![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
n_wilkinsonTitle: Whispers of Yesterday
Series: Infinity's End, Book Two
Description: Now firmly entrenched in the Theravada -- and firmly involved with Gale as well -- Ione discovers the hidden sides of both Grayshire and Theravada. She questions her own decisions -- and her feelings -- as the war takes on a more murderous, personal turn for the worst.
(1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18) (19) (20) (21)
Chapter Eleven
---------------------------------
“I’ve put Ishmael in charge of the patrol schedule if you don’t mind.”
Gale shook his head. “No, that’s fine. He knows our forces the best after all.”
Talya tossed him a look, but didn’t comment, instead flipping to the next page of her handful of papers, resembling, at the moment, his personal assistant. “The undergarden is doing fine, but we are running low on the basics.”
“Send Irvine and Terrace into Yates. They’ve both been itching for something to do and they’re unlikely to be recognized there,” Gale suggested after a moment of thought. These sort of administrative matters gave him a headache, but they were necessary. They usually didn’t fall to him, but with Azriel unavailable and Kieran unconscious, Gale was all they had left.
Fun times.
“Good idea.” Talya closed her stack of papers and tucked them under her arm, her multi-colored skirts swishing around her legs noisily as they walked a slow pace through the hallway. More for Gale to chase away tension than for the sake of needing to be anywhere. “There’s also the matter of Helene’s funerary rites.”
Gale’s insides churned unpleasantly, his gaze falling to the side. “What does Sabriel want?”
“I don’t know. I can’t seem to find him.” She sighed and rubbed her temple with her fingers as Gale internally cursed. That idiot. “He’s all but disappeared. Antoinette’s been looking after Naomi and Xavier.”
“Did we find a wet nurse for Xavier?”
“Yes. Lizette. You probably haven’t met her. She’s a refugee from Wiota.”
Well, that was at least one problem solved. Though Gale anticipated having to track down his cousin in the future, before Sabriel got himself killed or worse. This was partially Gale’s fault; he had to take responsibility. He couldn’t let Sabriel drown in his grief. It wasn’t healthy and it wasn’t going to help his children.
Not that Gale even knew where to begin or what to say to get through to his grieving cousin. Not if Gale ended up being swallowed by grief himself. Not with Ione…
Gale clenched his teeth. He refused to follow that line of thought.
“We also need to organize some kind of meeting to discuss what happened in Varos,” Talya added quietly. “There are a lot of rumors floating around, Gale. Some of them, I’m sure, aren’t true. But it’s hard for me to refute them when I don’t know either.”
“You’re talking about the possibility of a traitor.”
“Yes.” The beads in Talya’s hair clicked together to the same cadence as their walk, a distracting rhythm. “If we don’t offer some kind of explanation, they’ll start turning on each other.”
Gale felt a growl of aggravation building inside of him, but he swallowed it down. “Ione was the last one to talk to the leader. Until she wakes up…” He dragged a hand through his hair, failing to appear composed.
“I think explanations could wait a couple more days,” Inari finished for him, from where she had been trotting on the floor at his side. Much like Kalulu, Talya’s familiar, could usually be found to do.
On second thought…Gale frowned, glancing at the swirl of color around Talya’s legs. He couldn’t see the bashful bunny anywhere, and if there was one familiar who stuck to their other like glue, it was Kalulu.
“Where’s Kalulu?”
Talya exhaled harshly, sweeping a few strands of bead-woven hair over her shoulder. “I wish I knew. That child’s been acting so strangely.”
“Want me to sniff her out?” Inari asked, almost too eagerly. But then, foxes loved to hunt rabbits and the tension in Paragon was making many of the familiars on edge.
Talya smiled tiredly. “No dear. She’ll turn up on her own. She always does.” She drew to a halt, angling her body to face Gale and forcing him to cease walking as well. “Look, I’ll be in the undergarden doing inventory if you need me. Let me know when Azriel returns?”
“Of course.”
She patted his shoulder gently, the look on her face fond. “Ione’s going to be fine, Gale. She’s a tough one. A good match for you in fact.”
Gale could feel his ears burn, but he managed a solemn nod. “I know. Thank you.”
Talya smiled gently and let her hand slip from his shoulder as she slipped past him. “I’ll keep an eye out for Sabriel as well.”
“Thanks.”
She waved him off, the bells on her skirt jingling discordantly.
“Or I could just sniff him out,” Inari suggested with a mischievous tone, whirling in and around Gale’s leg much like a cat seeking affection.
Gale looked down at her, exasperated. “What is with you today?” he demanded, agitation not quite overcoming the fatigue that felt heavy in his bones.
“Boredom,” Inari answered with a fox-like shrug, a certain glimmer in her pale blue eyes. “There’s so much anxiety in this place that it’s making me twitchy. And Fenris is in no condition to go out for a run.” She paused, nudging at his leg with her nose as though seeking comfort. “I’m restless, Gale. And worried.”
He crouched, running a hand across her sleek white fur. “That makes two of us,” Gale murmured, as Quetz poked her head out of his tunic, tongue lazily tasting the air.
“Three,” she corrected. “I hate the way Paragon tastes now. So full of bitter mistrusssst.” Her head nudged affectionately at the bottom of Gale’s chin. “If Grayshire wanted to divide us, they succeeded.”
“Don’t say that,” Inari said, baring her teeth, the hair on the back of her neck puffing up in intimidation. “It’s the same thing as claiming they’ve already won.”
Quetz hissed but Gale put a hand on her head, guiding her gently back toward his tunic. “No need to fight, ladies. You’re proving each other’s point.”
Inari looked away from him as though sullen. “I’m going for a run,” she said, and took off down the corridor.
Left behind, Gale sighed.
“She’s worried about Fenris,” Quetz said, her voice muffled from the covering of Gale’s hand.
“Aren’t we all,” Gale murmured, and straightened, feet turning him toward the hospice and Ione’s side, where he wanted to be the most.
Time was dragging as he waited with bated breath for Azriel to return. He trusted in the boss, trusted that Azriel would return with the solution they all so desperately needed. But the waiting was driving Gale crazy. Even now, he had only moved from Ione’s side at Cyrus’ insistence, forcing him to eat and change his clothes, to breathe air other than that flavored with antiseptic and sickness.
“Gale!”
At the sound of his name, Gale paused and turned, finding Malcolm catching up to him at a light jog, multiple weapons rattling in their sheaths. Sometimes, Malcolm resembled nothing more than a walking, talking armory. Today was one of those days. A habit he had picked up after his lucky return from Varos Flats, Ione had explained, because he hadn’t carried so many weapons before. Gale supposed that spending a month in that Merihem infested land could cause any number of neuroses in even the strongest of men.
“Looking for me?”
“Only for the past hour,” Malcolm huffed, and swiped a hand over his forehead, slowing down as he drew up beside Gale. “How’s Ione?”
Another harsh tug rippled though Gale’s chest. “Slipping in and out of consciousness,” Gale answered honestly.
Malcolm’s shoulders sagged, crestfallen. “No improvement?”
“Without an antidote, such a thing is impossible.”
The Wyndham heir twisted his jaw, hand forming into a fist at his side. “Damn them,” he muttered under his breath. “I should have gone.”
“It wouldn’t have helped,” Gale said, taking up pace again as Malcolm fell into step beside him. “I suspect that no matter how many of us had been present, Grayshire would have had forces to match.”
Traitor, traitor, traitor. The accusation danced in the back of his mind. Gale was loathe to think such of any of his companions, fellow men and women persecuted by Grayshire. But the proof was staring him in the face. The proof was in Sabriel’s grief, in Kieran’s cryosis, in Ione’s decreasing health. That couldn’t have been coincidence.
“Maybe. Maybe not,” Malcolm agreed, and one hand dropped to a hilt, squeezing the molded metal tightly. “That traitor better hope that I’m not the first one to find him.”
“Or her.”
“Whatever.” Malcolm rolled his eyes. “Though, of anyone, I think Sabriel will sniff the bastard out first.”
“You’ve seen him recently?” Which was more than Gale could say.
Nodding, Malcolm sucked in a breath. “I can’t just sit around and wait. It’s driving me crazy. So I’ve been helping him. Both Irvine and I. We’re pretty impartial, considering we’re new to Paragon. It makes asking questions easier. And well, Irvine can charm damn near anyone.” His lips curled, as though attempting to smile, but it came out flat and humorless.
Malcolm was worried, just like Gale. He could see it in the other man’s eyes. Ione meant something to him, just as she meant something to Gale.
It was ironic that Gale could be friends with Ione’s former lover. That he couldn’t even be jealous of the bond they shared, which had nothing to do with lovers – though everything to do with love. Something formed out of friendship and understanding, something Gale would know little about considering his nonexistent history of relationships.
Okay, perhaps he was a little jealous. But only because he wished to be so close with Ione. To know her as well as she knew Malcolm and vice versa. Gale was not so foolish as to try and tell Ione she couldn’t be friends with Malcolm, he knew good and well that there was nothing romantic between them.
“I honestly can’t decide if it is better that he’s successful, or hope that he finds nothing,” Gale admitted, worried for Sabriel’s sanity and concerned for Paragon’s unity if a traitor were to be found. The whispers and stares would only worsen. In such a way, Grayshire would really tear them apart from the inside, without having to do a damned thing.
“Either way, we’re fucked,” Malcolm said, and scrubbed fingers over his head, making his short hair stand up in disordered spikes. “I never thought I’d see the day when I would hate Grayshire and my own origins.”
Ah. Malcolm was a Wyndham. If anyone had been behind the attack, it was Malcolm’s grandfather. No wonder Malcolm was feeling so torn. It was as if his own family had condemned Ione to death.
In that regard, Gale and Malcolm were a lot alike.
“When you’ve been fed lies you’re entire life, it’s difficult to understand the truth until you see it with your own eyes,” Gale agreed. “Grayshire is to blame for this. And if Azriel can’t find the solution, I know what I have to do.”
They arrived at the hospice with Gale leading the way, making a beeline for Ione and the empty chair at her bedside. Cyrus had learned to keep it there. Speaking of which, the blond wasn’t currently in sight, which meant he was either resting in an attached room, or out getting some food from the mess. Gale couldn’t remember when he’d last seen Cyrus eat.
Conversation between Malcolm and Gale died as Ione came into sight, still pale and small against the cream color of her sheets. Nothing about her condition had changed, only worsening with the passage of time. Her right arm was a hideous array of scarlet and black, the tips of her fingers completely blackened. Gale worried that she might have lost the mobility in them. Streaks of poison were working their way into her upper body and neck, sluggishly moving outward from the source of the wound.
Fenris and Aponi were just as still, curled around her form, aether soft and quiescent around them. They were trying their hardest, but they would fade before long. And Gale was useless, helpless, could do nothing but sit here and pray to gods he didn’t believe in.
Malcolm swallowed noticeably, one hand reaching out to brush against Ione’s feverish cheek. There was tenderness in that motion and Gale reminded himself not to be jealous. Ione wasn’t precious to only him; he had to remember that.
“My grandfather did this,” he said in a strangled voice. “Not his hand, but it was under his command I’m sure. He sent me into Paragon to die and now, he’s trying to kill Ione. I wish I had known sooner, when I could have actually done something before now.”
Gale went cold on the inside. He’d nearly forgotten about that. Malcolm’s quintile had been sent into Varos which must have been under Vance Wyndham’s orders. Or if not, than at least the order of a Celestine. But still… to even consider that your own kin had written you off, no wonder Malcolm was so furious.
“There’s a possibility that this was under Celestine’s command as well,” Gale reminded Malcolm quietly. “Don’t be quick to blame your grandfather.”
Noise in the doorway alerted them to Cyrus’ return but the blond merely shook his head and gave them privacy, moving to Kieran’s bedside where he proceeded to check on the scientist.
Malcolm snorted. “Maybe Celestine thought to kill me but Grandfather’s never approved of Ione. Father did, but Grandfather thought her beneath a Wyndham. She was just common after all, and not like other women at that.”
“Nothing about Ione is common,” Gale said, with only the vaguest hint of amusement. “And she’s hardly ladylike.”
“Thus why Grandfather hated her.” His eyes narrowed, face turning thunderous. “I’ll kill him if she dies.” It was more than just an idle statement. It was a promise. Gale could read that from the tension in Malcolm’s shoulders, the casual rest of his hand on his sword.
“If that happens, we can storm Grayshire together,” Gale said, knowing his own gaze to be flat and cold. “Just as long as you let me lead the charge.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
Malcolm and Gale both turned at the sound of the familiar voice, finding Azriel striding through the doorway, oddly followed by Orion, who very rarely left the comforts of the mural room. Behind Azriel, two other figures trailed, one of them a very surprising and familiar face. One that Gale could recognize without explanation and made a great surge of hope rise in him. The large man trailing along behind her, however, was unfamiliar to him.
He rose to his feet, moving to greet the woman as politely as he had always been taught. “Lady Hadley,” Gale greeted smoothly, taking her hand in his and kissing her palm. “I should have known he would come to you.”
Blue eyes sparkled merrily. “Master Arlen, always the charmer.”
“Call me Gale,” he corrected, and felt some of the chill attacking his innards chased away by her presence.
Azriel chuckled softly. “All right, Gale, save that charm for Ione rather than my mother.”
Neorah cast her son a fond look, tucking a lock of brown hair behind her ear. For her age, she hardly looked old enough to be Azriel’s mother, and more like his slightly older sister.
The boss’ statement was enough to attract Cyrus’ attention. “Mother?” he spluttered, gaping as his eyes glanced between Azriel and Neorah. Obviously, he hadn’t been one to listen to rumor if he wasn’t aware of that truth.
“Yes, mother,” Azriel said, and gestured toward Neorah. “Cyrus, meet Master Neorah Hadley, my mother. And the gentleman with her is Cade Dilestro, correct?”
Neorah smiled in approval. “As always, you are on top of things, child. Yes, this is Cade, my finest pupil.”
The tall, burly man blushed from ear to ear like a small child. “Your praise is more than I deserve, Miss Neorah.” He dipped his head toward Azriel. “It is a pleasure to actually make your acquaintance, Master Hadley.”
“Likewise. Mother’s told me good things about you.” Azriel shook the large medic’s hand. “You are Miss Ione’s friend, are you not?”
Cade nodded, glancing affectionately toward the unconscious woman. “We were in the Conservatory together.” He paused, licking his lips as though anxious. “I knew Ione wouldn’t betray us without good reason. She had worked too hard to get where she was. We all did.”
“Did you know Anisa?” Gale suddenly blurted, a thought occurring to him. Ione had claimed Anisa as a classmate after all. And Gale was desperate to know more about the woman whose death had upset Ione.
“We were classmates,” Cade said. “Anisa was like myself and Ione, students on scholarship from Moriarty. In Conservatory, our sort tended to stick together.” He paused, eyes falling to the floor. “Ophelia was one of our classmates as well.”
Ophelia… another death that continued to haunt Ione. Only this time, it wasn’t her direct fault, but a case of being too little, too late. Ione hadn’t been able to erase her own feelings of guilty in that matter, no matter how much Gale tried to coax her or Hayden, Ophelia’s promised, tried to reassure her.
“Why do you ask?”
Gale swallowed. This wasn’t the time to be discussing Grayshire’s movements, but he’d opened the door himself. It was too late to close it again. “We were attacked in Varos, which was how Ione was poisoned. Anisa bore the blade. Ione was forced to kill her.”
Surprise widened Cade’s eyes as he worked his jaw soundlessly. “Anisa did this?”
“She and a Douzaine of Special Ops,” Gale confirmed, his hands slowly curling into fists at his side as he remembered the battle with anger.
Cade released a slow breath. “Anisa had always been ambitious, and firmly clasped to her beliefs. To her, there was no path but the rules Grayshire gave her. But I never thought she would find it easy to wield a blade against Ione. They were close. We all were close.” He shook his head, as though chasing away some fond memory, and then focused on Ione, moving through the sudden press of people in the room.
Silence followed him, until it was broken by Cyrus’ curiosity.
“Have you always supported the Theravada, Lady Hadley?”
She inclined her head, folding her arms into the sleeves of her doctor’s robe. “In secret. Though this is my first visit to Paragon. Azriel wouldn’t allow it any sooner.”
“It is a risk I didn’t want you to take, mother,” Azriel said quietly. “There’s a reason I pulled all our spies out of Grayshire, remember?”
“I do, dear heart. How could I forget?” Blue eyes dimmed, grief sweeping through the room as they all recalled last year’s events and the sorrow borne from them.
“Master Hadley, I don’t think we have much time,” a deep voice inserted, surprising Gale with its suddenness. “Ione is fading fast.”
Gale’s gaze shifted to Cade who was leaning over Ione, checking her pulse and examining the wound on her arm. Grey eyes had softened with concern as he looked up at the healer.
“She’s too cold.”
Neorah frowned and moved quickly, her robes rustling as she approached the bed. “Pulse?” Her delicate hand slipped out, hovering over Ione’s forehead as though reading the young woman’s aether.
“Slowing, but steady. A few hours perhaps?”
Neorah sucked in a sharp breath and looked at the men. “Did you analyze their blood?”
Cyrus nodded. “Of course. It was the first thing we did. But the poison isn’t one we recognize.” He stepped forward, holding out a sheaf of papers. “It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”
Straightening, Azriel’s mother took the stack, scanning quickly through them until her gaze fell on a page with a graph containing the poison’s main components. Recognition dawned as her face went pale.
“It cannot be,” she breathed, and her grip on the papers tightened. “You’re sure about this?” Neorah demanded.
Cyrus inclined his head. “It’s been run three times, Master Hadley.”
“What is it?” Azriel asked, obviously concerned by the note in her voice, one of surprise mixed with disbelief.
Neorah swallowed thickly and looked at her son. “You’re right, Azriel, it is turning them into Merihem. That was its sole purpose. What he created it for.”
“Who?” Gale demanded.
She shook her head, shoving the papers back toward Cyrus. “Who is not important at the moment.”
“Can you cure them?”
Neorah was already stripping out of her over robe, handing it to Cade who turned to hang it on a coat rock as she rolled up her sleeves. “Yes.”
Something inside of Gale breathed a sigh of relief. “Then we can worry about who later. Just… save her. Please.”
Looking up at Gale, understanding softened Neorah’s gaze, made her blue eyes gentle. “Of course, dear. That is why I came.” She shifted her attention to Cade, and it was like a switch had been flipped. “I’ll need a sage and hawthorn tisane, Cade. And Cyrus, if you could find me some meadowsweet and yarrow, that would be wonderful. Mix them into a macerate, if you please.”
“You’ll have to get sage from the mess,” Cyrus said, and his eyes shifted to Malcolm. “Master Wyndham, if you would?”
Malcolm nodded quickly. “No problem,” he said, no doubt willing to do anything if it would help save Ione. He was gone in a flash, with a clank of weaponry and swirl of aether.
Gale blinked. “That’s all?”
Neorah shook her head, moving around Ione’s bed to unwrap the bandages around her wounded left arm and reveal the ugly gash in all its glory. “That’s only to cure the physical ailments, the infected flesh and the fever. The rest is much more delicate and requires a magical focus.” Her frown deepened with sympathy as Ione moaned in her sleep at Neorah’s delicate touch on the inflamed skin.
“Why?” Azriel asked, following his mother’s actions as he unwrapped the bandage from Keiran’s neck, revealing the small and dark, reddened area where the dart had struck. The wound didn’t look as bad as Ione’s thanks to the cryosis, but it was still obviously infected.
“Turning them into Merihem requires an alteration of their mana, a tainting of part of their being,” Neorah explained, her voice clinical as she quickly made her preparations. Cade and Cyrus were in constant motion behind her. “I have to focus my own aether and burn out the poison from their mana.” She sighed, shaking her head. “It would be better if I had another to balance it out…”
A sleepy voice interrupted the burst of energy suddenly present in the hospice. “Azriel, call Manah,” Aponi said, wings fluttering weakly, her voice a bare echo. “She’s always been the best at aether manipulation.”
“She’s right,” Orion agreed, his tail swishing around him, speaking for the first time since arriving with Azriel. “Manah is well suited for this kind of delicate work.”
Nodding sharply, Azriel rose to his feet. “I’m sure she’s in the mural room. Mother--”
“Go, child. I will handle things here.” Neorah smiled at her son, love shining in her eyes. “You were right to bring me here.”
Gratitude was plainly evident on Azriel’s face, clear even without words. He bowed shallowly to his mother and turned away from the bed. “Gale, come with me please.”
“Sir?”
“It is also Mother’s way of getting the both of us from underfoot,” Azriel explained quietly as Gale drew alongside him, though reluctant to leave Ione’s side. He trusted that Neorah would take care of her. “For delicate aetherwork, we will only interrupt things.”
“She risked a lot to come here.”
Azriel’s gaze dropped as he led Gale out of the hospice and into the hallway, feet turning them in the direction of the mural room. “Mother risked everything. She won’t be able to return.”
“I doubt she’ll see that as anything to regret.”
Azriel’s jaw visibly clenched. “I had no right to ask so much of her.”
Even Gale, social idiot that he was, knew better than that. “She would have been hurt if you hadn’t,” Gale said, keeping his voice low for the sake of other residents of Paragon that passed them. “And I must admit, for Ione’s life, I am grateful myself.”
Azriel briefly fell silent, their footsteps the only noise between them. He swept a hand over his hair, as though visibly pulling himself together. “We argued, you know,” he admitted, eyes dimmed as though recalling a bad memory.
“You and Kieran?”
“In the end, I’m just a hypocrite,” Azriel said, by way of answer. “I told you Ione wouldn’t like to be protected, but then I try and do the same thing for him. I said that Varos was dangerous, and the core even more so. I said it was stupid to take that risk. I said other things, out of fear perhaps, but they were unkind nonetheless.”
Gale had never heard Azriel use such a tone before, one of regret and sorrow so delicately interlaced. He’d never seen Azriel seem so fragile, composed, but obviously held together by very thin, fraying threads. Azriel had done nothing for the past two days but travel between Paragon and Meropis in a frantic rush, leaving little time to spend with Kieran, hoping to make it in time. And with such thoughts riding on his heart, no wonder he was distressed.
“Boss,” Gale began hesitantly, hoping that the words came out right instead of a product of his upbringing, cold and formal. “You and Kieran have the kind of bond that goes without words. No matter what happens, he’ll have known the truth of things.”
Azriel sighed. “Yes, I know. And I can just imagine the scolding I’d receive if Kieran were to see me in this state.” He rolled his neck, as though trying to ease the tension in his shoulders. “I don’t want our last words to be those of anger.”
“If there’s one thing I’m sure of, it’s that Neorah Hadley knows what she’s doing, and perhaps what you should really fear is her reaction if she hears that her own son has doubts about her capabilities.”
Blanching, Azriel cut his eyes at Gale. “I never said anything about doubts.” And if there was a spark of fear in his words, Gale chose not to comment.
Everyone knew to be wary of Neorah, whose gentle but fierce demeanor was often akin to a sleeping tiger.
“Then you have no reason to be worried,” Gale said, his cheer hiding his own churning feelings. “Neorah is the best. This is going to work. It has to work.”
Gale wouldn’t accept failure.
a/n: Next update will see a resolution to all this angst. I promise.
Feedback is welcome and appreciated. As well as any and all theories.
