Chương 115: The Woman on the Edge

The Fetchwoods were almost pleasant this time as Miriam walked among the trees. Though the forest was thick, her Dryad feet easily found paths through where not a single thorn or branch so much as dragged on her clothes. Welcome back, Dryad! It couldn't have been the same tree, but it spoke with the same voice.

"Good to see you," Miriam said to the trees around her, smiling.

"I hope you're doing well." The woman at the edge is annoying. We thought we hated being bored, but being annoyed is worse. Miriam laughed.

"I'll see what I can do about that. And I'll try to come visit more. I've been so wrapped up in training that I forgot how peaceful it can be here." She ran into a few Fetch along the way. One had turned into her if two swords had been plunged into her chest and hissed, but a flicker of black flame sent it running. The others saw her approach and fled immediately.

After a few hours she began to hear the voice as well, the sing-song chant of someone who had long ago tired of this chore, but continued to do it mechanically. Onóra. Miriam came to the edge of the forest, but was careful not to cross the boundary. Onóra was walking listlessly across the perimeter. She looked none the worse for wear after the battle under Teilgcheárta, but her demeanor was tired.

"Lost, Onóra?" Miriam challenged. Onóra spun, her grin widening.

"Ahh, thank the gods. I've been marching around this gods-forsaken wood for days. You alone? No master hiding somewhere in the Mist?" Miriam scoffed.

"I don't have a master. Speaking of which, where is yours? Last we left you, you had some very unpleasant stairs to climb. I certainly hope he didn't take a tumble down them." Onóra inclined her head in respect.

"That was well-done, even I have to admit. It's rare that anyone pulls one over on Caolán. Who could have thought that Ferris Einion could do such a thing? We thought we had you cornered."

"You'll find us very surprising," Miriam said.

"Why don't you step into the forest and I can tell you more about that?" Onóra eyed the woods distastefully.

"I don't know how you're avoiding the Fetch, but I suspect if I were to enter I would enjoy no such protections, would I?" Miriam shrugged.

"Fine," Onóra sighed.

"Down to business then. Surrender Róise Séarlait to me and Caolán has promised to let the rest of you go. He even promised to stop his pursuit of Cormac Fiadh." Miriam suppressed a smile. Caolán couldn't see into the Fetchwoods with his Vigilance Adept class, that was what Eoin had said. If he did, somehow the Fetch could reach through his vision to attack him, no different than if he were here in person. He also could not see Róise - as his sister, she was too similar to him and he could only see differences.

He didn't know that Róise had gone with Cormac, and even though the Saint Adept wouldn't be able to hide, she bet that he was Lucky enough to continually slip away. So, not seeing Róise with Cormac, he thought she must have come with them to the Fetchwoods.

"She's quite comfortable here, thank you," Miriam said.

"We're all learning quite a bit about weaving baskets and fishing. A nice vacation from work in the mines." Onóra shook her head.

"You think you're safe in there? Well, you are. If you stay in there for the rest of your life. Oh, but… you can't, can you? Dryad? You have to cross to the next Ring. I don't know how much longer you have in this one, but I am far older than you, Miriam Callihan. Months is nothing to me. And once you set foot outside these woods I will have you. I have Misty Eyes all around the perimeter. I can get to you far faster than you can get away. And I can kill you in an instant."

Miriam paused as if to consider her words. Then she turned back to the Banshee.

"Then wait your months. I have some new tricks I have yet to try against a real enemy. I think that by the time I have to leave these forests you'll serve as good practice." Onóra snorted derisively, but looked confused by Miriam's confidence.

"You know I am Eoin Daithi's equal, don't you? He taught me everything he knows. I am a Fifth at the height of my power. You're a Second with a little extra juice." The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. This time Miriam couldn't stifle her laugh.

"Eoin's equal? Is that what you took away from the fight under Teilgcheárta? I saw you both. You held your own, when he was fórsa-dry. From what I've seen since, equal is the last thing I'd call you."

"That's your plan then? Hiding behind your master's apron?" Onóra shrugged.

"It's a smart one. Probably the only one that gives you a chance. But consider this. You all have to defend against me every step of the way. I only have to keep attacking. Eventually even my old teacher will slip up." Miriam grinned.

"No, Onóra. When I step out of this forest next it'll be me you're facing. And I think I might have a decent shot." Onóra's confusion was quickly melting into anger.

"I can't abide this level of arrogance from a Second! When I'm done with you, you'll wish you had just decided to fade away to nothing in your forest." Miriam bowed.

"Well then. I'll bid you a good day. I have a lot to do, it seems. Can we at least agree that you don't have to barge around the forest yelling at the top of your lungs? You're annoying the trees." Onóra couldn't help a dark chuckle.

"Oh, I wouldn't want to annoy the trees, would I? I wonder how they would feel about a nice big fire?" Miriam's smile fell.

"You wouldn't do that."

"Why not?" Onóra walked closer to the edge of the forest, only a few feet from Miriam.

"My mission is Róise Séarlait. She's a Fourth. There's no fire in the Second Ring that she couldn't escape from. And somehow I think all these Fetch might be more preoccupied with saving their own skin than showing me my own dead face. If I get bored waiting for you I just might take that chance." Miriam knew that she should do nothing. Whatever she did would just give Onóra more information to work with, allow her to plan more. Her advantage was surprise and the Banshee's low expectations.

But she felt the same anger she had in Keavy's grasp when she had slapped the iron collar around Miriam's neck at the edge of the First Ring burning in her. She shouldn't need to seem weak to utilize her strength. And by the gods, she would knock Onóra down a peg. She created a sword in her right hand, and before it was even finished forming it burst into black flame.

The fastest she'd ever completed the technique, in less than a second she swung her completed Reborn Sword so that the tip was nearly kissing Onóra's chin.

"Threatening a forest with fire is meaningless, Onóra. The trees know fire. Lightning cleanses these lands often, and the trees grow back stronger. Reborn." Onóra stumbled back, shocked. So reminiscent of Eoin it was strangely painful, a complex series of lenses formed over one eye." Ascendant? That's impossible! You're a Second!" Miriam allowed the sword to fade away - she didn't have the fórsa left after this morning's training to keep it going.

"Well. I suppose you'll have a few months to figure out what else I've learned in here. Oh? You didn't know the Fetch have the secrets to Ascendancy? Maybe before I'm done here you'll decide to take a trip in yourself." Onóra glared at Miriam with such fury that she wondered if she had just made a mistake, but she refused to let any uncertainty show. Miriam turned her back and walked deeper into the forest. She was surprised to see a Fetch moving alongside her, but making no move to threaten her or run away.

You hope we will fight your battles for you. The Eldest.

"No. She won't come in. Even Eoin was too scared of you to do that. My guess is that she'll play the long game. Wait until I come out then torture the secrets of Ascendency out of me." What secrets are those?

"Ha! That's the funny part. I don't know any. Whatever happened to me in here is something even I don't understand yet." Miriam sighed.

"I shouldn't have been showing off though. Now she knows she has to take me seriously." The Eldest seemed to consider. Perhaps not. But maybe even that will not be seriously enough.

"Thanks, Eldest. That's nice of you to say." We are utterly terrified of you, Miriam. How could we say anything else? Miriam stopped a moment and looked at it.

"Why are you so scared of me? You all are all about death." The Eldest shook its head. We thought we were. But you showed us we are nothing but pale imitations. The power you hold is true death in its purest form. And… beyond it.

"You mean… Rebirth?" Yes. We thought we were the end. The Omega. But if there is more after… it is like walking over a dark chasm where before you are certain was road.

"Ah. You're afraid of the unknown." More than we ever thought. Things are different for us. It's the same for the Wisp in the wrong body.

"Solas? You did call him brother at one point." Wisps and Fetch are of the Godless. Not made in anyone's image, we either make our own, or reflect what we see. Death for us… looks quite different from those who have a holy progenitor to meet once they meet their end.

"I hadn't considered that," Miriam said.

"Dryads have no gods either." Yet you have a tree who powers you. Considering the nature of the tree that holds your spirit, I don't believe you could call us the same at all. Miriam nodded. Had she judged the Fetch - and the Wisps - too harshly? They were both kinds of monsters in their way, but a life of fear can often reflect back a monstrous visage.

"You may be right." When Miriam emerged back into the Merrow Village she found Eoin waiting with Derval. He looked relieved to see her step back out into the village.

"Miriam! Why in the name of the gods would you walk back into the Fetchwoods to follow a Fetch?" Miriam looked at him, a little confused.

"Eoin… the Fetch can't hurt me. It's honestly who I found at the outer edge which has me much more concerned." Eoin's concern grew even greater as she relayed her encounter with Onóra.

"That's very bad. Onóra… is perhaps the only person who is worse at letting things go than me. Now that you've teased her with Ascendency she wouldn't leave these woods even if Caolán Séarlait ordered it."

"Oh?" Miriam asked with a sinking feeling.

"She's hung up on Ascendency, huh?" He sighed.

"It's been her obsession for at least two hundred years. And from what we experienced under Teilgcheárta, that fruitless pursuit has driven her absolutely mad."