Chapter 11: A Promise

"Deeper." ​

Ofelia clears her throat from the opposite side of the room. "Goin' somewhere?"

You nearly fall over in surprise— struggling to get dressed as quickly as possible. "Y-you were awake—"

"I wasn't goin' to go sleepin' after everythin' you went through... yesterday? Hard to tell down here. Gwen came back awhile ago, cleaned your robes proper—" Legitimate concern is pointed at your visible shaking. "Hey. Hey, are you okay?"

So much as attempting to fasten your belt has your head spinning. You feel like collapsing again.

You nod your head, even though it's highly unlikely that Ofelia can see the gesture in the dark. "Wake up Celegwen. I— I have to tell you both something."

Ofelia seems even more concerned. "Gwen! Hey, hey, Gwen. Get up. Come on."

There's a series of shuffles and scrapes as the halfling tries to jostle her companion awake. "Hmm...? Ofelia, I don't want to do anymore laundry..."

You pace nervously beside the remnants of the campfire, with your hands shaking harder than ever. Shoving the nervous digits into your pockets barely calms them.

While Ofelia jostles and argues with Celegwen to awake, you at least note that the cloying emptiness has mercifully left you. "Get up, goofball. It's Richard! He's up too, come oooon—"

Ray's snoring punctuates their argument. It's an enormous relief to hear him sounding like his usual self again, but you can't relax. By the time Celegwen gets up, you have kneeled beside the fire to stoke it yourself.

Ofelia instantly makes a fuss and shoos you away from the ashes of the old flame. "I'll take care of this— you just sit and talk. What's goin' on?"

"Yes, Father...?" It's as if the elf has had twice the sleep you have, in half the time. She lightly sits beside you and Ofelia. "I was trying to sleep."

It's a struggle to sit still. You settle for nervously wringing your hands. "The Goddess of my Church visited me last night: Mercy."

"I'm— guessin' that isn't normal." Ofelia offers. Both women's stares are scarcely lit by rising embers.

You dart your eyes away. "It's unheard of. This isn't the first time that I have been visited by the Gods— which is unusual enough. But never—" You wrap your arms around yourself. "—but never like this. Never from Her. Mercy— Mercy had a message." You paraphrase— embarrassed by the intimacy of Her message— but determined to preserve its integrity. "Gather Our children. Find one that appears taken by their weakness. Find one that still possesses kindness in their heart. Grant them Our blessing. Grant them peace, through Our symbol. Seek Our Relic— to obtain not the cure to the Catalyst, but the cure— the cure to the pain of so many others. Do this, and go forth with Our blessing."

Her message hangs in the air.

As smoke begins to trail up from the fire, Ofelia breaks the harrowing silence. "That couldn't have been no dream. You've never talked nearly that confidently before Rich— OW—!"

A small shake of Celegwen's wrist works out the sheer force that she punched the halfling with. Both women wince as she continues to interrupt. "I don't profess any knowledge of your Gods, Father— but this sounds extremely important. Thank you for sharing this with us."

Both women exchange a look. They likely want to say something, but hold their tongues.

The passion in your speech softens into its usual, withdrawn tone. "This is the most important message that I could bear. The direct word of the Gods is my life's work. I know that you both have already helped me so much— but I wanted you to know— I want you to know— because I need your help."

Ofelia's jaw drops. "Where is this coming from?! You were quick to leave bef— GWEN WILL YOU STOP HITTING ME—"

The bully gives you a sheepish smile. "This is a lot to ask, Father. I don't know the first thing about your Gods, but it is clear just how much this means to you. I... need to deliberate further on this."

"You don't speak for both of us, Gwen." The rogue actually looks hurt. "...but I don't think I get what you're askin', Richard."

"I— She— we need your help. This Relic— I can't imagine that finding it will be easy. You both spoke before of artifacts within the ruins. Strange, powerful, dangerous—"

Something between concern and offense worms through Celegwen's explanation. "Those were magical artifacts, Father. Again— I do not know of your worship— but Magic is a different thing entirely."

"I— I see."

"What do you suppose this relic is like, anyways?" Mischief flashes in Ofelia's eyes. "Sounds... useful." The threat of retribution in your eyes makes the small woman recoil. "Okay—! Okay. Got it. But what do you suppose it does, really? How do you even think we could find it?"

We?

"I hadn't even asked—"

"Ya' sure did. I don't know about knife ears here, but it wouldn't sit right with me to see ya' wander off again so soon. I'll at least keep my eyes out for ya' until we're out of these ruins." Ofelia elbows the woman beside her a few times, and flashes you a toothy smile. You almost offer her one back. "Really, Richard— you had more than a brush with death back there. This place isn't fit for men. Mankind, I mean. We didn't think you'd pull through, first time we found ya'. Second time I find ya', you're nearly dead too. Maybe a bit worse off than that."

Her tone drops further. "Where do you think you're gonna keep looking for this Relic? Weren't you down here looking for the cure to some Catalyst?"

For a brief moment— reassured by the holy symbol underhand— you dart your eyes up to meet Ofelia's.

"Richard?"

Passion steadies your voice. "I haven't abandoned the search for the cure. You have to understand: I must respect Mercy's will. This Relic— this quest— this is something I have to do." If only how tightly you were grasping onto Mercy's could stop the renewed tremor in your voice, too. "I— I can't forsake humanity, though. I won't forget. I will resume— I will resume the search for a cure to the Catalyst when the time is right. When She wills it."

Celegwen finally responds. "This doesn't sit right with me, Father."

Lifting your gaze, you can't restrain your snap in reply. "You just said that you don't— that you don't know the first thing about the Gods."

How is that any way to respond to a mission from Mercy— to the most divine calling that a man could ask for?

More upset with yourself for speaking out of turn than with the elf, you keep your gaze down.

Show some restraint.

"I don't." Celegwen insists, "but this doesn't sound like it's your choice at all. It's not right."

"You don't understand."

A soft blow from Ofelia deters the elf's reply. "She has a point though, Richard. You seem, well— eager to hurt yourself pretty bad to help these Gods of yours. It's been buggin' me for awhile, too. Might not have been my business but, yeah. I'm makin' it my business."

The scars littering your hands and face are betraying you. You are not protesting. You need to explain. "I want this. I don't have to do this because Mercy wills it. I have to do this because I will it. This is my life. My choice."

A heavy silence falls over the room— save for Ray's steady snoring. Your hands ache from holding Mercy's symbol so tightly, but the sensation is comforting. The heat radiating off of the metal is an enormous comfort in the face of such scrutiny. Celegwen breaks the silence just when it's become unbearable. She clears her throat. You look up to see that she's holding a small, dark, twinkling mass out to you.

"What's this?"

"It's a promise."

The starlight within the small object coalesces before your vision and reflects off of your eyes as they widen. The elf's light and accented voice takes on newfound sadness. "I want to help you, Father. Ofelia has someone to go home to— but I do not. Judging by the way that you treat yourself, I suspect that you do not, either."

No matter how much her words may sting, she's right. "You understand more than you let on."

"It's alright. Perhaps we could take the time to understand each other better. I would like to travel with you, if you would have me. Perhaps we can find this Relic— or even your cure. I'm sure that there is much knowledge to be gained from your journey, even if we cannot."

Her hands are so much steadier than yours. An entire night's sky is suspended within her palms. The thought of anyone else holding such a beautiful and delicate object is unthinkable. It's almost as if it's suspended in Time. It raises the question once more about how different Magic and the Gods can be, but Celegwen interrupts your thoughts. "Hold out your hands."

You hesitate.

"It's not a curse, I promise."

Stiff and trembling, you part your hands from your holy symbol. The first attempt to steady them is met with Celegwen gently taking hold of your wrist. You tense, with every hair standing on end at the light touch. "It's alright." She delicately lays the starlight in the palm of your hand before you can pull away. Forcing yourself to relax— and to not drop the precious item— is met with sparks and the impression of words upon your skin.

Your eyes widen in amazement as the object flickers, and fades completely from view.

Ofelia lets out a groan. "That was so much cooler than when you promised to help me out, Gwen. What gives?"

"You didn't have a mission from a Goddess, Ofelia."

"I know, but aaauuuugh, cool it, won't ya'? Gonna' give the poor guy the wrong idea—"

You discreetly wipe off your hands off onto the side of your pant legs as the women bicker.

"So. Richard." Ofelia moves to make breakfast. "You conveniently ignored my other question: Where on earth do you think we could start searching?"

You want to see the surface again, and miss the Church of Mercy— your home. You've even said as much, but you can't give up now. Not when you've already come this far.

Is the nonstop tremor in my hands from how much blood I lost yesterday? Or is it the prospect of facing down demons greater than the ones I have already lost to?

Your voice is barely above a whisper as you respond. "Here in the ruins— you both have found magical artifacts— but that doesn't rule out the Relic. You both— you both never did explore that library... did you?"

Both cartographers look remarkably concerned. Ofelia continues gathering her cooking supplies as she says, "we didn't want to risk it. There's a lot of crazies down there. But, well, I've been lookin' for somethin' of a cure myself, y'know?" She reluctantly admits, "my Pa's been sick for a long time. Can't take any unnecessary risks, right? He wouldn't be happy with me if he even knew I was down here to begin with."

Your desire to heal overwhelms the urge to shy away. "Do you know what he's suffering from?"

The halfling stops her deft work chopping vegetables and boiling water to look up at you. "Something dark. My Pa isn't on the best terms with some of the family's customers. He got his hands a little too dirty, if you take my meaning. Upset the wrong kinds of people." She turns her attention back down to the stew pot, minding her hands and utensils as she gently stirs the mixture. "He was getting too old for the business. He's stubborn. Wouldn't let me help him outright. This is the best I can do. Here— taste this—"

You stare awkwardly at the outstretched spoon in front of you, and try to politely refuse. The halfling makes an exaggerated sigh, and goes back to cooking. There's a distinct slouch in her shoulders. Wanting to lift her Spirit, a strange thought occurs to you.

"'The cure to the pain of so many others.' Do you think that the Relic...?"

Her eager eyes widen. "Now there's an idea! Richard— do you think...?"

Celegwen's methodically answers Ofelia for you. "We haven't ventured back to the library, or properly inspected any of its contents. It's placement is highly unusual. It would surely be a good place to start looking."

You can almost feel the weight coming off of your shoulders as the two women eagerly rehash the route they last took to the library. As the smell of Ofelia's cooking wafts through the cold, you hear something... stirring. It's heavy, strong, and roused out of a deep slumber...

"Ray?!"

Your boy is dazed, but as soon as your eyes meet, he gets himself up and practically tackles you to the floor. He licks at your face as if he hasn't seen you in years. You struggle to remain upright, with all the life coming back into your voice for the first time in days. "Ray— Ray, it's alright! Good boy. Who's a good boy? You put up a good fight, didn't you? Come here—"

Long arms wrap around your dog, and hug him as he refuses to calm down. You can feel the knotted scars on either side of his torso. They're dried, and healed. Your boy is going to have some trouble with exerting himself in the days to come. You make a firm motion for him to sit. He obliges, but wags his tail furiously.

"Good boy. Stay. Take it easy, Ray."

Ofelia chuckles. "He must have smelled the food, huh? Hey, Gwen— this is probably gonna attract some trouble. You mind doin' the thing?"

Rising and picking up her staff, Celegwen makes an elaborate gesture with her free hand. The scent of the stew completely evaporates.

The chef deflates ever-so-slightly. "There's no way to do that without ruinin' the meal, huh?"

"Yes, but it would be a waste. I can only do so much, Ofelia. You know this."

With a groan, Ofelia sets about serving the meal. As you can't help but hug Ray again, you notice that he's still got some blood on him. "I— I need to clean him up." Your speech is a little distorted as your boy continues licking at your face. "Can we have some more water, Ofelia?"

Some spare rags and a spare flask are shoved at you. You make quick work of wiping down the remaining blood and viscera on Ray. Extra time is spent making sure that his wound is clean and dry. He nervously whines as Ofelia starts gathering dishes.

A piping hot and odorless bowl is thrust into your hands the moment that you're done attending to your dog. You can't even think about food, let alone entertaining the look that Ofelia is giving you.

"We're not goin' anywhere until you eat, Richard. Don't try and pawn it off on him, either." A gesture is made with her fingers, to her eyes, and back to you a few times. "Eagle-eye is watchin' you."

Nervously looking at the food, you caution Ofelia, "we might be here awhile."

She shrugs. "You think I care? Just eat. You need it."

Wincing, you try to defend yourself. "I've tried explaining to you before—"

She isn't paying any attention, serves a dish to Celegwen, and resumes staring at you intently.

Surely the pain can be made into something tolerable. You try breaking the stew into small pieces, and eat as slowly as possible. It's like swallowing glass or forcing down very small needles. Immediate and intense. A flask of wine is shoved at you from the visibly upset halfling by your side. Though you can't taste the liquor, it makes the rest easier to choke down. Vaguely trying to recall the last time you ate or drank anything at all doesn't help matters.

"It wasn't always like this," you try to offer.

"It's horseshit is what it is." She's pouting.

Celegwen at least is respecting your space. She seems distracted by something.

You suffer through one more bite and have to stop. It's as if your throat is closing. Coughing and making every attempt to drink, you splutter through a few more words. "It had to be done." No one minds waiting for you to clear your throat from the sensation of pins sticking along the entire length of it. "There was a famine. Even as a kid, there was— there was something wrong with the crops. My parents, they— they suspected that the last King was to blame. He was Vengeful. Years of hunger—" Another coughing fit cuts you short.

Ofelia's frustration as she refills your wine borders on anger. "I thought Corcaea was well off. You know? The land? All things considered."

"It is now. I worked with the Mother of Agriculture for a time..." You're struggling to speak. "She didn't mind. I knew my way around a farm—" You slide the bowl away from yourself, unable to look at it. "Ray." A single point at the dish. He eagerly inhales the remainder of the stew.

You got through less than half of it— but that's better than usual, and at least you got some nutrition. "Mother Bethaea was... terribly distraught. She blamed herself for the famine."

After several more minutes of coughing, you can bring yourself to finish. "She took her life. Before— before I could properly help."

Though your companions look at you with alarm, they don't even comment on you pawning off the rest of your meal. "I— I suspected that it wouldn't work. Asking so much of the Goddess. Agriculture listened, though. She blessed the fields. The orchards." You clear your throat.

The pain's relaxed a great deal. Just getting food out of your sight is usually good enough. You finish the story with a murmur— not knowing what else to say. "The Gods are Merciful."

Both women stare at you in bewilderment. Ofelia in particular seems too conflicted to articulate any given emotion.

You keep your eyes down, shying away from their stares until Celegwen finally speaks up. You can't hear anything other than the deep concern all throughout her tone. "The alarm. Something is coming. Father— get up."