These words repeated through Saraya’s mind without stop, so loud and desperate that even Alter’s voice had grown distant. Since the moment she had learned of where Myria meant to lead them, a battle had begun raging within her. It was a war between her feeling of ever-growing guilt and those loyalties that she so dearly yearned to keep. Try as she might, she could not devise a way to appease both sides of her conundrum, and her every attempt only ended with somebody getting hurt. But never, never would Saraya willingly betray someone she called friend, and Myria was that to her at the least. Yet something she could do even less was disappoint Lady Veil, the woman who had raised her for the last six years and for whose affection and continued favor Saraya longed.
To kill the Mediator was to betray Myria, but to refuse was to betray Veil, and there was no way for Saraya to avoid making a decision. Nor could she risk putting the task off any longer. If Saraya were to wait and come back later, thus allowing Myria to fulfill her goal, then the whole of Dragon’s Teeth would be placed on high alert. Should that happen, the Mediator would doubtlessly become guarded by the Valor itself, and be impossible to approach until the moot Myria spoke of reached its end. It would be extraordinarily difficult for Saraya to carry out her mission if such a thing came to pass, as she’d have to go through more people, risking both capture and recognition, to see it done. No, it was suicide to leave now and return to the fortress later. To appease Veil, she had to kill the Mediator now.
The finality of that thought brought Saraya to a standstill, frozen by a dread of her own making. No, surely there had to be some way, any way, to get around what had to happen. Anything she could do to escape this choice. But for all her wishful thinking, in her heart, she knew the truth. Already the more logical side of her had reluctantly accepted their fate, accepted the inevitable future she had to face. Yet how could she possibly carry out her mission feeling like this? Or rather, how could she possibly live with the consequences of her choice?
“What is the matter?” Myria asked, glancing down to Saraya when she stopped for what seemed like, to her, as no apparent reason.
This drew Saraya abruptly out from her own rising panic, and though she looked to the Slayer, she didn’t have the wits about her to immediately respond. It took her a moment, but eventually Saraya realized that she had indeed stopped walking, realizing, too, that she had forced Myria to do the same.
“Oh, uh…” she stammered, searching for an excuse to explain her pause. “I was…curious. Why did the assassin capture you in the first place? There seemed to be a reason, but I’ve not been able to figure it out.”
“Oh,” Myria replied flatly. “The answer to that is simple: that girl works under the Honorbound Kross, or so I am led to believe, and that man loathes everything the Valor is and all we stand for. Kross is a leading voice in the argument for the abolition of Cambria’s Mediator, and thus he sees the Valor as a threat. In his province of Highloft, the Valor are considered vermin to be expunged, and those most loyal to him act upon that will. I am certain you can imagine how pleased Kross would be were he to come into the possession of a Valor captain.”
“By ‘expunged’ you mean killed?” Saraya questioned to clarify, causing Myria to respond with a somber nod. “You really have leaders that are outright murdering their citizens? That doesn’t seem…I don’t know…possible, somehow. Or at least, I can’t imagine your Honorbound and Mediator allowing that sort of thing to go unchecked.”
“Perhaps ‘outright’ is not the right word,” Myria calmly amended, “but neither are such actions truly secret. A large-scale, unprovoked attack on dissenters would still be seen as murder by the public, and it would also incentivize the other Honorbound to step in. No, those who stand against us are far more cunning and subtle in their assaults. It is how they have gotten away with their evils for so long.”
Saraya pondered on this news, not exactly sure what she should think. “It’s hard to believe that things are truly as bad in Cambria as you say,” she confessed. “I’ve heard little to nothing of all this while traveling abroad.”
“There is not a day that goes by where I do not wish that things were different,” Myria sighed, “but alas, this is indeed the true state of Cambria. There are a great many vile stirrings within our country’s roots, even if it is not apparent from the outside. You are not a part of it, and that is why you do not know. Kayll help them, even those who live here tend to turn a blind eye to it.”
“So why does your Mediator not do something then, especially if there is proof enough of all this happening?”
Another disheartened sigh came from Myria in answer, followed by a tired shake of the woman’s head. “He simply does not have the pull,” she started to explain, clearly having said as much many times before. “As it is with any leader, without the necessary support, he can do very little in the grand scheme of things.”
“So your leader is worthless,” Alter harshly concluded, speaking Saraya’s quiet thoughts out loud.
Myria frowned at these words. “Hardly,” she corrected curtly. “Though inexperienced, he has a role, and would fulfill it if given the chance.”
“Empty sentiment,” Alter rebuffed, forcing Saraya to cut in.
“What we mean,” she began, “is that it’s good that you have faith in your Mediator, but what good is hoping for him to do the right thing if he never actually does it? Wouldn’t it be better to have a Mediator that actually did something about your problems?”
“Were it that simple,” Myria answered. “But the Mediator is no tyrant. Nor is the Valor a proper army with which he could wage war.”
“I don’t agree with that,” Saraya countered. “From what I can tell, the Valor has both the pull and the numbers needed to take action. I think you could make a difference with a proper Mediator at your head.”
Giving her a hard look, the Slayer fell eerily silent, prompting Saraya to worry that she may have spoken her mind a bit too carelessly. But after ruminating for a short time, Myria finally responded, and, surprisingly, it was not with anger. “Though politics are never so easy a thing manage,” she started to say slowly, “it is not that I truly disagree with you. Do not misunderstand though; the Valor has indeed pressed for such action before, but nothing we do can succeed if no one is willing to listen. The Mediator must prove himself to his people if things are to change, and this moot will work as a test of his mettle. The Valor intends to respond in accordance to the Mediator’s performance in the days to come, and it is possible that he will prove that our efforts have been far too lenient. If so, then the Valor will be forced to choose a new course of action, to ensure that the Mediator is put to work for his people.”
“That sounds like a good start,” Saraya told her with a nod. “And I’m sure Baine and the others will feel relieved to hear it. For what it’s worth, I do think that the Valor can mold your Mediator into a proper leader.”
The unexpected quip caught Saraya so off guard that she nearly choked on Alter’s words as she said them. Spoken as they were with such a harrowing coldness, the prophetic threat sent a chill coursing down Saraya’s spine. With it, her fear returned, having been buried by the conversation, and what small solace she had found within the distraction was consumed by the rekindling of her panic. That Myria couldn’t hear Alter’s murmurings was but a small mercy in the face of remembering her nearing plight. But again Saraya was forced to swallow the roiling sea of her emotions, masking the pain of her self-inflicted internal struggle. As a performer, Saraya was well practiced in carrying out this particular part of her duty; of hiding things lest her intent and purpose be found out. Because of it, even Myria, leaning right up against her, couldn’t sense that there was anything amiss.
“It is not out of the question,” the woman continued, carrying on the conversation as before. “The Mediator works for his people, after all, and the Valor is comprised of nothing but those who believe in him. Given enough motivation, and should the Valor play a more active role than we have in the past, then it is possible we can accomplish a great deal more quickly than previously believed.”
“I hope it all works out for you,” Saraya said, forcing a smile when she spoke it. It took a great deal of effort to keep her voice from quivering.
Myria nodded. “Have you finished resting?” She then asked, confusing Saraya with the question.
“Oh, uh…yeah…” she stammered, most reluctant to speak. After all, acquiescence meant that she’d have no choice but to continue on.
“Good. Then it would do us well to press on. The Mediator’s study is not much farther from here, and the sooner we reach him, the better for us all.”
It took everything Saraya had to not physically recoil from such a statement; her guilt threatening to become too great a thing to be concealed. For the sake of her duty she forced it down and urged herself to move forward, one foot at a time, disguising the weight of her despair under the trudge of a slower gait.
What am I supposed to do? She asked to no one, hoping to anything for an answer. The looming burden of her choice was nearly too much now to bear, and each step she made was only making it heavier.
Of course I do! Saraya thought.
A WHAT? She growled back in anger, offended that Alter would even dare suggest such a thing.
her mind repeated,
I’ve no wish to betray either! Saraya tried desperately to explain.
I know! Saraya roared within the confines of her head. I remember, but…is there truly no other way? No other choice that I can make? I would do anything—
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Alter’s indignant scoff cut her off in disdain.
Don’t blame me for this! Saraya internally snarled. It was your fool desire for excitement that locked our fate with Develli’s! Had you not, then I wouldn’t be…I wouldn’t be…!
Saraya couldn’t rightly finish her thought. It simply wasn’t in her to do so. As painful as it was to admit, her words were failing because she knew they were wrong. She blamed Alter—and rightly so—but everything that was happening now was her own fault. Had she but reined in the curious nature that Veil warned her would be trouble, she never would have met Develli, never met Myria, never come to befriend her and, in the end, never have the need to betray such an admirable friend. It was her fault for getting mixed up in this as she had, and her fault, too, for destroying it.
This truth agonized her, and a whimper slipped from her mouth more silent than a whisper. So grim the future felt, and all because of her own doing. The time to act was nearly here, her every step bringing her closer to it. How much she just wished to turn and run away.
So potent were the emotions coursing through the young jester that even Myria could not remain totally oblivious to them. That such weakness had come upon Saraya so suddenly, both surprised and concerned the woman more than she had expected. At first, Myria believed her worry a direct result of having been dealing with Saraya for so long. It had become almost second nature to Myria now to keep a close eye on the jester, and though the debt between them was gone, it was possible that she still felt some lingering sense of duty to protect her charge. Regardless of the reason, Myria felt bound to help Saraya as she would have before, even if the Slayer had no idea where to begin.
But why now? She had to wonder. What had caused the girl to cave? For the entirety of their climb Myria had been focused only on reaching the Mediator, and so had noticed nothing about the acrobat that may have changed. The longer she pondered it though, there were certain things about Saraya that she may have indeed overlooked; crucial elements that she had, before now, failed to consider.
Saraya was still a child, a fact that Myria had ignored, primarily because of everything that the girl had been doing while under her protection. Thinking of it now, there was no denying that Saraya had been through a great deal in the past few days, having done more, experienced more, than any normal child her age would dare to dream. By forcing her to continue on, perhaps this had pushed Saraya beyond her limit, as the girl certainly had every excuse to be exhausted. Twice in one day Saraya had fended off Fangris assassins, as well as infiltrated Dragon’s Teeth just so that she might be able to save Myria. And even after all of this, she remained steadfastly at Myria’s side, exerting herself just to aid the Slayer all this way. By any measure, Saraya had done more than her fair share of work for the Valor’s sake; a most bewildering feat given that she wasn’t even counted among their number.
For the first time, Myria finally considered that she may have been expecting too much of Saraya, expecting a child to have the same experience and hardiness of soldiers and Slayers twice her age. Though her expectations were only so high because the girl seemed able to take the load, it didn’t change the fact that Myria had failed to account for a child’s needs. Perhaps then, it was more than just the physical fatigue that had caused the jester’s strength to fail. The prolonged stress of their venture would have surely caused any youngling to eventually break, and Myria knew that she—even now—often treated Saraya a bit too harshly. After all the girl had done, and nearly all of it for Myria’s sake, it wouldn’t hurt her to ease up on her young ally just this once.
“Hold, Saraya,” she thus said, a bit more sternly than she intended, her words causing the acrobat to jolt slightly as though she were in trouble. Myria needed to watch her tone a bit more closely it seemed, but unfortunately, speaking softly was never one of her stronger suits. “From here on I will take the lantern,” she informed Saraya then in kind command, trying, for the girl’s sake, to speak gently. But this only elicited a confused look from the acrobat.
“You will?” She replied, her voice catching strangely in her throat.
Myria nodded, then, slowly, she hoisted herself up from the jester’s shoulders, being careful not to jostle her ribs too much lest they ache. Steadying herself, she took a few steps forward to test how well she could carry her own weight, and confirmed that some strength had indeed returned to her body. It was at least enough that she would be able to walk to the Mediator’s study on her own, which was all she needed to do to fulfill her duty. “You may hand it to me now,” she told Saraya, holding her hand out for the light.
“Are you sure?” The jester asked, sounding unconvinced that Myria could manage the climb without her aid.
“You have helped me long enough that I can walk on my own,” the Slayer assured. “Remember, I told you that the assassin did not much injure my legs. She intended for me to walk, which I now have strength enough to do. Besides, it is better that I be the one to greet the Mediator instead of you. He will recognize me, and so trust what I have to say.”
Yet still Saraya hesitated, as though she didn’t believe what Myria said. To convince her, Myria walked back and laid a comforting hand on the jester’s shoulder. “You needn’t worry about me any longer, Saraya. You’ve done enough.”
Though it took another minute, the acrobat did eventually relent. “If you say so…” she muttered, speaking it so quietly under her breath that Myria almost didn’t hear it. Though she still hesitated for one last moment, Saraya finally handed Myria the broken lantern, and seemed genuinely surprised when Myria returned the gesture with a smile.
“Thank you for all your help,” she told the girl. “I would not have made it this far without you.”
These words, like a knife, stabbed into Saraya’s chest, causing grief to pour like blood from the verbal wound. It was impossible for Myria to know of the damage she had inflicted, or know the true reason why Saraya was being so stubbornly hesitant. It wasn’t that Saraya had any doubt in Myria’s strength, nor think that she couldn’t manage the remaining climb on her own. No, it was because if Myria left her, then this would be their journey’s end, the moment when Saraya would finally have to act. By disobeying the woman even a little, she could prolong their friendship, if just by seconds. But the very moment Myria left, there would be no turning back, and Saraya would be left with only one thing she could do.
“You would say something like that,” Saraya uttered, her chest heavy with hurt. “You would say something like that to me now. Why, Myria? Why did it have to be you?” But the woman had already turned and started walking away, while Saraya remained trapped within herself, standing still. Myria thus never heard her whispers, never heard her sorrow, her regret, and so would never understand why it all had to happen the way it did.
NO! Saraya hissed, grappling her traitorous wrist with her other hand. I will NOT allow you to kill her!
That thought, that possibility, caused Saraya to briefly falter, but even so, she did not release the desperate grip upon her arm. As heart wrenching as it would be to betray someone she loved as a friend, the more despairing was the threat of losing the love and trust of she who guarded her and Alter’s wellbeing. Saraya could not afford to lose all of that again. She could not lose the warmth and safety of the circus. She needed Veil more than she needed anything else in all the world, for without her, she would simply fall apart.
I know what I must do, Saraya told Alter coldly as her thoughts merged with those of her twin. Knowing them, Alter’s grip upon their body released.
The matter settled, Saraya slowly started walking off after Myria, catching up quickly due to the woman’s injured pace. Keeping a short distance between them, Saraya quietly reached inside one of the pouches upon her belt, where she pried the brood wolf fang loose from its linen covering. In its tip venom pooled, still coursing through the length of the wicked tooth, once stopped by the cloth that had kept it sealed, but no longer.
A feeling of sadness overwhelmed Saraya as she stepped up close to Myria’s back, her movements as silent as death itself. Holding her breath lest she sob, Saraya grabbed a tight hold of the Slayer from behind, and pushed her forehead into Myria’s back as her tears fell. “Please, forgive me, Myria,” she told the woman, a cryptic attempt at a warning, before she thrust the fang forward, its sharp tip cutting through fabric and breaking skin.
With no warning of the attack, Myria cried out in pain as she crumpled under the burning sensation that exploded within her leg. She fought to remain standing, but the effort only succeeded in slowing her fall, dropping Myria first to her knees as the paralytic began spreading throughout her lower body. No longer able to feel her leg, the venom seeped up next into her torso and caused half of her left side to go completely numb.
“What treachery is this?!” She demanded, confused, hurt and angry, and not knowing which of all her emotions she should be feeling. Saraya’s apology from before, surely it was meant for this. But why? Why would Saraya attack her after all this time?
As Myria searched for a reason, the acrobat stepped up around her from behind, being careful to stay just outside of the Slayer’s reach. Wordlessly, she bent down to retrieve the lantern from the tunnel floor, while Myria, barely able to keep herself up on her hands and knees, was unable to do anything to try and reach her. Unwilling to even look at the fallen Slayer, Saraya used the lantern’s flame to light a meager candle within her hand.
“It…wasn’t supposed to come to this,” the acrobat spoke at last, confusing Myria all the more with her words. “I’m sorry, Myria. It was never supposed to be this way.”
“What do you mean?” The woman questioned, suddenly more worried now than she’d ever been. But Saraya just turned away, saying nothing more.
That she was so unwilling to speak sent Myria’s mind racing, and frantically, she began piecing together all she knew. Saraya was abandoning her, but why now and for what purpose? Surely it was not to harm Myria, for if that had been so, then there would have been no reason for the acrobat to come and rescue her as she had. Why, then, would Saraya wait until now to debilitate her? What reason could she have to stop her now?
Myria’s eyes widened when she finally realized the girl’s intent; the only reason she could concoct that made any sense. Saraya was after the Mediator, and she had used Myria to reach him. Without the Slayer’s guidance, the acrobat would have never been able to get here so quickly, and now that they were this close, she couldn’t have Myria getting in her way.
The truth of this coursed through her more devastating than any poison, replacing Myria’s strength with the burning anger of enraged despair. “You mean to betray me like this?!” She accused, trying in desperation to get up, but the attempt only caused her to fall face forward onto the floor. “Even after everything I’ve said, you would still kill the Mediator yourself? After all that’s happened, you would still choose to do something like this?!”
“It’s not my choice!” Saraya cried, sounding desperate to defend herself. “Never would I have wanted something like this to happen to you!”
“Then explain it to me, jester!” Myria snarled from the ground. “For Kayll know I trusted you! Give me one good reason why you would do something like this to me!”
Saraya gave a start at this question, wanting more than anything for Myria to understand. But how could she possibly explain something that she herself didn’t comprehend? And even if she did, what good would it do? No matter what Saraya could say, Veil had commanded that the Mediator must die, and Myria would never accept such a course of action, nor forgive Saraya for carrying it out. Only Veil could fully explain why something like this had to be done, as only Veil was privy to her own secrets and reasonings.
Saraya thus had nothing; no excuses to give or truths to tell, and unable to explain, it was all she could do to grit her teeth in unbearable frustration. It was a futile attempt to contain her feelings, for her tears still escaped her eyes, and their sparkle streaked down her cheeks within the firelight. “I wish I could tell you,” she began, unable to look at the Slayer. “I wish I could tell you everything. But I can’t tell you why, Myria. I just can’t. I’m just…sorry…”
Dropping the lit candle to the ground, Saraya turned sharply away and ran off from the Slayer, taking the lantern and disappearing with it down the tunnel around the next bend. Myria snatched up the candlestick as it rolled into her reach, saving it before the small flame could be snuffed out.
“Saraya!” She roared after the acrobat into the dark. “Fawln take it, Saraya! Don’t do this, please! Saraya! SARAYA!!”
But Myria’s pleas were ignored, blocked out by the jester, deafened by her own sobs and shallow breathing. As fast as her feet could carry her, Saraya sprinted down the hall, her heart sinking ever deeper into her stomach. Swallowed up by despair, Saraya felt her nerves, her every feeling, go numb. Every fiber within her body wished for nothing more than to collapse, dragged down by the regret of what she had just done. And yet, she ran on. Her goal was too close now, too important. The Mediator had to die. She had to do this for Veil. No matter what, she would not fail, not for her mistress.
And yet, it still hurt. Hurt more than anything she had imagined, and nothing she could do could hope to make such an intense pain go away.
“Damn it all,” Saraya muttered, tears making the hall ahead hard to see. “Damn it all,” she said again. “And damn me too…”