these were much more sparse.
It didn't take her long to find it. Not too much before Raisheal may have met Tyrdill, his death record was expunged. The missing taxes paid off. It was as if nothing had ever happened. No further searching yielded anything beyond this. He was as evanescent as the shadows he hailed from.
There was nothing to it, then. If Muireanne wanted answers, she'd have to ask Raisheal.
Rain was falling over the Ghostlands, carving out narrow paths in the dirt roads and choking the undergrowth with mud. Muireanne huddled under her cloak, trying to pull the hood even further forward. The hawkstrider she'd borrowed from Tranquilien plodded along slowly, picking delicately through the dirt. There was no sound save the gentle patter of raindrops on leaves and stones.
Muireanne had never been to Raisheal's home, and wasn't even quite sure where exactly it was. But she'd turned down assistance, knowing that if she showed up with somebody else, Raisheal would immediately flee.
The shorter path along Sungraze Peak had been blocked by a fallen tree, and the roads were empty on such a sullen day. Still, the back of her neck prickled. She was being watched. Muireanne lifted her head up just in time to see a raven take wing.
So she'd have a herald, then.
Indeed, Raisheal was waiting outside when Muireanne emerged from the woods, her cloak on but without the hood on. The woman appeared even more exhausted than she had when Muireanne had last seen her, with heavy dark circles beneath her eyes and her skin a sickly pallor. Though she was soaked to the bone, she didn't shiver. She nodded at Muireanne, then briskly walked inside, leaving the door open. Muireanne followed wordlessly, trying the hawkstrider up under the eaves.
The inside of the house was dark, but Raisheal was struggling to light a few candles. Her fingers shook as she tried to strike the match. Muireanne sighed. “Here.” She took the matches from Raisheal, lighting the candles and filling the room with a weak, flickering light. Glancing to her side, Muireanne took a startled step back when she saw Raisheal staring at her. “Are you alright?” she ventured to ask.
Raisheal didn't answer, shaking her head and turning away to wring out her hair, dabbing at it uselessly with a towel she grabbed off the floor. “What do you want?” she instead questioned brusquely.
Muireanne glanced around the room, looking for a place to sit, then judged against it when she saw the thick dust coating everything. She cleared her throat, folding her hands in front of her. “I just had a few questions. And I guess I...wanted to see how you were faring.” She smiled at Raisheal's back.
“I'm doing as well as usual, though I'm busy. Talk quickly.” Raisheal set the towel down and took up a brush, refusing still to turn around.
“Right, then.” Muireanne hesitated, taking a deep breath. “I ran into a demon a few days ago. And she mentioned the name of somebody I'd like to find.” She crossed her feet, looking up into the rafters, but they were empty of ravens for now.
Raisheal snorted with derision. “And you're asking me? Don't you have that dead girl to do that for you?” She brushed faster, angrily pulling through a thick knot in her hair.
“No,” Muireanne replied flatly. “Because it's Tyrdill.”
At that, Raisheal stopped. She set the brushed down, curling her again-trembling fingers into fists and staring at the wall. “Yes, I know of him. Why do you need to find him?” She breathed out softly, closing her eyes.
“For answers.” Muireanne pressed on, insistent. “Who is he? Because it seems like he has a part to play in this far-fetched plan of yours, and if that's the case, I'd rather remove him from it.”
Raisheal marched over to a table tucked into the corner cluttered with feathers and a collection of glass orbs. She extricated a key from somewhere within her pocket, unlocking the table's drawer. The drawer contained two items: a velveteen bag and a small black jewelry box. She paused, fingers brushing the bag with a bitter smile on her face, before taking out the box and locking the drawer again.
“He's very much like me. And very much different.” Raisheal's smile changed to something almost happy. “Our first meeting was enthralling. I had never seen someone like him before. Now I know why, of course.” She held the box to her chest, taking several dancing steps about the room as if with an imaginary partner. She spun, skirt swishing softly, before stopping to hand the box off to Muireanne.
The priestess opened it. Inside was a glimmering jet band, the design that of two entwined ravens. Raisheal ran a fingertip over the tiny detail work. “You won't find any record of it anywhere, but I married him.” Her voice sounded distant, and her mind certainly was, eyes unfocused and lost in memories.
Muireanne closed the box again with a quiet snap. “What happened? If I may ask,” she inquired softly. Raisheal blinked, looking around as if brought back rudely into reality. She pressed her lips together tightly.
“I'm still not certain to this day, but I paid for letting my walls down.” She took the ring back, returning it to the drawer. “I don't often see him. But once in a while, he'll return to mock me.” Raisheal leaned heavily against the table, head bowed. “I don't see what he could have to do with this.” She curled her fingers around the tabletop.
Muireanne walked up next to her, but still keeping a safe distance. “You don't really mean to try and take my place, do you?” When she got no response, she pressed on. “I'm asking you now, then. Please stop. I made my decision knowing the consequences full well. I don't regret it. This has nothing to do with you.”
Raisheal let out a short, barking laugh. “You don't have to worry about that. Of course he said no. And I don't have any other options.” Her knuckles were white. “So why don't you drop this, Muireanne? Don't go looking for him, don't go asking for him. Just stay happy in the light and the warmth as long as you can. There's no place for you with people like us.”
The silence following those words was unbearable, broken only by the harsh staccato of the rain, falling harder now, against the windows. A rustling of feathers up above told Muireanne that at least one of the ravens had returned through the open window above, and it was of little surprise to see the familiar form of Silthrait fluttering down to perch on Raisheal's shoulder, picking affectionately at her hair and robes.
Finally, Muireanne spoke. Her voice was gentle, but firm. “Though Damian refused you, that demon came still to harass me. And I can't let her roam free. If Tyrdill is the answer to this mystery, then I need to find him. Just tell me where I can.”
“No,” Raisheal replied sharply. “I'm not going to let you wander into something stupid because you're too stubborn and self-righteous to let one demon go.”
The comment sparked Muireanne's anger. “Self-righteous? She threatened me and you! You're the one being stubborn here.” She took several steps closer to Raisheal. “You're not losing anything by answering my questions. You hate him now, right? If you truly want to help me, then answer.”
Raisheal turned away from her. “No, Muireanne. You don't understand. Azionera—she can't mean anything good by mentioning him. He shouldn't have any part in any of this.” Silthrait cawed and beat her wings before taking to the air to settle in the rafters. “I told you all that I will. If you insist on looking for him still, then I can't stop you.”
“It's not enough,” Muireanne replied flatly.
“That's the point.”
She hadn't come this far to be denied. Muireanne hesitated, staring once more at Raisheal's back. It had been years since she'd had to do this.
Without warning, Muireanne wrapped her arms tightly around Raisheal. The woman, confused by the gesture, gasped and struggled to slip away. But in an instant, Muireanne pressed her fingertips to Raisheal's temples, shocking her with a quick jolt of holy energy to knock her out—at least temporarily. The raven priestess fell limp in her arms, and she gently laid her on the floor.
Silthrait shrieked, streaking through the air towards Muireanne. She held up an arm to protect her face from the raven's wicked claws, before responding with a bolt of magic that would unfurl into a net, trying to catch the creature. She succeeded, but in an instant, Silthrait freed herself, disappearing and reappearing behind Muireanne, who shrieked in pain as the bird raked its claws across the back of her head. Pressing her hands to the wound, she winced and apologized to Raisheal before firing the same incapacitation spell she'd used on Raisheal at her. It hit, and Silthrait fell to the ground with a loud thunk.
Raisheal had already begun to stir, her brow knitting and looking disturbed. She wouldn't have much time. Muireanne laid on hand on Raisheal's forehead, using the other to grip Raisheal's own hand. She closed her eyes, trying to empty her mind of as much detritus as possible before murmuring the incantation.
It wasn't easy. A great wall of shadowy thorns seemed to surround Raisheal's mind, and it was difficult to slip past and chip away. Clearly, a conscious Raisheal would have been almost impossible for her to read.
It didn't take much, however, to locate memories of Tyrdill. He was like a great knot at the heart of a raging storm. She committed the image to memory: a willowy man, pale, gliding more than walking. Enigmatic. A true creature of shadow.
She had just enough time. The moment Muireanne severed the connection, Raisheal woke up. She groaned, pressing a hand to her forehead, before pushing herself up.“What the hell was that for!?”
Had her foray into Raisheal's memories gone undetected? Muireanne didn't ask. Raisheal got to her feet—and then, seeing Silthrait on the ground, yelped and ran over to scoop the raven up in her hands, cradling her next to her chest and stroking her head. Silthrait, too, was stirring, cooing softly. Raisheal whirled around, glaring at Muireanne. “I don't know why you just did that, and really, I don't care. Get out.” There was something inexpressible in her face as she turned away once more.
Muireanne didn't answer. She bowed her head and turned to leave. The rain had stopped, and she finally had a trail to follow.
