David Dalglish - The Cost of Betrayal

Qurrah put his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “You will do fine in raising her. Teach her strength, teach her pride, and she will grow up an honor to your name. Now I must be off. Business awaits me in Veldaren.”

“When will you be back?” Harruq asked, opening the door.

“I don’t know. It will depend, but I fear it several months at least.”

Harruq’s disappointment was obvious. “Are you sure?”

Qurrah bowed to his brother. “My congratulations on such a wonderful daughter.”

He walked past his brother to the top of the stairs. He stopped, turned around, and gestured to the illusionary grass, ivy, and clouds.

“Did Aurelia do all this?” he asked. Harruq grinned.

“All of it. You like?”

Qurrah nodded, smiling at a small cloud floating across the ceiling-sky.

“Impressive,” he said.

T he black gates gave no feeling of home, and no comfort in their familiarity. Only the aura of certainty, of order, that permeated from the bars soothed his turmoil. They opened as he approached, needing no word or touch from him. Halfway across the obsidian walkway, the great doors creaked inward. The night was young, and the wise man who stepped out seemed almost youthful in the moonlight.

“Welcome home,” said Pelarak.

“No home of mine,” Qurrah said. “I do not worship your god. How may it be my home?”

“Because your family is here, waiting for the wayward prince to ascend his throne.” The old man bowed. “I trust my meager knowledge was useful to you?”

“Some things should be discussed in quiet rooms,” Qurrah said. “No matter how calm the night may seem.”

“Indeed,” Pelarak said, fully opening the door. “Come inside, Qurrah Tun.”

Inside he went, fighting the newly awakened feeling that perhaps he had come home after all.

T hey headed straight for Pelarak’s small room, pausing only to offer a prayer before the majestic statue of Karak. The two sat opposite each other. With reverence, Qurrah took the tome the priest had given him and placed it on his desk.

“Your wisdom on such matters is humbling,” Qurrah said, gesturing to the book. “I have to ask, how did you obtain such knowledge?”

“Do you mean the spells?” the priest asked.

“No, your writings. You talk of madness, its causes and its effects, with authority that leaves me in awe.”

The priest rested his chin on his knuckles.

“That first tome I gave you, with the words to drive men mad, proved helpful. I truly believe they can create every kind of madness. It took many years, but I have seen the effects of all two hundred.”

“Tessanna’s mind,” Qurrah said, “could you remember which of them formed something similar to hers?”

The priest sighed and leaned back in his chair, uncrossing his fingers as he did.

“In truth, no. I have spoken to her before, although I doubt she remembers me. Regardless, the key to her does not lie in my findings.”

“But why?” Qurrah asked. “Surely one resulted in a similar madness.”

Pelarak raised a bushy white eyebrow at the half-orc.

“Are you so sure it is madness?” To this Qurrah had nothing to say, so the priest continued. “Madness is a loss of order in the mind. The worse the madness, the less the order. Tessanna’s actions may seem chaotic, but I have sensed the winding weave that is her mind, and within I found order, frail as it may be.”

“Then how may I cure her?” Qurrah asked.

“If she has obtained a semblance of order in her mind, then I dare say she might already be cured. Her current mental state may be salvation from the true madness she suffered earlier in life.”

“No,” Qurrah said, rising to his feet. “Her mind is shattered, broken. It can be put together again.”

“I welcome you to try,” Pelarak said, his voice tired and honest. “But she is not mad. I was reluctant to tell you earlier, but I feel she is more fractured than insane, each piece seperate and controlled. As for what controls them, I may have something for you to think over.”

The half-orc stayed silent, his mind sifting through what Pelarak had said. The priest rose from his seat and pulled a small diary from a shelf. He flipped through the pages until he found a specific passage and then read it aloud.

“ A man called out to me for coin. He lived off the pity of others, for he was blind since birth. When I declined, he at first accepted, but as I passed, he lunged like a rabid animal, biting for my leg. I threw him back, broken. The animal left him as he cried for forgiveness. He claimed a demon lived inside him. Curious, I touched his mind to see. I found the demon, but it was not what he thought. Instead, it was himself, or at least, a part of himself, isolated into a second being.

“This vile second-self wished nothing but death and pain upon others. It fought for control constantly, and though I sensed no strength in the beggar, he succeeded in holding it at bay for many an hour before each temporary escape. Curious as to how, I searched deeper, and there I found it. I viewed a vine growing out of both, yet at the same time, it seemed a wall, blocking one from the other. I sensed this entity had a full form deep inside, but I was unable to probe any farther. Sadly, the beggar died. Karak curse my carelessness. If I had been more patient, I might have followed the snaking tendrils from these two selves to the center…”

Pelarak closed the book and set it down next to his spellbook.

“Take both,” he said. “You still have much to learn. Focus upon this wall that separates her selves, and yet also connects them as well. Ask her if she knows about it, for she might. If anything can bring the pieces back together it is that secret, hidden self.”

Qurrah took the books and bowed. “I will consider what you have said,” he promised. “Although you err in saying she cannot be cured.”

“I know little about love,” Pelarak said, showing Qurrah to the door. “My mind is too cynical to study such chaos. Good can come from love, however, for I love Karak with every beat of my heart. Love Tessanna as she is. If you fail to cure her, the sting will hurt that much less.”

“I will not fail,” Qurrah said. He held the books tight against his chest and bowed once more. “I never fail.”

“Spare me the theatrics,” the priest said, a smile creeping on the corners of his mouth. “We all have failed. Some are humble enough to learn from their failures. They are the wise.”

Qurrah left the temple, having gained no answers but plenty of questions, as well as a gnawing fear that there was more to Tessanna’s mind than he so far discerned.

B ack at their cabin, they lay soaked in each other’s sweat. In the calm afterward, Qurrah dared ask the question Pelarak had urged him to ask.

“Tessanna,” he said, his eyes closed. He felt less awkward bringing up the subject when he wasn’t looking at her. “Do you understand what I mean when I say there are many in your mind?”

“Yes,” she said, her voice subdued. She usually fell into such a state after they made love, although how long the apathy lasted varied greatly. “I believe I understand.”

Qurrah searched for a way to ask what he barely understood himself.

“These different…parts of you. Pieces of you. They are all separate, but there’s one that isn’t. Part of it connects to every piece. Do you understand?”

Tessanna giggled, fading out of the apathy smoother than a boat floating across still waters.

“Something is wrong with me,” she said, her voice intolerably shy. “I’ve always known it. People die around me, and sometimes it feels like strangers sit behind my eyes, spitting at them.”