The Shadowheart Simper

"Remember, the most valuable item wins. Not the biggest," the Hand reiterated from the bottom of the stairway.

The initiates were to give over the items they had stolen during their excursion as a token of re-entry into the cloister.

Rennald surrendered the music box he had swiped. He'd thought it a jewelry box, but had found much more satisfaction in hearing its melancholy tune.

"A nocturne," the Hand observed. "At least it's not some saccharine garbage."

Jenevelle came next in line.

"I didn't get anything," she declared. How did she keep her voice so firm?

The Hand stared impassive behind her mask. "You had all night."

"I got lost. It's a miracle I even made back here."

A Watcher, still dressed in peasant garb, approached the masked Hand and whispered into her ear. The Hand's stiffened posture relaxed just a hair. "Take better care to study your maps. You must know where each shadow falls every hour of the day and night."

As they funneled toward the dormitory, Jenevelle pulled Rennald into an alcove and looked up at him. Rennald had cringed the day he surpassed her in height. It made hiding behind her harder.

Excitement bubbled behind her eyes. "We're getting out of here," she whispered.

"Jen," Rennald sighed.

She didn't get it. The whole world was cold and hungry. Her luck kept her from understanding. Mother had found her so shortly after her parents died that the specter of need hadn't had time to show its face.

Jen checked the hallway again. "We're in Baldur's Gate!"

Rennald knew this. He hadn't realized that Jen didn't.

"My friend Viva lives in Baldur's Gate," Jen paused before adding, "sometimes."

Biting his lower lip, Rennald wondered how Jen came up with these things. Not even half of the fantastical stories she told about "my friend Viva" could be true.

"My friend Viva turned into a mouse once."

"When I played that trick on Viva, she got so spooked that she filled my parents' entire house with fog."

"I wish Viva were here; she'd slap Mother with lightning and we'd never have to hear her bullshit again."

Most of the time he could stare at her in confusion until she changed the subject. Not today, it seemed.

"She comes in the spring and the fall to stay with her father," Jen continued. "But it doesn't matter if she's here for the plan. Her father is always here…unless he's away. Sometimes he goes to Waterdeep…or was it Candlekeep?"

Why couldn't Jen just accept things as they were?

When Rennald first came to the cloister, releasing your troubles to the Mirror was a sacred rite.

In the year that Jen had been here she had now been to the Mirror twice as many times as any other initiate. Mother always dragged her off in anger when she began to spout too much heresy. Going through the circular door now almost seemed more of a punishment than a privilege.

"I was thinking we could go to Viva's father for help. I just have to remember how to get to his house. I've been before, but it was a long time ago."

"Jen!" Rennald snapped. "If he even exists, what could he possibly help us with? He can't make the food taste better or rescind the no-pet rule or let me—"

Did Jen remember his secret wishes after the last trip to the Mirror? She always understood, but sometimes she forgot.

It didn't matter. He couldn't have it.

Anger spilled out from him. "You're acting like a child!" He didn't know how old Jen was, but he'd seen enough changes in her form over the past year to make a rough guess.

"I'm not—" Jen argued. "Wait, what do you mean 'if he even exists'?"

"Do you really not see it, Jen?"

Rennald took her by the hand and pulled her into the armory. He positioned her before a freshly-shined breastplate and placed his hands on her shoulders to make her look.

"Your 'friend Viva' is a half elf." He flicked the tip of her ear. "With black hair and a scar on her face."

"It's a birthmark," Jen protested, but only weakly. "And her hair has some red…from the birthmark."

"'Your 'friend Viva' has magical powers and a big, loving family. How much more obvious can it get that 'Viva' is just what you wish your life was?"

Rennald hadn't put a name to the life he wished for himself. He knew how it felt to desperately want to be someone else, but desperation didn't make it more feasible for them to act on their desires.

Jen stared at her reflection. Despite her adolescent features, she sounded like the child Rennald saw in her when she argued: "Viva is real!"

"When did you meet her?"

Shifting uncomfortably under Rennald's hands, Jen stammered: "I—I don't remember. I was shorter than I—than I am now."

"How did you meet her?"

Jen stared at her reflection for some time, wringing her hands together, blinking away tears. "I don't know. We played together. And she wrote me letters. I remember…I remember…"

"Jen," Rennald sighed.

"I want you to come with me," she said softly. "Viva's father is gentle and kind. He loves Viva very well and I think he would be willing to love two more daughters."

"Two more daughters?"

Jen turned and took his hands. "It's a fresh start. You can introduce yourself by any name you'd like."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If Rennald didn't know Jen so well, he'd insist that she'd never go through with it.

If Rennald didn't know Jen so well, he wouldn't believe what she said about Viva's father, about a fresh start.

But he did know her.

There was no harm in helping her. If Jen harbored a delusion born from all the trips to the mirror, as he'd previously suspected, they'd sneak away, end up at some stranger's house, and sneak back in. All behavior to be expected, encouraged even, from young initiates. If Viva and her father were real…

"Initiate!" Mother called.

Straightening to attention, he watched her silently.

"Come to my chamber."

He hurried after. He hadn't been in her chamber since his arrival four years ago.

Aside from the architecture, sconces with purple flame and carved reliefs of Sharran symbols, the room contained almost no trace of its inhabitant—only a pile of reports on the desk.

Mother sat down. There was no second chair.

"I'm concerned about Initiate Jenevelle," Mother said, tenting her fingers. "Our Dark Lady grants me the intuition to know that something is going on with her, but not the insight to know what. You spend time with her frequently. Tell me. What occupies her mind these days?"

Rennald shifted his weight on his hips. "Relearning the tenants of our faith, Mother, and committing them to memory."

"Don't lie to me," Mother snarled, her voice dripping with venom.

Gooseflesh racing up his arms, Rennald grasped for a satisfactory answer. "She does think of her past sometimes. It's nothing new. I've been trying to help her see the beauty and value of our creed."

Tilting her head to one side, Mother eyed Rennald. "Are you happy here?"

That question was much more dangerous than any snarl. Rennald recited the line the Hands gave any time the initiates complained. "Our happiness is inconsequential to Lady Shar."

"Well-learned, but a simplified version of the truth. Our happiness in itself is inconsequential to our Lady, but happiness may be used just as any other tool. So tell me, Initiate Rennald. Are you happy?"

With some things, especially after Jen's arrival, he was; with so many others, he wasn't. The two lists kept pace as his body shifted in ways that others insisted were natural but felt like a roulette of perpetual discomfort. The desire for a different path had made his stomach churn long before Jen's arrival.

Mother didn't prompt him again, instead presenting her offer: "If there is something I can give to make you happier, I will provide it in exchange for any information that helps me bring Initiate Jenevelle to understand her place here."

Rennald said nothing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jen studied her maps, and no one batted an eye. It's what she'd been told to do after all. Though she couldn't recall a full name or an address, she favored the city's south side, a quiet neighborhood near the bank and the wharf.

In comparison to other escape attempts, all botched before they even came into fruition, this plan did not involve sneaking food and other supplies into their hidey hole. He stored many swiped trinkets and little luxuries there and had tried on different mannerisms and affects in the safety of the dark. He'd hate to lose that spot. Though, if this worked, he'd lose that spot forever.

"No need," Jen said, waving him off when he asked about it. "Viva's father is right here in the city. We just have to get to him quickly. Besides, we can't swim with all that."

"Swim?" Rennald balked. "We've barely finished with winter."

"Mother keeps a guard on the bridge at all hours, how do you propose we sneak past them?"

"I thought you said this was going to happen on our next pick-pocketing assignment."

Jen looked up from her map. "We can't very well escape with the Watcher on our tail, can we?" She playfully flicked the swaying tip of Rennald's tail with her finger.

Rennald crossed his arms. "So when, then?"

With a sheepish look, Jen returned her eyes to the paper. "Tonight? I found out the Hand will be infiltrating a Selunite gathering tonight, so there probably won't be a bed check."

"Alright."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sneaking practice. It was just sneaking practice. At worst they'd get a few lashes for getting caught.

They slipped out the dormitory separately, timed one hundred breathes apart, and met up at the entrance to the tunnels. The cavern that let out under the bridge hugged them tightly, as if it were the hand of the Nightsinger wrapping around them.

After crossing the river, two huddled together on the shoreline behind the homes of the Lower City's wealthier inhabitants. The distance was short, but the water chilled them to their bones.

"We've gotta keep moving," Jen said, teeth chattering.

Rennald pulled out their only provision, two dark cloaks in a water-proofed bag he'd snatched from the costumes closet.

As they darted through the park, Jen kept getting distracted by frogs and crickets and especially by the moths drawn to the torches. He wondered if she'd ever played hide and seek as a child like he used to here, and how often she'd had to be shushed and brought back to the task at hand.

Nudging Jen as they passed the shadow of a familiar building, he whispered. "I used to go to that school."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

His teacher said he had a gift for numbers. His primer contained multiplication problems while the other children his age struggled through subtraction.

He sat in the lobby of the House of Grief, completing his homework while he waited for his uncle.

What money was left after rent and food was set aside so his uncle could come for treatment. The blanking of his eyes, the nightmares, and the aversion to sudden noises used to abate for months after a session in the private room, but lately it had been only weeks. Rennald had been keeping track in the margins of his school book. Uncle had a hard time keeping track of anything nowadays.

The tiefling man stumbled out of the treatment room with shabby clothes and bleary eyes. Rennald wondered if he'd have to remind his uncle how to get to their apartment again. If he would get blamed for the leaks in the roof like last time.

"Uncle?" Rennald called as his only remaining kin strode right past him. "Uncle Ren?"

The man glanced around the room, finally turning back to Rennald. "I don't think he's here, kid," he said groggily.

Rennald hesitated. This had never happened before. "It's me. Rennald. You're my uncle."

Shaking his head, one hand moving instinctively to rub his horn, the man backed away. "I—I don't have—no…sorry, kid. You must have me mixed up with someone else."

Rennald looked to the dwarf at the counter. "You know!" he exclaimed. It was the same dwarven man, old as the hills, falling asleep on the ledger every time. "Tell him! Tell him he's my uncle! We have the same name and everything!"

When he turned back, Uncle Ren was gone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

But even if they made it, he wouldn't be able to return to school. They'd have to go into hiding, perhaps even live on the run. Danger would follow them for years. Would this man, who loved his daughter so much, put her under that type of risk? Perhaps for Jen, but not for Rennald.

Would she go without him?

The neighborhood was quiet, clean, residential. No one living here would accept Sharran runaways. No one living here would be prepared for the consequences if they did.

Jen wandered wide-eyed, staring up at the sky as if "Viva" would accidentally channel the full moon into a spotlight over her home.

They'd search for an hour, swim back, and probably get sick, but maybe it would shut Jen up about this "Viva" business.

If Jen had anyone left, why would Mother have taken her to begin with?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rennald returned to the House of Grief shaking with rage.

"YOU KILLED HIM!" he shouted at the dwarven man behind the counter. "HE'S DEAD AND IT'S ALL BECAUSE OF YOU!"

His vision red, Rennald rushed the bookshelves, determined that the teachings of this place would be nothing but the ash that filled his own mouth.

The dwarf grasped him by the arm and pulled him back. "You've had a shock," he said, voice deep and calm and level. "Something you'd rather forget?"

"You don't understand!" Rennald cried, jerking to break free of the man's hold. "He was the last person I had! I'm all alone now! I—" the rage drained out of him. He felt as small as he truly was again. "I'm all alone."

"I see." The dwarf echoed Rennald's thoughts: "Children shouldn't be alone."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Please, Jen. Let's go home," Rennald pleaded as Jen padded around yet another house, searching for a window to peep through.

The sun would rise soon.

Jen answered with a whispered growl. "That place is not my home!"

"We can make it your home. I've got a secret spot. You like it. It's full of night orchids. It smells so lovely when they're in bloom. We could find a pet for you and it could live there."

Her eyes had filled with steel as she swung her head back to look at him. "I don't want to be in this cloister. They keep taking my memories. I'm going to look so stupid when I show up at Viva's father's house and don't even know what to call him. And what do I tell him? I don't even remember how I ended up here!"

Like a fading spell, her ferocity dissipated. "Mother doesn't want me, she wants—" Her eyes glinted with tears in the moonlight as she grimaced and swallowed her hurt and desperation. "I'd say she wants a perfect initiate, but you're already here, and they won't even let you be yourself."

Rennald stared back at her. Mother had offered to make him happy.

Jen backed up against the alley wall, covering her face. Her muffled voice strained against her emotions. "You don't believe me do you?"

Something thorny wrapped around Rennald's heart. Whether or not "Viva" was real, what did it matter? If she was real, her family would take Jen and leave him all alone. He was nothing, nobody, abandoned by everyone and everything.

A familiar masked figure appeared in the corner of his peripheral vision.

The Hand. Had she known? Had she simply chanced upon their aimless wandering while returning from her own mission?

They were caught. It might be better that way. Perhaps if Mother could bring Jen fully into the fold, the trips to the Mirror would end. They could be friends again, real friends, not two people desperately wishing to be someone else.

Jen pulled and kicked and shouted as the Hand grabbed her from behind. "Stop! Put me down! I don't want to go back!" Her eyes met her friend's. "Please! Help—"

A wave of magic pulsed through the air and Jenevelle fell unconscious.

Rennald said nothing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Are you ready to leave your old life behind?"

"Yes ma'am," Rennald answered, keeping his eyes lowered to the knees of the Mother Superior of the Temple of Shar. He would start a new life, apprenticed to the old dwarf and learn to be a quartermaster.

"And you have something you'd like to surrender to Our Lady?"

"Yes ma'am."

More than anything, he wanted the memory out of his head. He didn't want to remember the way that t̶̡͖͉̉́h̸̳̲̲̾ë̸̖̪ ̵̾͊̕͜ṃ̵̘̱̍̌ĕ̸̯̝͗̈m̵̺̱͖̈́̒͝o̸̗̠̾r̸̡̘̺̊y̶̘͎̌̋͠ ̴̧͕̹͗̇ḭ̸̆s̶̞̒̋ ̸̛͚̙ģ̵̳͊͘̚ǒ̵͇̩n̴̟̦͚͗͝ȩ̷͉͝ ̴̭͊̚n̴̙̐ó̴͙͇̈ͅw̷̙͎͆͋͠,̶͋̆ͅ ̵̲͔̬̓ȁ̴̝̣̯͠ ̷̜̋̾͝p̷͇̬͇͌̂o̸̦̠͝s̶̯̫̀͛s̴̠̙̄ë̴̤͓̪̇̈s̵͗ͅs̸̗͉̾͛̀i̸̫̣͊́o̴̢͎̒̂͐n̶̮̄ ̸̺̝͎͛̑͘ő̸͖̚f̸͍̈́̃̾ ̶̮̝̖̈́͂͠Ľ̸̳ä̵͔́ͅd̶̜͚̹̈́͝y̴͉̦̜̔̊̚ ̵͉̞̠̂̉S̶̢̔͠h̴̻͙̗̋a̶̳̿̏͘ṟ̵̡̂'̸̛̱͑s̴̠̄̅ . W̶̿͜o̴̢͓͐͊̀ͅǔ̷͓͓̂̽l̸̨͔̔͂̽d̸͙̦̳̏̾ ̷͓̰͘i̶͇̯͕̊̀t̷͈͔͔̐̄̏ ̶̝̳͗͌͆h̸̬̫̬̒̐͐ȃ̶̱́v̵̫̘͖́ḙ̵̞͛͝ͅ ̴̱̲̱́c̵̨̭̹̀̒̒ĥ̶̰̇͗a̵̠̤̳̓n̵̟̺̔͛g̸̢͖̰̎͌e̴͍͂d̵̜͌̌̾ ̶̣̪̘̈́̈͝a̵͈͍̠̐͝n̶͚̂ŷ̴͎͈̻̀t̷̨͙̼̑h̶̛̖̱̳̎i̵̗͇̋̉n̸͚̼̈́̇̆g̸̥̗͝ ̸͙̦̈́f̴̞̟͌̒o̸̺͝r̶̢̗͊͋͗ ̶̹̇̈́N̴̠̊͒́o̷͉͙͌͂́c̴̰̘͑ṭ̷̔ũ̵̲̏r̸̳͗n̸̛͍̚é̵̥͈̈́̄͜ ̷̛̤͓t̷̬̞̯̄͘̕ò̸̘̮͜ ̶̨̫̼́ẖ̵̨̮̈́a̷̩̘͛̆̎v̷͎̚e̸̬̠̞̓ ̷͍̺̿t̴̲̦͌ẖ̴͋͒̍i̴̲̫̰̒s̵͇̏ ̵̟̠̖̔͒m̴͋͐̈́ͅệ̴͙̞̂͝m̶̲̒̋̕o̶͈͍̒̅r̷͙̫͔̐y̸̝̯̖̓̆?̷̨̅̈ͅ ̵̨̤̎W̶̿͜ȍ̵̖͙̆u̵̖̝̍̆͜l̴͖̦̿̇̚ḓ̴̢͍͋̅͝ ̵̼͕̗̿ī̴̤̀t̵̛̪͗ ̸̺͍̪̈́h̷̢̰͈͂a̴͚̺̱͘v̴̳̄̿͐ẹ̷̌̊ ̴̢̞̻͛͘h̸͈͙͒̄̉e̸̲̩͛̀l̶͚͉̚͠p̵̙̌̏̓ȩ̴̩͌̇̆d̶̲̙̄͐͆ ̴̮̎̀a̵̙͍̲̽ṋ̴̫̇̍͊y̸̬̳̏̃o̴̳̒͆n̶̻̫͛͒͗ͅe̴͙̳̽?̶͈̐́͠

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mother smiled as she nodded to the row of initiates standing at the front of the sanctuary. "Our Lady has brought it to my attention, that our cloister is infested. Not with rats." A moment of wickedness gleamed in her eyes. "I think we can agree that has been well taken care of."

The members of the cloister laughed. Jen looked about in confusion. It was a blessing that Lady Shar spared her the memory of Mr. Nibbles.

"No, we are infested with the ghosts of the past. To exorcise them, the Nightsinger asks for a new sacrifice. From this day forward, all initiates will take on a new name, a new identity, as part of their rite of passage. You will be called in order. Memorize the blessed name well and cast any aspect of your old life behind."

The initiates exchanged looks of surprise. All except the one who had selected the names that appeared on Mother's list.

"Initiate Evenfall, step forward."

"Initiate Vesper, step forward."

"Initiate Shadowheart, step forward."

There would be no other names to haunt her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When everyone had left, she remained in the sanctuary.

"Are you ready?" Mother asked.

Her eyes remained steady on the Mother Superior. "Yes, ma'am."

She would start a new life, no longer an initiate, no longer an apprentice. Shadowheart would get there too, one day.

"And you have something you'd like to surrender to our Lady?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Shadowheart's panicked and heartbroken eyes, her slumped body hoisted over the Hand's shoulder, the imagined face of a half-elf with black hair a birthmark and the relentless "what if"—she wanted these things purged from her memory.

Mother nodded her permission.