Chapter 7 - "Mist"

The farewell of brother and sister went off without too much tragedy. The right words had already been spoken. So, with a long look and a nod from Carver, the final line was drawn, releasing Bethany and himself. The two boats parted on the same river, heading in opposite directions. One slipped easily and effortlessly onto the rapids and headed downstream. The other began to climb slowly by the bank, struggling against the oncoming current.

It took almost twice as long to reach Lothering heading in the opposite direction. Most of the time it was Alim who worked the pole. But the other passengers also used it during his short breaks. As the sun began to slip towards the horizon, casting shadows from one bank to the other, the boat docked. The settlement was hidden behind a bend in the canal and a gentle hill. A solitary old willow tree and a waist-high, for a grown man, herbaceous bush covered it from casual travellers. They pulled the ramshackle boat out of the water and all but Leliana made themselves comfortable in the shade of the tree. «Sister» adjusted herself and shook her robes, meeting Morrigan's gaze and saying:

— Wait for me at night. I'll be back before the mist.

— Then we won't have to wait.

Leliana nodded, glanced around at the others, lingering on the elf for a moment, then set off across the field towards the settlement. A pair of yellow eyes darted from the retreating figure to the man. But, licking her lips, the girl decided not to tease her companion about his obvious weakness for the redheaded beauty. The elf's disturbing thoughts were new to him. And that in itself was amusing. The sorceress was genuinely curious to see how the relationship between these two opposites would develop. Until now, Alim had been driven by his bond with her sister, a tightrope walk of affection and duty. Now another feminine image was stealthily attempting to occupy the untouched territory, exposing the man to doubt.

The space between the remaining companions was filled with silence. Each was lost in the depths of his own thoughts. Alim, perched at the edge of the bank, frowned as he watched the fickle and unchanging flow of water. Bethany, whose eyes were closed, nestled comfortably in the grass, obviously trying not to think about anything at all. Morrigan...

Stretching out on the ground and looking up at the gently swaying tangle of branches, she mentally reviewed the events of the past few days. Amongst the series of facts that were clear at every moment, there were strange things that only became visible when the whole picture was considered. And the mind linked them to the hypothesis of possession, which, like a parasite, attracted more and more attention. What is the degree of influence on one's self?

Starting with a simple one, Morrigan wondered — where did the decision to go through Lothering come from? It was the cause of further misadventures. Was a break with a warm bed, food and other comforts so necessary? On serious consideration, no. That could be dispensed with without serious sacrifice. But the girl had always regarded Lothering as a point of attraction for her own curiosity. After all, it was the largest settlement in Ferelden within walking distance of the young resident of Korkari. Of course, she remembered visiting other outposts on the edge of the Wildlands. But nowhere else had she had a truly memorable adventure. It had begun with some careless behaviour in Merinwood, a village of a dozen houses. A detachment of Lothering's Templars had been sent there to cause 'mischief'. There was, of course, no sign of the young sorceress. But the little mischief-maker's next visit was to the very place where the unfortunate party had been stationed. A huge temple, by Korkari standards. Magnificent mills with incredible spinning blades. And a pandemonium of all kinds of people. It sticks in the memory. The sharp eyes of the young lady immediately noticed the main attraction of the locals — the merchants' wagons with dozens of wonderful things, some of which later acquired a new mistress without anyone`s knowledge. Perhaps the most memorable event of her childhood was the meeting with an unknown aristocrat who came to visit what was, according to the northerners, a remote place. The impressive carriage, the lady's gorgeous dress and the glittering jewellery immediately struck a chord within the savage. The prize of this encounter was a miniature lady's mirror framed in gold and lacquered wood. A treasure that became a source of vivid emotions. The triumph of possession, shrouded in girlish dreams, and deep childish resentment when the object disappeared irretrievably into the depths of her mother's worn clothes. For a week she had called the young Morrigan a foolish magpie whose nest was easy to find by the glint of things glittering in the sun.

In this way, the girl's interest had been carried from childhood to the present. Unconsciously she plucked a blade of grass and pressed it to her full lips, which were full of natural colour and graceful lines that did not require a drop of make-up, and then she grasped the elusive thought. It was true that in her childhood and youth she had been interested in expensive jewellery that glittered brightly in the sunlight. Until now, she had made little distinction between expensive and shiny jewellery, even the amber and glass beads that the chasinds gathered from the sandy shores of the Frost Sea that stretched eastward from the swamps near Gwarren. Later, the girl was enchanted by the lustre of gold, silver and gems framed by the listed metals. But now... The sorceress raised her hand to her eyes, a scratched strip of gold on her finger. A strange gift from Flemeth, like everything else that came from the woman. One day, the inconspicuous thing had simply appeared on a string beside the girl's bed. But despite her daughter's delight at the gift, Morrigan`s mother had subsequently ignored questions about the jewel. It was as if there was no connection whatsoever between the ring and the legendary witch. And yet the object remained dear to the sorceress. Both as a memory and as the only real jewel in her ownership that her mother had ignored. Now, only the emotions associated with the memories came alive when she looked at the ring. The glitter of the gold and the knowledge of its cost no longer touched her soul. After a moment of reflection, Morrigan realised that she was completely cured of her former desire. For better or worse.

Was this another madness? Definitely. And resisting the notion that such a change was for the greater good required extra focus. On reflection, as long as one is addicted, it is difficult to imagine one's own behaviour without the addiction for comparison. In the opposite situation, the same thesis retains its own validity. It is therefore easier to evaluate the pros and cons for someone else than for oneself. But the fact that the change did not happen by Morrigan's will certainly painted a grim picture.

Having ended the matter and spat out a chewed blade of grass, the sorceress moved on to another topic. Trying to move through the stream of thoughts slowly, without rushing, she wondered — how did the chain of events, one after the other, end in the Templar dungeons? After a moment's thought, Morrigan shook her head negatively. It was not a question of why. The answer to such a question had a solid logical basis and no contradictions. Who would risk an open conflict against three Templars in a small room with only one exit? And in a settlement where there were rumours of a brutal massacre of any renegade who fit the description of one? It was something else that troubled the sorceress. How little the dungeon and the prospect of it frightened her. In the past, locked rooms had been a source of discomfort. The girl bit her lip, squinting at her own memories of her brief stay in the dungeon. There had been nervousness, fuelled by uncertainty. Fear... But not a bit of panic in anticipation of a likely reprisal. Carefully sorting through her own feelings, Morrigan stated the obvious, first in disbelief, then with more conviction. A firm belief, like in Ostagar, was spontaneously present, that she could have 'converted' at the last minute. Having experienced the capabilities of 'that' form first hand, the sorceress had no doubts about the ability to break out of the dungeon. Even Alim seemed to be considering such a scenario. And while Morrigan did not argue with herself about the validity of such expectations, the reflection clung to a little-noticed roughness. Something disturbed the girl. Some irregularity in the natural flow of her own thoughts. Closing her eyes, the sorceress tried to remember — to what exact conclusions she had come, day after day, regarding the workings of the spell and the strange new 'form'. Day after day. Just as a wrinkle of tension and concentration creased her smooth forehead, the inconsistencies, perceptible at the level of instinct but hidden in the blind spot of the mind, began to take shape in the smooth flow of thought. Since her transformation at the top of the tower, Morrigan had encountered a wide range of situations, from small things to serious problems where 'conversion' could be a great help, if not a solution. But in each case, the girl had rationally weighed the risks and refused to resort to magic, the outcome of which was no longer clear and predictable. She had been lucky once. There was no guarantee that body-transforming magic would be as harmless the second time. Slowly running her hand over her face, as if to remove a weightless spider web, Morrigan shuddered inwardly. Despite her conscious rejection of the spell, the sorceress remained unconsciously convinced of the inevitability of using it in a critical situation. And even now, she was ready to take that step. Without looking at the ring on her finger, the girl added a newfound clutter of thoughts to the growing list of things that needed to be controlled. Her sad gaze slipped back to the branches of the tree, while a few harsh words and a grim conclusion rolled off the spellcaster's tongue — it seemed that the amount of endurance required was even beyond Flemeth's self-control.

With a quick glance at Bethany, Morrigan mentally took the next step. Why was she following this girl? The argument of needing transportation came to the sorceress' mind first. But while accepting that, the girl also considered the availability of alternatives to the boat. Taking advantage of the temporary chaos in Lothering, the two travellers could easily get lost in the hills. Away from the roads and making their way north without haste. Alim's opinion, spoken aloud, was also present. But with a barely perceptible cluck of her tongue, the sorceress admitted that she had not even remembered the elf's words. Back to memories... In the past, Morrigan had always gravitated towards solitude, finding a strange comfort and simplicity in it. And so the choice for less company, even if it was difficult, seemed more logical to the girl now, in the silence under the tree. It was only a question of time. The Korkari witch tensed, trying to find the reason for the lack of logic in her own actions. Glancing at her young neighbour's profile, the sorceress went over the arguments as if they were small pebbles. She tried to reconstruct the mosaic of her own motives. One thing felt strange, even if it seemed appropriate, another fit, even if it seemed silly at first glance. The result of the slow work was a prosaic conclusion. The original reason for choosing Bethany was... Bethany. Or rather, curiosity. The recognition of such an emotion made the girl's cheeks barely pink. For some reason, it seemed embarrassingly silly to think of such a thing. But, as Morrigan suspected, one addiction inevitably led to another. Trying to remain rational, the girl went through the contacts that had taken place at the former Grey Guardian outpost since that unfortunate morning. According to the girl's findings, not every personality brought this emotion to life. Silently moving her lips, the sorceress went through the names — Alim, Alistair, Duncan, Bethany... After a short pause, Leliana was added to the list, not without a doubt. In Morrigan's opinion, almost all of them were quite complex, both internally and externally. The sorceress paused for a moment to grimace and exclude Alistair from being characterised with the listed epithets as well. Each of them also had the ability to both make difficult decisions and stick to a single goal. The sorceress frowned. But the elf and the young Hawk were intuitively different in this list. It was obvious that the mages had priority over the others, but... The girl weighed the thought and shook her head slowly, thinking that such an explanation was too simple. No, it wasn't mages per se that interested her. Spells. The sorceress remembered — art had been at the top of her list of interests during her childhood, in the beginning only rivaled by pranks and exploring the boundless vastness of the world. But the new spells had never been a target for possession, a source of greed. Now they did. The very thought of the complexity and finesse of the formula behind Alim's crowning spell, the Field of Repulsion, made the wizard's heart beat faster. Biting her lower lip, the girl realised that, from this perspective, both the elf and her new companion were nothing more than elegant vessels holding tantalising knowledge until the certain moment of time.

And... The cold mind clearly regarded such a thing as deviant behaviour. The girl's skin was covered in goosebumps as fear overwhelmed her emotions. Fear of realising the growing difference between her memories of herself and her current state. With each new discovery, the whole picture changed. From circumstances where individual traits or thoughts had been altered, to circumstances where only individual traits or thoughts had escaped distortion. Rubbing her forehead, Morrigan sighed slowly, calming the beating of her heart and wishing away the storm of scrappy doubts that tried to replace rationality with disordered emotion.

There was one question the sorceress avoided. Recognising it as sheer cowardice, she closed her eyes. Was it only because of Alim and Bethany that her own life was at stake? Memory told her that the Morrigan had committed every Temple murder in the past on her own turf, by her own rules, separating and dealing with them strictly one at a time. The decision to confront the three in the open didn't look wise from any angle. Alim, Bethany and the knowledge that lurked within them looked weak compared to her own life. Unless... Putting the problem aside, the sorceress mentally returned to the tactics she had chosen for the battle with the Templars. There was a palpable disregard for the safety of her own body. Morrigan tapped her forefinger against her lips, only to shake her head negatively. The damage to the body was compensated for by the spell, a similar calculation — dry logic and a willingness to think outside the box. Every detail seemed well thought out. But could the cost so easily be ignored? More than once or twice in her youth, driven by curiosity, the witch had fallen from heights. Her mother, not known for being overprotective, had only mentioned it once, with a chuckle: «Truly, pain is the best teacher.» Two broken bones had taught the girl, now a sorceress, to take pain seriously and to avoid making stupid mistakes.

After gathering the facts, the girl faced the conclusion — the impulsive decision had been made without a single sign of fear of pain, as if erased from instinct. Moreover, the decision had been made with audacity and disregard for the lives of her companions... The sorceress suddenly froze, pausing so as not to stifle the occasional glimmer of insight. Whose lives had she neglected? To whom exactly had she bound herself with a spell? Carver, who had failed to arouse her curiosity. And Leliana, who her instincts told her to be wary of. But then there was Carver's little-noticed friend. Morrigan twitched her cheek in disdain, focusing on the emotion Bethany's brother had stirred. The girl had taken an interest in the young sorceress while still in the dungeon, and only then had she learned of her brother. Thinking back to those fleeting emotions — Morrigan didn't like it... Greed. The realisation that the object of interest was related to another person — annoying. This discovery seemed easy and wrong. The sorceress grinned discreetly, remembering her own reaction to the offer of a loyalty oath. It seemed hypocritical now, but... The truth was that the oath of allegiance, then as now, seemed 'superficial', not thorough enough. Like summer flowers that disappear without a trace in autumn. What was wrong with Leliana? Shaking her head, Morrigan chose the most convenient words — depth and insight. The unknowability of the motives that drove her. The fear that, in return, she would easily read and recognise hidden fears and anxieties, and turn that knowledge into a weapon.

Rubbing her eyes, the girl summed it up a bit — when hasty decisions were required, she tended to weigh the value of people down to the level of things, at the same time depriving herself of a noticeable part of the instinct of self-preservation as a support. And this is beyond control....

Thinking has come down to one thing. No one can pull themselves out of the swamp by their own hair — at the very least, they need a stick to help them. For a sorceress, the Kinloch Circle's knowledge of possession must be that stick. And the desire to understand the problem grows by leaps and bounds, fuelled by overwhelming fear. Like the problem itself.

Suddenly, from Alim's side came the characteristic murmur of an empty stomach rebelling against its own master. Both girls looked at him questioningly, but only the older of the two spoke.

— We had a bite to eat on the way here. How long ago was that?

The elf snorted and answered.

— Stale scones. It's a shame to complain when you're the only one who gets two. You may not need food, but as you recall, it's been 24 hours since you've had a decent meal. That's funny. During the transition from... Ahem. We ate better even then.

— And who was the reason for that?

— Of course you were.

She nodded, turned on her side and put her hands under her head.

— You're right about one thing. I could use some food. And the best way to wait out hunger is to sleep.

* * *

— ..an..

— ..gan!

Morrigan opened her eyes sharply, sucking in air noisily. She was crouched beside a distraught elf, and just behind her, Bethany peered out from behind her equally disturbed back. The surroundings were gently enveloped in the late twilight, with the first impatient stars in the clear sky. Shifting her gaze from one to the other, the sorceress growled irritably and rose to her feet, asking.

— Have I been sleepwalking again?

Too mundane for his own good, the man replied.

— Yes. I thought…

— Thank you.

The girl squatted down on the bank and bent down to scoop up the cold, dark water to wash away the remnants of sleep and cheer herself up. After repeating the process three times, she turned and asked.

— Did you sleep long?

— I must admit, you manage to make even such an innocent question sound creepy. Or is that just my perception? No. A few hours at most.

The girl looked at her new companion and sighed.

— New to you, I suppose? Yes, I have nightmares sometimes. Strange ones. But don't let them go to your head.

Alim snorted sarcastically but made no further comment. After a pause the elf asked.

— Anything memorable?

— Why the interest?

— Oh. Now, that's a question that requires a serious academic answer. Morrigan! We're sitting on the riverbank, bored to tears. The sun has dropped below the horizon, it's going to be a long night, there's no fire and no food in sight. And then the usual... No, listen to me — the «usual» cramps start. Pick a motive yourself and answer me, please. Although…You don't have to answer.

Bethany looked at the mage, her eyes wide with surprise. The second sorceress was also taken aback by the man's unpredictable outburst of emotion, which caused her eyebrows to raise uncontrollably. It was a turn of events that confused Morrigan's thoughts and made it hard to decide how to feel about it. Licking her lips, the girl turned back to the water and said.

— Well... Hmm. That's clever.

Alim frowned and asked again.

— What?

— If you say so. So, nothing changes. Every time I have a nightmare, I see the same thing. Strange woods, as if the wrath of fire had recently visited them. Sometimes the plants change their appearance. Sometimes they look like their home. Another time they're completely unfamiliar. A mist obscures the eye. You can't see more than a dozen steps ahead. Ashes fall... But it's not ashes. The only change is a sense of… presence. Like there's movement at the edge of my vision. It grows with each dream. This time it seemed as if I could even make out a figure in the mist. No better than the silhouette of a man in the evening mist.

— Sounds like it.

— You heard what it was, not what you wanted to hear. Surprising?

— No. It's about something else. I think I understand better now why you want to go to the Circle Library.

As he finished his sentence, Alim gave Bethany an oddly long look, causing her to look away in slight embarrassment. The scene was not lost on Morrigan, who wondered if there might already be an agreement between them, sealed behind the sorceress' back. What could it be? And wasn't that why this scene had been staged, to force the details of the nightmares to be shared? She tightened her lip, suppressed the troubled thoughts and splashed water in her face again.

— Bethany. Wouldn't it be better to occupy your mind? If the arts are to be conquered, I must learn the formulae of the spells you know. If you have no objections.

The girl flinched, but nodded and sat down cross-legged beside her.

— Um... I'm familiar with the Blazing Arms. It's... Father changed the formula for the Blazing Weapon so that I could use it without harming my own flesh. But... He said that the formula would only work without harm if the mage had a significant predisposition to pyromania. And, well, that would be my case. Also, there's a spell called "Blazing Flash".

— Rewrite the formula... Mage, was there a conversation on a similar topic not too long ago? This is where the masters hide. On a farm, in the middle of fields and hills, avoiding attention. Go on.

— That's it. That's all I have to tell.

Alim, leaning against the trunk of a willow tree, was only a silhouette in the darkness. So it was impossible to see the expression on his face when the man made the remark in a calm voice.

— Not much.

The young sorceress nodded and confirmed without a shadow of shyness or offence.

— That's right.

Morrigan snorted dismissively and interjected.

— Have you learned much more spells yourself?

The elf raised his hand and started to curl his fingers.

— Well...

— That's what I'm saying. Not much more. Bethany, have you had many tantrums? Or have you ever found yourself rushing to judgement? When emotion overrides cold logic.

— Hmmm... I guess so. I can't say I do it often. But when I was young, there were plenty of times when I got caught up in the emotion of the moment and regretted it. My father made me aware of this flaw in my character. And over time I got used to thinking twice before I acted. Why do you ask?

— Such traits are inherent in witches inclined towards the element of fire, pyromania. My mother called them rabid bitches. But that's the only reason why she never refused her apprenticeship. It wasn't a spur-of-the-moment decision to come with us, was it?

The young sorceress shook her head negatively with a serious face, and with a satisfied nod to her "apprentice", Morrigan quickly asked a dozen questions in a low voice about the runes that were probably used in the spells she knew. Satisfied that the girl's knowledge was well-founded, she moved on to the trickier subject. Clearing half a metre of ground with her foot between the roots of a willow tree, where the light of the rising moon was sufficient, Morrigan tore off the nearest hanging branch. Stripping the twig of its leaves and flexible tail, the sorceress handed it to Bethany and said.

— Can you draw the structure of the Blazing Hands rune necklace?

— But...

— The structure. Not the runes themselves.

— О!

The young sorceress nodded willingly, shaking her auburn locks, and began to pick holes in the ground. They formed a chain, winding in a square spiral from the centre, splitting into small branches of five or six holes at each turn, each branching off in straight lines. There were over sixty-five positions for the runes. Morrigan squinted at the drawing and muttered to herself.

— Difficult. Unattractive. Excessive...

Then the girl shifted her gaze to her interlocutor's unconsciously bent cane and clarified.

— That's it?

— Yes.

— About six dozen runes?

— Yes.

— But... Why one layer?

Bethany remained silent, staring at her own handiwork. Meanwhile, Alim reacted to the question. He came up, looked at the diagram and said.

— I don't see what the problem is. What else would it look like?

The girl chose a clean spot near the first diagram and quickly sketched a simple six-radius figure with three holes in each ray around the axis. She deliberately made the central hole and the holes at the ends of the three rays larger. Then the second figure appeared next to the first, separate from the first. This time it was a figure of three rays with a circle connecting the ends of the three rays. The holes in the same places were again made larger. The third figure was similar to the first, but the three rays without large holes were slightly longer. In total, the three circles made up exactly six dozen rune positions. The elf scratched his chin and cast a glittering glance at the author of the drawings.

— Three spells?

— One. A curse. «Disorientation.» Arranged in three layers. There are connections between the layers here.

Morrigan pointed to the larger holes in each of the three diagrams. The mage raised his eyebrows in disbelief.

— Three? A curse of six dozen runes... Amazing...

The sorceress frowned, looked at Bethany's reaction to confirm that the elf was not joking, and said slowly.

— If I'm wrong — correct me. A variant of the recording spell, where the runes are assembled layer by layer and more than one pair is linked at a time — first time you've seen it? Both?

Bethany nodded willingly, Alim joined slowly and thoughtfully.

— That's... a very curious thought and a great challenge to the mind. The Circle teaches only one method of organising runes — in a single layer. This is the traditional way of conveying information from a sheet of parchment, a layer of sand, wax or chalk. Trivial, comprehensible, based on clear and easily calculated rules. The perception of young magicians is based on the idea that this is the foundation. It makes no sense to doubt the foundation. And it also limits thinking forever. Meanwhile... There is no contradiction here. The circle method is just a special case of yours. I wonder if it's a meaningful choice, stupidity... or degradation?

The young wizard confirms.

— Neither his father nor the occasional guests who visited him ever mentioned anything like that in conversation.

Morrigan rubbed her right temple and sighed.

— I see. You know... There are no parchment, wax or chalk boards in the forests of Korkari, and wax is only found in the hives of bees and wasps. My mother used to explain the theory with a handful of multi-coloured flat pebbles, which she used to make all sorts of shapes.

— The magic of the Chasinds...

— There is no such thing as Chasind art. Anyone who can be called a witch has learned it from her mother.

Alim grinned and said a single name.

— Flemeth.

As Bethany opened her mouth in surprise, the older sorcerer's face suddenly contorted, changing in the moonlight into a mask of rage carved from milky-white marble. She poked the mage in the shoulder with considerable force and hissed through clenched teeth.

— When will you stop wasting someone else's goods without asking? The worst guest is the first to steal when welcomed and favoured. And stupidity is a poor excuse!

The mage raised his eyebrows and asked again without looking back.

— When did I get favoured?

Seeing what was happening from the sidelines, Bethany took a quick step forward and interrupted the dialogue.

— Please calm down. Alim, I think Morrigan is upset because you mentioned her mother's name to me without asking. If I understand correctly. Um. Remember, she was just as upset when you revealed her own name to others. I think, um.

— Upset?! Angry! Furious!

The elf waved her hands and shouted.

— Abyss... What a stupid...

The man sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose before speaking slowly, choosing his words carefully.

— Really, that's a strange excuse...

Poking him again in the chest with her index finger, Morrigan interrupted and spoke herself.

— You don't see the point of my reaction? But come to think of it, you're not so quick to share details of your own life. I haven't noticed your sister's name suddenly coming up in conversation. You just throw other people's things away without asking. I...

The sorceress' face twisted again. But this time it was not from an outburst of emotion, but as if from pain. She did not like the situation, nor her companion's actions, nor her own violent reaction to such a trifle, nor the thoughts that filled her mind like uninvited guests, whispering about the elf's deceitfulness and duplicity. After a moment's silence, the woman's face took on a look of collected composure and serenity. In a contrastingly calm voice, she said.

— I`m ready to see this as nothing but a misunderstanding. On condition that it never happens again. Any name or fact connected with me, however freely spoken, you will keep. Not as your own secret, but as someone else's. And I will reciprocate.

The mage frowned and nodded. But there was at least two or three minutes of silence before the answer came.

— All right. My mistake, I suppose. By judging the value and sensitivity of the information solely from my own point of view, I failed to show... sufficient foresight, and instead demonstrated my short-sightedness. I can't boast that I was known in the circle as the soul of the company, a skilful speaker and... In fact, I didn't seek the company of anyone but my sister. Mentioning names had no significant hidden meaning. More a joke than any kind of manipulation. I apologise for that.

The girl across from her was silent, but she relaxed and slowly shifted her gaze to Bethany. She nodded and smiled wryly. Alim, meanwhile, licked his lips and tried to gently return to the original topic of conversation.

— Now that we've... Ahem. Now that we've cleared up the misunderstanding. Here's a question. Are the spells you use all organised in this form?

— Yes. Except for the transformation spell. As I told you, it is a bit more complicated.

— And... Can you imagine the spells in their entirety? All the layers at once, with every connection between the layers?

Morrigan simply nodded. The elf raised his eyebrows, looked back at the diagrams and shook his head in disbelief. Then he frowned and, muttering under his breath, began to move his hand in the air, repeating the pattern of the spell shown in the three drawings. It was like a man who had never picked up a bow before trying to send an arrow at a moving target from fifty paces away. The principle seems clear, but it is good if the arrow at least flies in the right direction. After a moment, the mage grinned inconsolably and shoved his hand deep into his own hair.

— You know. I think your mother taught you to speak spells for a reason, to make it a habit. And it's not just about learning an ancient language. These are mnemonic keys that allow you to easily recall the extensive structure of spells in your memory without making a single mistake.

The girl looked at the diagrams in surprise and mimed the 'O' sound in silence.

— Anyway... Thank you. That's something to think about. I'll get out of your way.

Deep in thought, the elf moved away and sat down beside the water. The young sorceress took advantage of the pause and asked excitedly.

— Can I learn to remember and use spells in the same way?

— They say you can teach a goat to do tricks. It's a matter of time and diligence. But there is a suspicion that it is not so easy to change the water for mead when the cup is full. I think.

Morrigan ran her fingertips over her lips, pondering how to approach the task at hand. Without realising it, the girl mentally returned to her mother's lessons, but she ignored her mother's sneering manner and concentrated more on the tricks she had used. Tricks, meaningless and unrelated to art, later proved to be a support in mastering complex skills. Catching herself, the sorceress was embarrassed for a moment. But she did not retreat, as she had in other moments when she tried to sort out random thoughts. It seemed that no matter how vivid the daughter's grudge against her mother might be, the first thing she did when faced with a similar problem was to turn to Flemeth's wisdom. With a shake of her head, Morrigan decided for herself that what served her purpose should not be changed without a pressing need.

— Let's start simple.

Brushing off the drawing, the sorceress pointed to the ground and continued.

— I give you the number of routes and connections. You try to come up with as many variations as possible that satisfy the conditions I give.

Bethany nodded willingly and began her training.

* * *

The night passed more quickly and carelessly than the three travellers had feared. The only serious inconvenience, apart from hunger of course, was the cool, damp air that chilled their bones when they sat still.

As the horizon in the east began to turn from black to dark indigo, a mist began to gather over the river, slightly silvery in the ghostly moonlight. Of its own accord, the conversations quieted and the excited anticipation of the last travel companion began to build. As the milky mist thickened, slowly obscuring the faint stars, Morrigan looked more impatient, Alim more nervous and Bethany more distant. They all realised it would be better to get past Lothering before the first sign of sunrise. But it was still upriver before then.

As the colour of the east began to change more rapidly to ultramarine, almost hiding the rising mist, the sound of rustling grass and footsteps could be heard. They all mentally prepared to jump into the boat, but a lone figure was walking openly, and even in the mist it was easy to see that it was female.

Morrigan sighed softly, neither with relief nor regret, and greeted the arrived companion.

— I did it.

With no sign of joy or satisfaction, the voice said briefly.

— It's true.

Sister's appearance was strikingly different from before. Sturdy leather boots with a small heel came up to her knees. Together with thick woollen trousers of dark green dyed broadcloth, they accentuated her slender legs. A fitted shirt of cream satin, which peeked out from under the unbuttoned pale green gambeson to the middle of the thigh in the same colour as the eyes, accentuated the figure in the right places. Accessories such as leather gloves, a short hooded woollen cloak thrown over his left arm and a long bow without string with a coiled fishing rod in his right hand completed the look. A tightly packed quiver peeked out from behind his back, and at his belt his eye was drawn to a scabbard containing a broad double-edged dagger and two leather pouches. Any vestige of her former humility and insecurity vanished without a trace. Confidence and firmness, shrouded in a slight hint of gloom, took their place.

As she placed the quiver, bow and fishing rod in the boat, the girl let out an audible sigh of relief, as if she had finally let go of a burden considerably heavier than the measly pair of items she had brought. Alim shook his head, not quite believing his own eyes. But not knowing Leliana intimately, such a change did not seem drastic to the man. Unlike Bethany, who literally stood there with her mouth agape.

— Sister...

The red-haired warrior turned to the young warlock and smiled with a hint of sadness.

— Nothing to be surprised about, little Bethany. My distant past has not been as peaceful and quiet as my recent years in Lothering. And underneath that thin layer of humility and warmth, there's a lot of danger that should have been forgotten. Should have been, yes... But that doesn't mean that the «sister» you know is suddenly gone, any more than the mist disappears in the morning. If you need a smile, the sunny warmth of a story or a hug, don't hesitate to ask.

Meanwhile, Morrigan, already settled in the boat, threw in a short, half-turned sentence.

— You'd be better off exercising your mind.

Only when the others had followed suit and the elf pushed the boat into the water to begin the slow ascent against the current through the mist-shrouded waters, did the older of the two wizards raise her voice again.

— How did the great mission go? Somehow there was no triumph, or at least no hint of satisfaction, to be seen on your face.

Leliana shrugged and turned in the opposite direction, but answered the question.

— We made it to Mother. The public execution left the settlement buzzing like a disturbed beehive. At night, in the screaming crowd, in the glow of the flames, everything looks right, natural, evoking a sense of community, satisfaction and triumph. But with the dawn, the performance comes to an end. The crowd disperses. And alone with oneself, looking at the baby sleeping next to him, or the silent father and mother, one is overcome by doubts. Ordinary people want to forget last night, to wash it away like dirt from their clothes. Any memory triggers rejection. Rumours are born. And those who feed on them prosper. Mother's act did not consolidate her power, did not capture the hearts of the crowd, did not turn them away from Earl. It only created a slowly spreading fear and a desire to leave Lothering sooner rather than later. The Templars' success in destroying the gang also spurred the people on. So for days they struggled with the confusion, trying to turn the escape into something more organised and secure. They may have cared for the Assistant Corps Commander and two others, but they had no power to distract them. In the end, slipping into the Mother's chambers was not a difficult task. Unlike everything else...

Yellow eyes focused on the figure of the storyteller, while the mistress of those leaned forward on her knees.

— Expectations shattered on the sharp rocks of reality?

— That's a good comparison. The mother is quite sure of her chosen course of action. From this woman's point of view — she awoke from hibernation, doubt, uncertainty and inaction. And that the above — was a sin before the Creator, more terrible than, say, some hasty decisions. Especially on the threshold of the plague. It's easy for me, more than anyone else, to understand such a train of thought. But where it leads... Trying to reason with her was fruitless. Mother dismissed every argument with a smile of sympathy and reassurance. Instead of making me think, she only encouraged me to ask questions that had been silenced before.

Bethany arched her eyebrows and dropped a single word.

— Questions?

— About my past. About who I really am. About whether I can talk about the issues I've raised with the weight I carry on my conscience. About how she doesn't really know me. Really. Every question had Sir Evu's breath in it, even dead on Mother's shoulder. And of course, questions about the Templar himself followed. The woman's concern did not seem genuine. But the fact that such an interest came up in our conversation clearly indicated that Mother was suspicious. Which meant she knew more about my past than she was willing to admit. The last thing I expected to find that night was intrigue and lies lurking among the one-syllable and understandable words. As if old sins had finally caught up with me and ambushed me.

Morrigan hummed, emphasising the sarcasm in her intonation.

— Choice is everyone's right and the only luxury of fools. By the way... Half-truths, manipulation and playing to the audience — are these not traits common to ministers of all faiths?

The redhead grimaced, as if it were unpleasant to hear such a thing. But at the same time she nodded in agreement.

— It is, but at the same time it isn't. People are not black and white. Here are some great verses.

Leliana said softly, but with intonation, a few lines of a fragment suitable for another tavern song. The girl's voice was clear and singing in the surrounding silence.

«There's only a quarter of dirt in one,

He'll pass for a decent man,

The other`s full of it, no matter what`s done,

Smell`s foul in routes he ran.»

Tilting her head and giving the older sorceress a sideways glance, she continued.

— Of course, that's not much wisdom. There are good and bad people in the Church, and the ones in the middle outnumber the others. But Mother has always attracted nothing but respect. And the bottom line is that no one can guarantee protection from the veil over one's eyes. In the end, it was Mother who brought the conversation to a head with one last 'favour'. If my presence in Lothering disappears, she will not look for me, will not pursue me, and will even forget me. With that in mind, I decided not to knock on any more closed doors....

Suddenly, Alim entered the conversation, swinging his staff with measured movements.

— Not the most cheerful topic of conversation in the mist of the night fog and in the middle of a river. Nevertheless. Leliana, I am sorry that a man who was shown so much trust has changed so much and reacted with indifference.

— I don't know what's more regrettable. The above or my own blindness? Perhaps the situation of individuals caught in the middle? Or even the Church's clumsy way of achieving its goals by wasting an opportunity?

— Our magician is a master of attention. You can safely ignore them.

— Still angry... Fine, let's talk about something else. Where did you get those... great clothes and stuff? If it's no secret.

Bethany, holding herself back, panted, her fist pressed to her lips, and stared defiantly into the milk of mist. Leliana smiled enigmatically before answering.

— Oh... I can't be called completely hopeless. Even though I live in a monastery, I always have an instant disappearing act at hand. For personal reasons. Except the fishing rod required some creativity. Of course, I would be happier if it was a red satin and velvet dress with a burgundy jacket and a great pair of heels to match. But it's not the ball that lies ahead.

The picturesque description of a woman's festive attire piqued the interest of both wizards and made the elf cough in embarrassment. But while Bethany listened admiringly, vividly imagining herself at the ball in such a dress, Morrigan narrowed her eyes, interested in Leliana herself. So, bringing the conversation back to the original topic, the girl asked.

— There is one thing that bothers me. Why has the Commander of the Templars been so passive throughout the story? Especially with Evu. What kept him from freeing the other's hands?

Leliana straightened her hair and tilted her head up. She was silent for a moment, thinking about what to say, and then she answered.

— I think Sir Evu had more than his own ambitions behind him. I am not very familiar with the inner workings of the Templar Order. But I suspect that, as in any large organisation, despite the strictures of hierarchy and discipline, there are undercurrents, internal alliances, informal relationships. One can even imagine that the factors that give this advantage did not come about overnight and were built up by someone else years before Sir Evu. In the absence of evidence, however, such speculation is no better than catching smoke with one's hands.

Alim growled and added quietly.

— Soon we`ll get to the settlement, silence.

To the right and left, the vaguely discernible straight line of the shore had indeed been replaced by the blurred outlines of towering dark objects. In the hulk overhanging the river on the left, one could only guess at the size of the temple. And the blurred orange spots ahead indicated the location of a pair of nightlights. There was silence all around, broken only by the uneven splashing of the boat, slow jerks overcoming the oncoming current on the rapid. The elf was afraid to approach the shore, lest the occasional passerby, or worse, the Templars, catch a glimpse of her form. Suddenly, a dog barked in the damp, dank silence. It might have been reacting to something in the settlement itself, but it didn't stop barking. Alim glanced down at the back of the witch's head but remained silent, undistracted from the heavy manipulation of the staff. Morrigan herself understood perfectly well who was the cause of the dog's aggression. Clenching her fists, the girl stared sternly ahead, frowning without moving a muscle. The minutes began to pass more slowly, demanding patience and endurance. But the boat moved steadily forward, and nothing catastrophic happened. Eventually the shadows of the buildings were left behind, and above them floated the dilapidated arch of the Tract, with the tops of logs sticking out of the water near the shore, the remnants of hasty repairs. A quarter of an hour later, even the slightest sign of the echoing splash of water had disappeared, and Alim quietly announced.

— Lake.

Leliana nodded and clarified.

— The largest of the series. But in no way a preparation for the vastness of Calenhad.

The Morrigan moved forward smoothly, stretching herself across the length of the ship, her boots on the cross-bench to the right of Bethany, who sat in front, and her head on her own bench, to the left of the red-haired girl seated beside her. The sorceress stretched out her arms like a cat and said.

— It's good to have a guide. The water may be calm, but the risk only stirs the blood of fools. The rest of us have a cold in our heads. You may have taught us to swim, but our ship is not very safe, so I suggest we stay close to shore.

The elf nodded willingly and began to change course before the pole reached the bottom. But the man couldn't stop himself from commenting.

— Judging by the other stories, they probably taught you to swim by throwing you off a cliff?

— Stupid. I would have drowned. No, although mother was sarcastic and teased me for the slightest slip and clumsiness, she spent a lot of time teaching me to swim. Until she was convinced that her daughter could swim in water as well as an otter. Just one bad thing. I learnt to swim in southern streams and swampy lakes, famous for their icy water. And since then, swimming has not been very appealing to her. By the way, isn't that bow an attribute of beauty?

Leliana shook herself, obviously torn from her own thoughts and contemplation of the mirrored surface of the water, and hummed.

— You'll see. Actions speak louder than a hundred words.

The answer was the rumbling of the boat captain's stomach. Nodding, the dark-haired woman closed her eyes with the clear intention of waiting through her own hunger and return to sleep.