THE STING

“You pointed in my face and called me a liar,” Freydis insisted, lodging the ridiculous accusation only to see what Agnes might volley back. “They did–in this life and the last. When they were ready and I wasn’t, and when Fate allowed it.” Dúnedain; still a word that weighed on Freydis with the grief of what might have been. But now was not a time for grief, it was time for what Freydis had done for her entire life–to make the most of what she had, and to fight with every atom of her essence for what was worth maintaining. “All of that is true, and more,” Freydis said, the memory of the Iskarans from centuries ago ruining the sacred archways playing out in front of them by virtue of Veilwhisper’s magic. “But I am not without hope.” She looked back to Agnes. “On this matter, I will never be without hope.” 

In the cabin, Freydis looked back over her shoulder at Agnes where she rested in front of the hearth from her own place at the wood burning stove. “Would you like something floral, or something spiced?” she asked, preparing two cups and a few thick rags to protect her hands from the searing hot sides of the kettle.  “I have spoken with another of our allies–the druid Deimos. He intends to make his way to Caribella when the time is right. And if the Weave allows for it, I plan to go with him.” Her eyes settled on Agnes, expectant and waiting for a response.

Agnes nodded once, her eyes mirroring such ferocity but with an inkling of understanding embedded within. She'd told Freydis what she could of her current life, her father's standing in the Vanguard, and her growth within Astoria despite how they would have culled her without question if they'd grown even a scant suspicious. "It sounds familiar," it was all Agnes could offer without trying to equate her pain to their own - Freydis, the dragons, every other Iskaran who had fallen or lost something - truthfully, Agnes would never wholly understand the depths of their sacrifices, as love and life was torn from them as violently as a limb, but indeed did her heart bled for them.

"Chaos is a ladder, Freydis; they had utilized it well, but now as the flames of their destruction flicker and they have none but themselves to look upon, they realize they've nothing else to manipulate." Her words were crafted and believed based on how strongly Freydis felt in the moment; it settled any nerves Agnes may have had, squashed them to nothing and only made the genasi stand stronger, too. She stagnated, however, as Freydis used such strong language, Agnes' lips parting, and a curious expression on her face. "I don't believe I've ever used such foul titles towards you," the genasi was more amused than offended, though a teasing sense of reproach glinted in her eyes.

Freydis stilled in her path at the crest of the hill, her arms crossing as she took in Agnes’ side eye. She felt called out, though Agnes hadn’t exactly lodged any sort of accusation. It was not the first time Freydis had felt compelled to remain protective of one' s secrets either–her own, and Eivor’s when she had been required to defend his case to Froy in her cabin. “Say what you want to say,” Freydis instructed Agnes, still not budging. “I don’t know you to be a woman who holds her opinions close to her chest any more than I hope you see me as someone unwilling to listen to advice doled out in good faith.” She knew better than to hope her explanation eliminated the sense of suspicion Agnes held.  “We are going…. There,” Freydis stated, pointing toward a cove in the distance. There would be no shortage of time for further conversation before they reached their destination, but this did not compel Freydis to move on from the scenic view before affording it the proper time to be appreciated. “It was Lyra, wasn’t it?” she asked quietly, her brows upturned as if begging Agnes to laugh in her face and assert what a foolish thing to suspect that would be. “I saw it, too, and it just held such… intention. Its softness around the edges, the detail…” Freydis was no artist, but if asked to sculpt Signe she would have worked at the marble until it reflected her memory with a stark perfection, even if it required centuries of work for Freydis to accomplish it.

"You have many facets don't you, Freydis?" This allowed Agnes to cease pestering her friend and a frown came about her features, however mild the expression. She understood how heavy each title could feel, suppressive and bleak, but none were as heavy as those which burdened Freydis and Agnes only wished she were better equipped to salve the affects of such titles which swarmed Freydis eternal.

There was a moment of slight awe as Freydis seemed to take offense and though that was not Agnes' intention, she went along with the aftermath, rolling her shoulders and turning to face Freydis in her entirety. "I have no qualms with your friend, nor any worries for your association with them. If you granted me such trust I can only assume you've granted him the same extension knowing that you do not do so easily. All I hinted as was... well, he must be a tether to the Dark as well, no?" There is great sadness in her eyes to bring up such griffon in the room, but she does so nonetheless for such painful conversations were what had built their bond these last few months.

Freydis elicited a sort of snorting sound, something between incredulity and a laugh. “Ah, so you believe the stones of Iskaldrik are real now, but when I told you I dreamt of them and visited them in the past that wasn’t enough to convince you?” She meant the question in earnest, but it was with good humor and a mild temperament that she asked it. If Agnes had not believed that Freydis told the genasi she dreamed of before, it was enough that she might believe now. 

A hand extended toward Agnes seeking to offer the briefest squeeze of Agnes’ hand within Freydis’ own roughed up hand. “Caribella has been experiencing disturbances as well. Do you feel a pull from the islands, too?” she asked. The call from across the Weave came from so many directions that it felt it permeated every inch of ambience to one as untrained as Freydis still was. But she could feel the sensation of the call clear as day. 

Agnes nodded coldly, more so at the reminder of the border and what cruelty it represented, rather than towards Freydis as a whole. “It is an exemplary if not chilling example of their magic,” Agnes paused for a moment, “But I want to believe their hold is weakening on it. Perhaps whatever disturbance within is unrelated but I want to believe that if we hit it in just the right place that it will crumble like the glass in a windowpane.” Agnes spoke in wants for her belief was without true credence but the Sting also knew that as powerful as her magic felt stirring within her veins that it could not go to bat by itself against such strong barrier. 

There was a small lilt of a smile, playfully combative as Freydis suggested this, “I don't recall that I was in disbelief, I believe my words were that if they were meant to be found they will show themselves to you..” Agnes paused momentarily as though a pause for flair was needed to soak in this reminder, “I was wary and held great worry when you mentioned the possibility of such stones. If we are to find them they will likely be damaged beyond belief, whether from neglect or from the Aetherians scalding your land with their hellfire.” Regardless, Agnes believed in her own thoughts of their resilience and that this must be the Stones showing themselves to Freydis after all. 

“And talking about cryptids,” Belladona muses as she turns to Agnes with a pleased smile. Their work had led them in different directions over the past few months, but it is always a delight to meet another of her fellow genasi. To be chosen by the Dark One is an honor, and it is frankly delightful to see someone as enterprising as Agnes falling upon the role so very nicely. “Delightful to see that sweet face of yours, Agnes. Did you feel the disturbance in the borders as well? Or is your presence here due to another reason?”

A moment is taken to take in her words, and she nods in agreement. 

Agnes had been…. intermittent as of late; her sacrifices for Hekate under the ruse of the Dark had stopped the moment He had begun to relentlessly torture her for any good she had warranted upon this mortal coil. The Dark had eyes for all, but he had focused upon her, uncomfortably so, and as a result she had slipped away from those closest as though they would hear his whispers and know her fatal truth. Agnes was still comfortable with lying, however, and she smiled, offering a mild nod to Belladona's questioning, “Even those entirely removed from druid customs could hear what shudders and cries out beyond this border.” 

“You misunderstand me, Agnes,” he says, amused, as the druid approaches. There is an instant of alarm, but he refrains from reacting in respect of their built rapport. As a professional guard, he is beyond used to clients or nobles to ignore his personal space, so all he does as she approaches is remain still, lips twisting wryly as he watches with a raised brow. “I wasn’t referring to my infernal heritage, but due to my sparse ability with nature magic. As well as being unused to forests, what with growing up in a desert and all.”

He is a ranger, a hunter by all accounts. He is not entirely separated from nature, but the nature he is more used to is that of deserts, coasts, and mountains. Woods are unfamiliar territory for Mikhael, and he is not too prideful to admit that. 

Still, her hands touched the sides of his face, fingers curling round as though she was about to bespoke a curse onto him, a small utterance of words allowing what language the wildlands spoke to bleed into his ears now. Sylvan, druidic; whatever critters were nearby would be what he could suddenly understand, even though none of it was sensible nor was anything which would solve their predicament. 

“Do you listen now? Can you hear it?”

Foolishly, Freydis assumed the wool remained over Agnes’ eyes and that the genasi took the bard for a wolf rather than a Vuldak. Freydis would neither dare speak his true name nor his species. Protective of her own secrets and of those she loved, to do so would be tantamount to a complete and total betrayal, his and his only to tell. “Well, he has his own bath house we’ve spent plenty of time in and I’ve never hand to fish him out of those sprawling pools, so I would have to assume he is simply a weak swimmer and his delicate ego couldn’t take the shame of being pummeled by some incoming wave,” Freydis hypothesized aloud. “There weren’t many swimming holes in the Midlands, but I can certainly hold my own in the surf.” 

A great hill loomed before them, and Freydis knew the view from the top was one of the most generous outposts on the entire island. This bolstered her pace upward along the stone hewn stairs. Soon, the quaint cityscape was behind them and atop the hill the sea dazzled with the reflection of sunlight to two sides, an expansive meadow of Minetia’s native flowers to their front, and the full view of the city to their backs. It was nothing like the harsh terrain of Iskaldrik–except the wildflowers. The blooms were different, but Freydis didn’t care. It felt close enough to home, true home, the mill. “What do you mean?” Freydis asked, pausing at the top of the hill for a moment’s rest as the flush from the efforts of their excursion gradually drained from her cheeks.

“I thought you cared little for your reputation, that you'd even go so far as to damn its influence on you and your hobbies,” Agnes smiled wickedly at this as she teased her friend, but the genasi could also understand what remain between the lines of what Freydis refused to say aloud. Still, she knew there were many titles associated with Freydis that likely felt like the bane of the shieldmaiden's existence to uphold, and though she felt strongly in such way, Agnes also understood that Freydis would not so easily abandon them for the sake of the people who held her in such lights. 

Agnes stilled momentarily in their walk, eyeing Freydis in a playfully lethal way, scrutinizing eyes careful and rather obvious in how she took Freydis' hypothesizing. It was a quick moment, Agnes barely stilling to a full halt before she turned and began their walk again, “I see.” As a genasi she would have many questions, but she also valued privacy for her own oaths and problems and would not wriggle her way within those of a bard she didn't truly know. All that was to say; she was protective of Freydis but also knew the strength and smarts of the woman opposite of her, and she would not berate Freydis with ominous hopes that she would be careful and take mind. 

If she were to be fully honest— and Belladona so rarely is —, she would admit that she could care less than a rat ass’ if the barrier separating Lysara and the Aetherians fell. Frankly, if she continued being honest, she would admit that the barrier falling would be nothing but beneficial to her. The chaos that would come from a full frontal invasion from the mages would be akin to a revelry, the sound of the violence and despair that would follow music to her ears. So, if she cares so very little about the barriers integrity, why is she standing before it, head tilted in consideration?

To see if she can break it, of course. 

Anything to hurry the world’s end along. The sooner it happened, the faster Fate lost. 

“How odd,” she mutters, head tilting even further back as she narrows her eyes. There was something different about the barrier, but she couldn’t put a finger to it.  “Of course trying to check after cryptid feelings will lead to cryptid answers.”

“I wondered when you would arrive,” Agnes would not say her mind wandered to Belladona as of recent times; the Dark One had purposefully made her life grueling and she knew Belladona was in their pocket more than Agnes ever was. She wouldn't say it made her uncomfortable to sit amongst those complicit with the Dark, there was more nuance than that, but she had once been fond of Belladona and knew their relationship would be fractured completely if the other was to know of these instances where the Dark tortured her and turned against her. 

She might have pouted at what Agnes said next, or defended herself that she had questioned and insisted to Soren that nothing should be taken farther than friendship between them if he did not intend to stick around. But she didn’t argue. Instead, she glanced away from Agnes’ flippant hand gesture and tried to force her mind from lingering on Agnes’ hypothesis that Soren was too busy drinking and engaging in revelry to come to Freydis once she made it back to shore, let alone to care. As she drifted off to a brief sleep, she comforted herself with the fact that Agnes had cared enough to be there to greet her and that Soren would come when the sun rose.  

It was not long before that Freydis was certain she had seen a flickering on the dimly lit horizon. In the first few moments that followed she did not trust her own senses and probed Soren to confirm if she had merely imagined it. But hours later her certainty was fortified. Weeks ago, she had spoken with Fyren about the way in which she felt the Arches or perhaps fate screamed out for her. For the past month or so, their crying out had been quieted. Now, they were deafening, and she knew their source was from within the ashen earth of her homeland.

The bracelet she wore that bound her to the Genasi who, against all odds, had become her closest confidant was alight with activity as well. It seemed Agnes was able to pack her bags even more quickly than Freydis could. Her approach was palpable through the addition senses gifted through the bracelets, and the Veil Maiden could barely refrain from departing from her cabin to meet Agnes on her journey if only to meet with her mere minutes sooner. 

Freydis did not know the next right thing to do. Should one rush to the border in an attempt to dismantle it? Ought they fortify the Wildlands after their close encounter with doom at the hands of the Kossith? Was there something to be accomplished by beseeching some other sort of elevated wisdom? Agnes may not have all the answers, but she would know the next step, especially with the looming darkness that seemed Hel bent on swallowing Avalon whole. 

When Agnes arrived at long last—any semblance of patience Freydis may have ever possessed long since exhausted as she waited in darkness on the front steps of her cabin—she rushed forward to meet the Genasi with the usual ritual of a hug. The next moment, Freydis was looking Agnes over as if she might tell precisely where Agnes came from if she merely squinted hard enough. “Where did you come from?” Freydis asked, breathless as if she were the one who had finished a long journey. “What have you learned?” 

Agnes had been entirely restless the moment the runes seemed to leech their whispers into the nature of this land. The plants and animals were talking and none had anything pleasant to say about what could feasibly come next, though what had truly drawn Agnes from the Inn was whatever lay beyond her true reach. 

Iskaldrik - a land she never charted, but one that had produced someone whom she cared dearly about. There had been whispers of Standing Stones within, but nothing that truly compelled Agnes nor allowed her to wander forth before the frigid land crumbled beneath Aetherian rule. Still, they were seemingly alight now - at least that was what Agnes had to presume such buzzing stemmed from - and the genasi was insatiable as a result. 

She returned the hug with ease, squeezing Freydis as tight as she could. The hem of her dress was soiled with the remnants of dirt and where she had once kneeled in the soil resulted in the same striking marks. The genasi had been within the Wildlands for days; just close enough to Freydis but also just out of touch. 

At times her body knows before her mind and sometimes her mind before her body, her soul is tied to the pattern and has lived many times over before she awoke as she is now. She dons an emerald dress, brown boots that extended past her knee caps, a long jacket and goes off into the wilds, following the path that the plants around her urge her on. It is a broken hymn that travels the path of the roots, a circuit of cells and leaves that recite the song of old.

She has no attachment to Iskaldrik and never even visited and yet the land leads her to the border, to the arcane that is weakening and she does not question her place here, knowing her tether to the pattern from her druidic soul. She does not express any surprise when she finds the Genasi, kneeling beside her and placing her hands into the soil, lending her magic as she is an extension of the earth.

"The same poison that has called you, the earth cries out."

Agnes can smile as the other comes into view and through the chaos of magic that has been swarming these lands settles and cracks, she can tell this one is a druid. The runes and druidic whispers resounded like a scream within her head, but Agnes did not entirely fear, no - she mourned. What stones were shelved and hidden behind this barrier were clearly beckoning for help and Agnes would do everything within her power, and whoever else heard such call, to aid them. 

 “Just because they bleed it may not equate to poison leeching from their marrow.” Agnes is not one to be hopeful, but she attempts it currently; eyes drifting from the druid back to the imaginary line which separated them from being within Lysara as opposed to Iskaldrik. The wind was angrier here, stark and oppressive as the temperature shifted lightly in comparison to the more balmy weather of Lysara. 

Freydis was jostled just slightly at Agnes’ nudge, her weight shifting from one foot to the other before coming back to center. She merely blinked at Agnes in response to her question, a hallmark of a woman not in on the joke. The Veil Maiden nearly commented on how lovely the self-lit lanterns were when dusk approached, but something told her that wasn’t the right answer either.  “The trouble is my avarice is sating your avarice,” Freydis responded in feigned lamentation. There were so many places they could begin, and while Freydis could always eat, something told her that Agnes had not yet worked up an appetite worthy of the island’s offerings. A few more moments of thought were spared before Freydis looped her fist around Agnes’ wrist and began to guide her along in one direction. “The bard,” she said, her voice growing dramatic as she namelessly labeled Soren given Agnes had known who he was upon Freydis’ return to Haven, “is not fond of water. I fear we’ll look like flesh colored dates by the time you leave give this is an island. There are bath houses, but I think the beaches have more to offer.”

They were headed to the far side of the island–to a cenote Freydis had been interested in visiting for quite some time–and there was plenty to see on the way. Glimmering white washed buildings lined streets, many of which had large patios upheld by ornate pillars. Ivy and flowers grew along whatever walls they could find purchase on and gardens dotted nearly every property with no shortage of petals or leave coverage from overhead trees. “I’ve missed you,” Freydis admitted freely several minutes into their walk. “What have you been occupied with these last handful of weeks?”

“We are not sure of these things,” lamented in her own way, Agnes knew the Darkness she had invited in could be resisted only to a point and that the genasi would never forgive herself if it forced her to be at odds with her dearest friend. Despite this, Agnes moved on quickly, noting the rather blank look in her friends gaze as she nudged her, “There is much delight in the darkness, Freydis, unless you are telling me, without so many words, that Minetia holds great trickery when the sun does not cast upon it?” Trickery, malice, danger; she did not mind these things, but she knew Freydis was leaning towards a more unalloyed alignment, whether that be of her moral standing or her own quotidian habits. 

There was some unspoken delight as Freydis resigned Soren - for of course Agnes had heard mentions of this bard's name - as simply the Bard. Agnes nodded, there was some understanding in everything Freydis could not say and Agnes filled in the gaps with her own question, “That is to say…. he is not a strong swimmer or that the water comes with great harm to him?” She did not judge that another seemingly of the Dark had situated themselves in Freydis' life for Agnes had confidence that her friend could assess them accurately and know the difference of harmful or harmless at this rate.

The dreams druid that wandered from the Arches into Caer Glas Keep. A Field Commander awaited her there, not a Keeper. Druids were abominations in accordance with the doctrine of Ereshkigal. There was no guidance afforded Veseniya before or after the Arches, her understanding stunted and limited. “The stones speak?” It might not have been what Veseniya called what she sensed. She perhaps took the work speak a touch too literally. From her experience the stones gave and the stones took. But they did not speak–there was a bleakness to their silence.

“There is a tremble of something, a whisper - in Iskaldrik. Have you ever set foot there?” Her eyes studied Veseniya carefully, for any tell of how the dream druid could feel of such place and if there was some recognition in what stones and runes Agnes mentioned. “Many druids utter of something that is yet to come, but Iskaldrik is still inaccessible and these things cry out to us with no solution.” Partly why Agnes had come to bother the dream druid; there had been something mesmerizing about the other, a similar flavor of determination and strife which lent to her talents. Agnes was invested in the others mind and what thoughts she could lend as solution; all of this sounded selfish, but Agnes had felt the other had a giving spirit, too, at the detriment to her very self. 

Freydis eased herself into a resting position, pulling the covers over herself–and Agnes as well if she wished for it–as she thought of friendship “I have so many,” she stated quietly. Few were quite so deep as the one she shared with Agnes, a friendship which endured push and pull and changing hands of being the strong one. Often, Freydis was the pillar, the support, the one who was expected to bolster and not crumble. She appreciated this about herself, but her stamina in the fact of what ailed the world was limited, and she frequently felt she failed to be the woman others needed her to be. “Then we are lucky…” 

Her hazel eyes had closed, though she clearly was not asleep yet based on her responding to Agnes and her breathing patterns. But when Agnes cited the precise bard the Veil Maiden had referenced she half sat up and stared at Agnes. “Yes… How did you know?” she asked. And then, quieter, with the air growing stale in her lungs, “Is he alright?”

Indeed it had felt like Fate had been toying with the genasi the moment she felt roused to defend the Stones; Agnes could have sabotaged or destroyed their plight, but instead she felt commanded from her own inner spirit to defend them, and within that had met Freydis and forged this immediate bond. She smiled, wildly happy with each reminder of this, for it was these such bonds which would keep her sane as the Dark One's hold on her cinched tighter and forced her through great duress. 

Freydis covered herself with the hand-stitched duvet and Agnes was pleased that she seemed to settle into this faint inclination towards sleep. Her retorts shorter, her own fondness this dust which pushed Freydis closer towards the realm of dreams. As such, Agnes became quieter too, merely nodding as Freydis affirmed this notion if good friends and their scarcity. 

“You are more attuned to them than I,” he reminded dryly. He was no druid, not a being naturally connected to nature. All he knew of it had been born from effort, and those efforts had not focused on forests or anything of the sort. If the woods were to listen to his deepest desires and parrot them back in mockery, he would be unable to listen, unlike Agnes. Perhaps he has to thank his cambion heritage for it, or perhaps his upbringing in the desert. “And my secrets are not all too interesting in comparison to others, I would think.”

Catching Agnes' look, he raises his hands in playful surrender, taking no offense at the sharp quality of it. 

This magic ignited something within her, deep sated and restless, it spoke to what was yearning within Agnes and set this truest self of the Sting free. That which was so wholly tied to nature, the animals, of the runes which screamed currently. Agnes walked forward, bold and unashamed, likely too close for Mikhael's liking. “Mikhael, they are calling to you, but you let your infernal ruses keep you from listening. You wound me and are a disservice to yourself to think that your connection to the Darkness voids any ability to hearken to what these woods may say.” Her tongue clicked in obvious disappointment, but as there was work to be done, Agnes hardly missed a beat as she stood taller once more. 

Freydis’ smile was somewhat sheepish as she thought of how the first stop she and Soren had made together was, in fact, his home. But she had requested he bring her to his favorite place and it was not necessarily his fault that his favorite place was the private library and the private library was within the home he had falsely inherited. She would gladly show that to Agnes as well. Given that Agnes wished to start elsewhere and Freydis was happy to accommodate, she made herself busy counting out far more gold than the task demanded for some of the youths lingering near the dock hoping to adopt some odd job or another in exchange for taking Agnes’ bags to the estate. 

“How much sunlight do we have left?” Freydis muttered to herself as she looked toward the horizon to mark where the sun lingered in the sky. “If you’re hungry, we might start with something to eat. If you’re feeling a little more in your head, there is no shortage of art to look at,” she listed off, an arm lifted for Agnes to loop her own within. “If you’re restless, we could climb to the top of that great hill and share food and drink until the lanterns guide us home. Or there is the water.”

Agnes had warmed to the world, but she was still not quite romanticized to it and the lingering views left within. Blight had ravaged many things she'd bore witness to and beyond that, her home, Astoria, had been hanging witches and magic users from long before she was born. There was nothing for her to quite romanticize nor nothing to compel her to the human race and the visions they'd allotted to the world. She could appreciate Minetia for the passion and romance it held within, but that was a far cry from letting herself be lost within the view of the unyielding ocean at her feet.

Despite this view, Agnes appreciated Freydis' candor more than the genasi could admit aloud, so Agnes merely smiled and nodded curtly in response. "The ocean is a fickle creature to me, but I do appreciate you," it was as far as she could warrant without beholding herself to the whimsy of Minetia as though she'd become influenced merely by stepping foot ashore. The last and really only time she'd been privy to a boat ride had been when she'd been taken and tortured and the genasi nearly trembled as a reminder.