Mere Acquaintances- Chapter Twenty-Six

Someone had turned the TV in the common room to an educational channel, and a nature show about undersea life was on. Huge schools of pale, silvery fish glinted in the sunlight that filtered through the shallows of the water. It was impressive how they swam in a cluster and seemed to move as one. Vale’s eyes were locked on the images, but his mind was racing.


The plain could definitely be called “the middle of nowhere.” The Mother had told Jaidyn to go out in the open, and here he was. He had followed instructions, and… nothing. He had already been out here for two days, waiting. She had said help would find him. Well, where was this help?

Had the Mother lied to him? Of course not, he chided himself. The Mother was the epitome of goodness, the mother of every living thing: animal, plant, and person alike. Why would she lie to someone who would so blindly follow her, was so devoted to her that he didn’t question her?

He was still surprised that the Mother had appeared to him, and in the form of a man. Then again, she is a goddess; she can do whatever she wants. She could have fixed everything in a second had she wanted to. So why didn’t she? Probably some cock-and-bull reason– wanting him to earn it himself, right the wrongs of humans only by pointing other humans in the right direction– something like that. If he had her powers, he would definitely make sure things always went the way he wanted.

The Mother had actually appeared to him; there was a part of his mind that kept dwelling on that point alone. The Mother had appeared in bodily form– if as a man– to him. That sealed it in his mind: he was the true Cheyne Firdin rebirth. He was the one destined for greatness, not this as-yet-unnamed fellow all the rumors spoke of. The Mother was had spoken to him personally, had told him help was coming, was sending someone to right the wrongs done to him. She had even called him “my reborn king” which had to mean a throne was coming his way.

Had Cheyne been a king once? He tried to remember, searched for something to tell him the answer, but he only kept coming to memories of Lexan. She would get rid of them. She hadn’t said so outright, but she had said she would help him. She knew about them; she would do something. He kept telling himself that over and over as memories of Lexan tried again and again to force their way to the forefront of his thoughts. He kept fighting them back.

“No! I don’t want you! It’s Cheyne I want! I’m Cheyne!” He screamed at the thoughts of Lexan that kept barging in where they weren’t wanted. He scratched at his head, at his temples, trying to dig them out. “Save me, Mother! Save me from these cursed memories!”

“You… the one,” came an unfamiliar man’s voice.

When Jaidyn looked up, he was surrounded by men and women, all dressed in skins and with hair ranging from pale buttery yellow to gold. Keidenelle. He was completely surrounded by them. There was an ungainly pair of wagons outside the circle they made around him; each wagon held more of the savages. Each man and woman of them carried some sort of weapon, be it a blade, a wooden staff, or a bow.

He fell to his knees, darting his eyes from one savage to the next, trying to watch them all at once and waiting for them to attack. “Please, I’m unarmed! Don’t hurt me, please!”

They gave no sign that they understood, only looked down on him with eyes that were boldly colored green or blue or violet. It was like looking into a strange sea of jewels. One man, with a mop of hair the color of a canary and eyes so blue they made the sky seem plain, squatted in front of Jaidyn and pointed a long, tan finger at him. “You… our master…” His finger inched forward until it touched Jaidyn’s forehead, where the black speck of light had burned him.

His eyes widened. These were the Mother’s followers? The savage Keidenelle? Part of him groaned inwardly, but part of him rejoiced. The sliver of his mind that he associated with Lexan was positively delighted. There was fear attached to the Keidenelle. What an army they could make!

Trying to hide the trembling of his knees, he got to his feet and looked the man in those frighteningly blue eyes. “I am your master,” he said.

The savages surrounding him made strange noises that sounded negative to him. The man shook his head and pointed again. “Your master, our master. Knew you come. Great servant. We follow.”

Well, at least they would follow him. That was good enough. “I am Jaidyn,” he said, striking himself importantly on the chest.

“Alaykichihaahoush,” the Keidenelle man, who Jaidyn took for some sort of a leader, said, imitating Jaidyn’s chest strike.

“That’s uh… some name,” Jaidyn said sheepishly. “Um…… I’ll call you Alay. Alay,” he repeated, pointing at him to emphasize that he was to answer to the nickname.

Alay seemed to understand. He turned to the wagons and shouted something Jaidyn didn’t understand. The others began gathering and the men driving the wagons spurred the horses to move. The rest of the band began following the wagons.

“Come,” Alay said, motioning for Jaidyn to follow. He did so gladly. What a way to proclaim himself! He couldn’t wait to get to a city and proclaim himself Cheyne reborn. He had conquered the Keidenelle!

Mere Acquaintances- Chapter Twenty-Five

Becca was not the first person to think of Dissociative Personality Disorder concerning the five Sunsetter patients– as they were commonly called now by everyone– but she was the first to speak to anyone else about it. Dr. Anderson appeared pleased with Becca’s diagnosis, agreeing wholeheartedly that it was highly likely the case for all five patients. And from simply observing the behavior of the five, Becca had even come to a guess of how many personalities each had. Ryan, Emery, and Lydia she thought each only had one other personality– one other person with a whole other name and past. But Vale and Joanna, she thought, each had two…… maybe more.

But what still had both Becca and Dr. Anderson baffled was what had them connected so closely and why. As far as their files showed, none of the five of them had had any contact with the others before coming to Ighosia Falls. So why were they connected now? They had all arrived at the asylum at different times– in some cases, years apart. Was it because of their DPD? What exactly were the identities of their alternate personalities? Why was Emery suddenly getting so violent? And what had caused them all to split so suddenly? None of them had shown such tendencies towards alternate personalities until this whole mess began.

The Sunsetter mystery was the key, Becca was certain.

Weslyn knew better than to talk about what had happened at the river. For nearly ten days, she and the others had kept quiet about it; in fact, none of them had said much of anything at all since then. Draegon was now almost constantly riding and puffing away quietly on his flute– his way to deal with the silence. Kemeny kept quiet, except for occasional whispers of encouragement and affection to the horse she’d borrowed from Weslyn. Roark kept his eyes forward, locked on the ever-distant horizon. He hadn’t so much as looked at any of them since he’d scared that Senne woman away.

It was because of his eyes, Weslyn knew. Roark didn’t want any of them to see what was behind them. But she didn’t have to see his eyes to know. He was struggling. She hadn’t quite understood the last thing he said to the woman: “If I have to kill someone today, let it be you. You actually deserve it.” but she could guess. Every night now, Roark disappeared for an hour or more. There was something very wrong, and the only thing she could think to blame it on was the sword. The big soldier certainly wasn’t offering any explanations, but she believed she had everything pretty much pieced together.

Lydia approached Joanna while she was alone in the courtyard. The wheelchair-bound woman was usually unresponsive unless she was with all the others, but for once, she actually acknowledged the other woman. The two talked softly until it grew dark and some staff members escorted them back inside.

Kemeny was on watch when Weslyn woke in the middle of the night. It had been twelve days since the events on the Swen’s bank. It must have been either near midnight or early in the morning; Roark was asleep on the ground, his back to the fire and his companions. He must have already gone out to do his deed and returned.

For a long time, Weslyn wasn’t certain Kemeny knew she was awake. The contortionist sat staring at the low, crackling flames as if nothing else existed in the world.

“He’s going to try and chase us all away,” Kemeny said suddenly.

Weslyn walked to Kemeny and sat down next to her. “You think so, too?”

“He’s afraid of hurting us. He keeps coming back from… wherever he goes…… with this anxious, hunted look. But where’s he going and why? I haven’t figured that out yet.”

Biting her lip, Weslyn looked at the sleeping reincarnation of the great hero. “I think he’s killing people. At the river, he said Sonsedhor’s tainted. I don’t know exactly what kind of taint we’re talking about, but… I think he’s killing people, and for some reason, I don’t think he has a choice but to do it. And he’s going to try and chase us away so he doesn’t hurt any of us.” She paused. “I don’t blame him. I would probably do the same thing.”

“We can’t just abandon him.”

Weslyn nodded. “But I don’t think we can all stay with him, either. As much as it hurts to say it, I think we are in real danger from him. If Roark has to kill…… what happens if there’s no one else around for him to do in?”

Kemeny nodded. “I know what we need to do.”

Once the two men were awake and, more importantly, alert enough to pay attention to them, Weslyn and Kemeny told them what they had decided. “Draegon, you and I are going to take the road to Morena. Then we go south. Maybe to Estria and eventually to Abem. We’re going to make sure the everyone knows that Cheyne is back.”

“And I’m going with you, Roark,” Kemeny said, her posture and the authority in her voice making her seem much taller than she was, “whether you like it or not.”

The two men were so startled that neither spoke; they simply stared incredulously at the two women. Weslyn tried to imitate the pose Kemeny had adopted, fixing an intimidating look on Draegon as he tried to find his voice.

His reaction was satisfactory. “I suppose…” he shot a quick glance at Roark, who didn’t return it, “…we have no choice… but I don’t see why we really need to split up. I mean, Roark can declare himself while we’re all with him.” He stopped for a second, obviously thinking. “Although I guess it would spread the news faster if we split up. Still, I’d rather we stayed together.”

“Go with Weslyn, Draegon,” Roark said softly. “Please.”

The bard slowly turned his head to look at Roark in disbelief. “You swore to watch me…”

“Sonsedhor’s been found. You’re free of your oath. Go.”

“DON’T LEAVE ME ALONE!” Kemeny’s shout startled them all, and as one they turned to look at her. Her eyes had grown wide and glassy, partly rolled back into her head. Her mouth had dropped open, forming a silent scream. The whole of her was shaking uncontrollably. “Don’t leave me, please, not alone. I don’t want to be alone, please! Not like this!”

The three others all stared at Joanna as she had what seemed to be a seizure. Her mouth formed words, but only creaks and strained grunts came out. She finally managed to get out a shout, “Where am I?!” before the fit stopped, as abruptly as it began.

Her screaming stopped. One moment Kemeny was shouting pleas and shaking, the next she was standing, still with that authoritative, self-pleased look on her face. Weslyn and the two men exchanged worried looks. Sneaking a glance into Kemeny’s eyes, Weslyn saw nothing, no evidence that she knew anything strange had happened.

“Are you alright?” Draegon asked her.

She looked confused. “I’m fine, why? Don’t change the subject, singer.”

He arched an eyebrow at her but didn’t reply.

Weslyn leaned over to Kemeny and whispered in her ear. “I think we should change plans. I’ll go with Roark, you go with Draegon.”

“Why?” she whispered back. “I thought you wanted to go with Draegon because you… well, because you said you two shared ‘some deep feelings’ the other night.”

“Well, look, something just happened that was… a little strange.” She looked over her shoulder at the two men. They gave no sign of hearing them and made no move to get closer and eavesdrop. “You kind of went crazy.”

“Crazy?”

“And I don’t know that Roark would be well-suited to protect you if something like that happened again. But Draegon will. And Roark wouldn’t hurt me. I’m not worried.”

Kemeny’s expression finally went fearful. “If you’re sure…”

“I am. Just… keep Draegon busy while I do something, okay?”

They immediately began dividing up the camp supplies and packed their packs. But while Kemeny kept the two men at task after task– men should really be doing the bulk of the physical labor, after all– Weslyn secreted herself on the other side of the horses and wrote out a note to Draegon. While his back was turned, she slipped both the note and a purse of money into the leather case for his hand dulcimer. It fit in there comfortably, but he was sure to find it right away when he opened it next.

As she came back into sight– the men hadn’t even seemed to miss her, which was exactly what she wanted– she couldn’t help but notice that Draegon was a bit too sweaty to account for the work he’d been doing. He also looked pale.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

He looked surprised to see her suddenly in front of him and forced a smile. “Oh, it’s nothing.”

“Really,” she said, gently laying a hand on his arm. “You know you can tell me.”

He sighed. “I’m just worried, with us actually proclaiming Roark… what if I run across Keffinen?”

She gave him a soft smile but had already made up her mind not to tell him about the purse she’d secreted in his dulcimer case. If he came across the menagerie owner, and if the greedy man demanded his seventy-five gold marks, that purse held more than enough. Just in case. She couldn’t bear the thought of him being behind bars.

“It’s getting pretty late… almost noon,” Roark said, still not looking anyone directly in the eye. “We should get moving. All of us.”

Weslyn stood on her tiptoes and kissed Draegon gently on the lips. “We’ll find each other. Soon.”

“Meet me in Necras?” he asked, his green eyes hopeful.

She smiled.

Mere Acquaintances- Chapter Twenty-Four

Vale spent his day as usual, glaring at everyone around him, saying nothing, doing nothing.

Jaidyn first heard the rumors in a tiny village so small he didn’t even bother asking the name. Cheyne Firdin was reborn! He had claimed Sonsedhor! He had already gone forward to fight the Dark Father. No, he was serving the Dark Father! Cheyne’s rebirth was a servant of the Dark One. No, he had been born a Keidenelle. No, he had tamed a Keidenelle. There were dozens of rumors, and he would overheard one rumor from one man, then a few minutes later, a different one completely contradicting the first one he told. But they all agreed on one thing: someone had claimed to be Cheyne reborn.

He kept silent about it. These fools actually believed this kind of rumor? Where was the proof? Where was this false hero? No rumor gave any hint of his whereabouts. Jaidyn simply chose to ignore the rumors.

The tiny village claimed only one tiny inn. He stopped walking right in front of it, when he realized Hoeth had fallen behind. When he turned, the younger man was looking at him accusingly, his chin thrust forward and his eyebrows pulled down angrily. “You duped me,” he said. “You lied to me. You said you were Cheyne!”

“I am,” he replied calmly. It was, after all, the truth. He was Cheyne. He was!

"I don’t want to hear any more of your lies!” he yelled, drawing eyes to him. “No more of your stories! If you were, then why isn’t this news about you? Why don’t you have Sonsedhor yet? Why don’t you ever give me a straight answer when I… Nevermind. I’m finished, Lord Huntley. I’m ridding myself of you.” He took a few steps toward the inn’s front door. Before he got halfway to the door, he spun and pointed a condemning finger at him. “You are not welcome under the same roof as me.” Turning on his heel, he disappeared into the inn.

“Fine! But when the truth comes out, don’t try to apologize, Karzark!” He stormed off, his ears straining– against his will– for more of the rumors. He heard a handful of rumors, then a dozen variations of them, then a dozen variations of them, until it was enough to make his head spin and made him desperately want a drink.

He finally found his drink, in the makeshift tavern some old lady ran. He didn’t know how much he downed, but the lady didn’t stop him so long as he paid the coin before she gave him each bottle. But the rumors followed him into the little one-room tavern, and even the wine he was trying to drown his thoughts in didn’t make them go away. As the rumors grew more and more elaborate, even to the point of detailing his proclamation and triumphs he’d already had, Jaidyn’s mood grew hotter and hotter. Finally, well past dark and furious enough to start spitting, he stumbled out of the tavern and headed to the inn.

He barged in, empty wine bottle in hand, and was on the point of shouting Hoeth’s name when his eyes focused on his former friend and companion. The young lordling was laughing, sitting at a table with his arm around a pretty dark-haired woman who looked to be in her mid-twenties. As he stood there, watching, he saw Hoeth actually lean over and sneak a kiss.

It was only a few moments before Hoeth saw him. He leaned over to the woman and whispered something in her ear. She covered his mouth with her fingers, stifling a giggle. Then Hoeth leaned and whispered to a man at a nearby table. The whisper passed around the room, and a wave of laughter followed behind it, with a lot of pointing at Jaidyn. The laughter faded and was replaced by jeers. Apparently he’d told everyone about Jaidyn’s “lies”.

His anger reached the boiling point, and he stormed out of the inn and back into the street. There were still a surprising number of people out-of-doors, considering the time of night. He thought he heard whispers and felt fingers pointed at him as he passed. Gossip spread quickly in a small place like this. The story had already spread far beyond the walls of Hoeth’s inn.

Try as he did, he couldn’t even get a bed in the stable loft.


Something different came over Vale’s eyes, but since he never really let anyone see them, no one noticed.

He curled up next to a half-rotted barrel that sat next to a house and tried to sleep. His fury had yet to really cool, and it kept him from keeping his eyes closed for more than a moment. He kept seeing faces: people laughing at him, some unidentified man holding Sonsedhor, Hoeth jeering and accusing…

There was someone looking down at him, someone with a face he invisible in the darkness.

“I know what they’ve done to you, the injustices, the mockery they make of your life,” the man said in a cool voice.

Jaidyn jumped to his feet. “Who are you?”

“I am…… that is all. I am.” He paused, as if to let those words sink in. “I have seen everything you have gone through, my son. And I can help you.”

He furrowed his eyebrows. Someone had been watching him? Who?

“I see you are suspicious. That is healthy. But I know everything, can see everything, Jaidyn. I know the memories you have, that fight with you. Lexan’s memories.”

He hadn’t told anyone about that. He backed up, but the wall of the building was at his back.

“You need not be afraid, my son. I am here to help you. Accept my pity, my reborn king.”

Reborn king? I am Cheyne reborn! I knew it! “Mother? Are you The Mother?”

The man made no move, and Jaidyn still couldn’t see his face, but he got the impression he smiled.

“I thought you were a woman.”

“I take many forms,” he replied. “You have respect for power, so you see me as a strong, hale man.”

“Why can’t I see your face… Mother?”

“It is not for mortals to see, no matter how highly esteemed I may hold them.” There was that impression of smiling again. “Will you accept my help to right the injustices done to you, my son? To claim what is rightfully yours?”

“Yes! Yes!”

“Then go out into the open, where you are all alone. You must be unarmed. I have other followers, ones who will find you, but only if you are out in the open and without weapon. Will you do this?”

“Of course, Mother! Of course!”

“Then I will mark you as my own, so they will know you." With one last impression of a smile, the man disappeared in a flash that left blue and black and gold lights sparkling before his eyes. One of the black lights came to him and settled onto his forehead. There was a burning sensation for a split second, then nothing. He reached up to his forehead and felt where the black light had touched him. He felt nothing. Would these followers see it?

Mere Acquaintances- Chapter Twenty-Three

The sound of water trickling in the stone fountain in the courtyard could be heard even in Emery’s room, even through the barred window. He appeared calm, much calmer than the evening before, when he had tried to choke Kristen to death.

Becca managed to obtain permission to bring his friends by his room– with him under supervision, of course– and allow them to speak to each other through the little viewing window in his door.

Senne could only describe herself as emotionally drained. Guilt filled her, ate at her. Cheyne had been intertwined so much in her life, all her lives, and she had betrayed him to the Dark Father for no other reason than to earn her own immortality, an immortality she had anyway, through the memories of her lives. So selfish, so foolish.

She found herself nearing the river where she had committed her last transgression, but she wasn’t alone at the river’s edge. There were four others, and one of them……

She recognized Sonsedhor in his hand. As if sensing her presence, he turned and looked straight at her, sheathing the sword at his hip as he turned. She knew he recognized her.

Emery behaved for the entire morning, very calm and in control of himself. Under the watchful eyes of a half-dozen nurses, he was allowed to go out to the courtyard for some fresh air. But as soon as he reached the stone walkway, he saw Joanna in her wheelchair, and he went into a rage, throwing himself at her in a fierce attack.

“You sent me to hell,” he said softly, his eyes burning. “Senne.””

“Cheyne……”

“Cheyne is dead!” he bellowed, not moving a muscle. He didn’t shake with the fury he must be feeling, didn’t so much as twitch his cheek. Even his expression didn’t waver. He could have been a statue for all his body gave away. But his voice… the strain, the rage in it… it was painful. “It’s Roark now.”

“Roark……” he didn’t interrupt her this time, just stared at her with those hate-filled blue eyes. “I… I’m sorry…”

“Why? Why did you do this to me? Why did you murder me?”

She could feel the tears coming. She had told herself over and over again that it hadn’t been murder. It wasn’t murder… the water killed him; she just pushed him in… but she knew it for a lie. “It was… he wanted Sonsedhor.”

“Who?””

The tears came in earnest, making her sob uncontrollably so she couldn’t answer. Cheyne… Roark… had to demand an answer twice before she got control of herself. “The Dark One… the Dark Father.”

Roark recoiled as if from a viper. “You sold yourself to him!”

“No, please, I’ don’t belong to him anymore!” She sank to her knees. “He dismissed me. I’m… I’m no use to him anymore.”

His eyes narrowed. “Your master threw you away, so you come crawling back to me? I loved you once Senne– many, many lives ago– but I see what that meant to you.”

“I was a fool, Roark! I’m sorry!”

“Apologies aren’t enough.”

“But he’’s still after you… the Dark Father… he still wants Sonsedhor. I can help you.”

He took a few long steps toward her and grabbed her by the neckline of her dress, pulling her roughly to her feet. “Why does he want it so badly? It would do him no good. It’s just a sword. Sonsedhor is nothing but a tool.”

“It’s a means to control you,” she replied haltingly. “If he controls it, he controls you. You know you and Sonsedhor are tied together, but you were created by the Mother, her tool. Control of one is control of the other.”

“I follow the Mother’s will!”

She gasped for air, staring up at eyes that had went from molten flame to solid ice in half a heartbeat. His hand released her; her knees gave way and she crumpled to the ground, sucking in breath after sweet breath. “But Sonsedhor’s his now, isn’t it? He’s tainted it. You did deliver it to him.”” She heard the soft rasp of steel on leather, saw the sword in his hand. ““If I have to kill someone today, let it be you. You actually deserve it.””

Still short of breath, she scrambled to her feet and ran. He didn’t chase her.

Mere Acquaintances- Chapter Twenty-Two

The mattress of the bed in Roark’s room smelled of clean straw and didn’t have very many lumps in it. As a soldier who had once fought in a drawn-out war, he didn’t need to be comfortable to sleep. He could lay on a bed of rocky ground with a boulder for a pillow and achieve a very restful slumber.

But he couldn’t sleep. There was a feeling tugging at the back of his head, one that he couldn’t explain. The memories that had flooded into his head at drawing Sonsedhor that morning had settled in; they weren’t the problem. It was bloodlust.

He tried to fight it down, the desire, the need to kill. The urge to take the life of a man, to watch the last bit of light go out of his eyes. As the night went on, the feeling grew. As hard as he fought it down, it still bloomed in his mind.

Kill… Take a life…

It was very late– probably very near midnight.

Kill… He wrapped his hand around Sonsedhor’s hilt, could almost feel the bloody imprint warm against his hand. The whole sword was warm; it pulsed in his hand. Kill… Do it…

He opened the window of his room and dropped to the ground from the second floor.

Emery hadn’t spent much of the afternoon with his usual companions. In fact, he’d spent most of it in his own room, alone. But toward evening, he wandered out into the hallway, looking around as if he was lost. Becca noticed him and kept her eyes on him as he meandered around the furniture and the other patients, tense as a guitar string. Before anyone could tell what he was doing, he had his hands around the throat of another patient, Kristen Censor. Kristen screamed and went into a seizure-like fit, crumpling to the ground and screaming rather than fighting or even struggling against Emery’s grip. It took three nurses to pry him away from her and drag him, still fighting, back to his room. More than one of those nurses has bruises the next day.

Roark kept the murder of the woman in Dracmere secret from his companions. He tried to leave for the river before they woke, but Weslyn and Draegon were already up, having breakfast together and talking, when he entered the common room.

Four days’ hard riding took them to the riverbank. Three nights passed, and on every one, the urge to do murder took him until he couldn’t fight it anymore, snuck away, and killed whatever person happened across his path. Twice, he came upon the camps of Seekers and did his bloody deed, apologizing even as he thrust the blade between ribs or into a gut. The other night he happened on a trio of hunting Keidenelle and slaughtered all three before they could even think about defending themselves.

It was the after murdering the three Keidenelle that he realized, to his immense relief, that one death sated his bloodlust. Something had been done to him that made him kill every day. Every night…

The fourth day, they reached the bank of the Swen. He recognized the blackness that lay on the other bank. It was nearer than he remembered from Cheyne’s dying day. Then, there had been some land on the other side of the river, a few feet of bank on the other side to stand on. Now the water went straight up to the edge… and stopped. But the river was still deep, still had a strong current. The water didn’t run off the edge into the void. But there was no bank to contain it as there had been when he was Cheyne. He stared at the black. He had stood on the opposite bank with Senne and looked over the edge.

Senne. The memory rushed into his head like a charging bull and hit him with as much force. She had betrayed him, been directly responsible for his death, for him drowning.

One murder everyday. Staring into the black, he relived the four murders he had already done. He could feel the others nearby, Weslyn, Kemeny and Draegon.

I won’t. Not to any of them. I’ll kill myself first.

In the end, he doubted he could sink a blade into his own flesh. Part of him doubted that would do anyone any good. It had to be the sword’s doing, Sonsedhor’s doing. Somehow the sword had acquired its own will, and the will was evil. If he died, would it seek another owner? He couldn’t risk sentencing someone else to that fate. This was his burden; he wouldn’t try to escape.

But he could try to turn the sword’s evil will to good. Killing innocents was unforgivable; he knew he was already damned for it. But there were plenty of wrongdoers, criminals in the world. If he sought the murderers, rapists, and thieves out instead…

Mere Acquaintances- Chapter Twenty-One

Senne knew that Sonsedhor had been found. There was a twisting feeling in her gut, followed by an emptiness, and there wasn’t a doubt in her mind that Cheyne and his sword had been reunited. Before her stomach had even had a moment to recover from the twisting feeling, and before the emptiness had even really completely settled in, she heard a voice she recognized and feared more than anything else.

“You still haven’t found him?! You are without question the poorest choice I ever made in my servants.”

“But Dark Father…”

“Don’t you dare call me by such a term! I deny you as a child of mine! I deny you even the freedom of the grave! The dead belong to me, and I will not have you! I dismiss you from my servitude and my presence! I cast you away! You, failed servant, are condemned to live on with your failure, knowing your inadequacy.”

In her bed in the middle of the night, Jo began to toss and turn as if in a nightmare, though her eyes were wide open. Her whimpers and screams were wordless, and slowly, her frightened expression and screams gave way to tears and sobs. After nearly a half hour, she stopped thrashing about and awkwardly curled up on her side. She stayed there the rest of the night, completely oblivious to the staff who had rushed to help her.

The void left by the Dark Father’s dismissal ate at Senne at first. She knew that the blessings he had first bestowed on her when she pledged herself to his service had been ripped away from her. Part of her wondered if she was now vulnerable like any normal person, if her longevity had been removed and her body made weak again. For nearly a day she considered testing that though; she even went so far as to place the point of a dagger to her own breast.

But as a hole is meant to be filled, the void inside her began to fill. With her freedom from the Dark Father came an openness to something inside her she had forgotten long ago: ancient memories from before she had pledged her life away. Her old life, her former self, Masithina Crasier. She recalled ages ago, lives far back, dozens of lives, and in every one, she and Cheyne Firdin– both of them under many different names, of course– had been involved. Life after life, they knew each other, often as colleagues, sometimes as lovers.

Masithina was the one who had, for a reason Senne still couldn’t remember, pledged her soul to the Dark Father– even the evil deity’s name returned to her, but she refused to think it or say it aloud. It was Masithina who had made the damning oath and then died, only to be reborn again as Senne Moyers, the woman who betrayed Cheyne Firdin to the Father of Evil and Lies.

She cried.

Mere Acquaintances- Chapter Twenty

Joanna “Jo” Bailey began taking dance lessons when she was five. Her father got transferred to another state not long afterwards, and her dance lessons stopped because they couldn’t find a decent dance studio in their new town. But when she was eleven, her mother discovered a new studio run by an accredited instructor. Jo was enrolled there that fall. She took ballet, tap, and jazz, eventually earning her own teaching certificate by the time she was seventeen.

Her life completely consumed by her passion for dance, she didn’t marry despite having a good number of men who tried to catch her. She didn’t quite have the ideal body for a dancer: she had a little too much in the bust and was just a bit too thickly-built to really be the kind of dancer who made watcher breathless. That is not to say she was unattractive-- far from it. But the combination of her build and the touch of clumsiness she had kept her from making it big as a performer. Performance wasn’t the life she wanted anyway. At age twenty-eight, she had saved up enough money to open her own dance studio.

Students flocked to her as a teacher. Even if she wasn’t a performance-quality dancer, she was a teacher of great certification, and she held her students to a high standard that most parents found admirable. A handful of her first students stayed with her for years, eventually earning their own teaching certificates. One eventually went to Broadway and managed to get onto the stage there.

By the time she had had her studio for nearly ten years, Jo had achieved a contentment with her life most people can only dream of. In the summer, when her studio was closed to coincide with the school year, she spent a week in the country with a childhood friend. While horseback riding (a passion shared by her and her friend) something spooked the mare Jo was riding, and the animal threw her, despite Jo’s riding ability. She landed off the trail, twisting her back badly against a fallen tree.

Numerous surgeries kept her from being completely paralyzed. But they couldn’t repair everything. Even after all the procedures and months upon months of rehabilitation, Jo could hardly walk anymore. Dancing was out of the question. Getting out of her wheelchair took great effort.

Since she had moved to a larger city away from her parents to open her studio, she had grown somewhat distant with her family. She and her parents and brother were still on very good terms, but eventually they did have to return home after the accident. She was capable of caring for herself, after all. And with cell phones and the internet, the communication lines with them were open if she needed anything. It was only a three-hour trip between her parents’ house and the home Jo rented.

When her parents left to go home, Jo was left completely alone. Her friend who she had been riding with lived out in the country, so she wasn’t nearby enough to visit daily. Jo had no boyfriend to cling to, no other real close friends nearby, and now no students.

She felt abandoned and confined in her wheelchair. Her last act before completely giving up on herself was to talk to a psychiatrist. She followed his advice and committed herself to the care of the staff at Ighosia Falls Insane Asylum.

Becca tried to imagine what it much be like to have the one driving factor of her life ripped away from her like dance had been from Jo. It wasn’t something she could fathom.