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Finding Art Cullagh’s lute had been perhaps the very worst experience of Berith’s life.
Considering the tadpoling incident itself, she wondered if she was perhaps exaggerating. But then she recalled the overwhelming scent of blood and rot that permeated the House of Healing, the fight for her life against Malus Thorm and his twisted nurses. Surely a little wriggle in her ear wasn’t as bad, comparatively.
They’d cased the building after the fight, searching for anything that might be useful. Astarion found a lute in Thorm’s office, carved with the letters “A. C.” She was loathe to put too much hope on two letters etched into a battered old instrument, but she took the lute back to Last Light anyway.
Halsin was more optimistic. “Its music might help restore him. Show it to him.”
At the Fist’s bedside, Berith took out the lute and strummed a clumsy chord.
To her surprise, Art Cullagh bolted upright in the bed. Sweat dripped down his panicked face. “Thaniel!” he cried. “He’s still trapped there—he needs help!”
Halsin’s response was steady and gentle. “Calm,” he counseled. “Breathe. You’ve been trapped in the Shadowfell for a century. Take a moment to clear your mind.”
Recognition sparked within Thaniel. “A century… you’re Halsin. Thaniel said to find you. You must help him, please.”
“I will,” Halsin vowed, “but I need to know where Thaniel is. If I venture into the Shadowfell blind, I will never find him.” His eyes were intent but kind, believing that Art could and would help him, and Berith was moved by his unshakeable faith.
“I’m not sure I can put it into words,” Art said, faltering. “The landscape there shifts and changes.”
Berith pictured the dwelling place of the Lady of Loss, she who was defined by absence more than presence. It must be a place of loss embodied, she thought—lack of warmth, lack of light, lack of an achor to guide the way. “Was there anything that could offer guidance?” she asked the Fist. “Something that didn’t change?”
“Lavender. Whenever I saw Thaniel, I always smelled lavender,” Art said with a nod.
Halsin stood up and patted the covers over Art’s chest reassuringly. “I can work with that. Rest now.” He then beckoned Berith to follow him out of the room.
He leaned in close, and warmth flushed through her like fire. “I have what we need to proceed, but I’ll need your help if this is to work. If you are still willing.”
“Of course I’ll help you,” she replied.
“Meet me by the lakeshore when you are ready, but be prepared. Rescuing Thaniel may prove perilous.”
****
Once she was prepared, Berith found Halsin at the lakeshore as promised, followed by Shadowheart, Lae’zel, and Astarion, all armed and ready. It was difficult to see much through the fog, but the relief on Halsin’s face at their arrival was clear even in the shadowy darkness.
“You’re here, good. Now we can begin.”
Though everyone who had come with her was willing to help, the tension in the air was thick. Astarion was shifting nervously from foot to foot, eyes casting for what unknown danger could be lurking beyond his sight. Shadowheart kept her hand on the hilt of her mace. Only Lae’zel seemed unshaken.
“What should we expect?” Berith asked.
“I intend to retrieve Thaniel from the Shadowfell, now that I have an idea where to look. The magic that will take me there is fragile—any mistake, and our one chance will be lost forever. It took me years of study, of seeking the Oak Father’s favor, to find a way to part the veil. Pray that this works.”
“I’ll come with you,” Berith said. “We can bring him back together.”
“No,” he said firmly. “It has to be me, and only me. The magic is too delicate and too dangerous. But I called you here for a reason. I am afraid my journey into the Shadowfell will draw Shar’s attention. I need you to stay here. Keep the portal open until I return—and defend it at all costs. I expect any matter of dark beasts will crawl out of the shadows to attack once the portal is open.”
Berith nodded, and turned to her friends. “Are we ready?” she asked. They nodded their assents, hands ready at their weapons.
Halsin walked to the edge of a rocky platform jutting over the edge of the lake and knelt. “Oak Father, hear me, aid me,” he prayed. “Force open the jaws of Darkness. Make passage for your vessel of Light.”
A portal flickered into existence before him, its magic bright in this realm of shadows. She felt the pull of the magic buzzing against her skin.
“It’s ready. I’ll return with Thaniel as soon as possible. Stay close to the portal. Buy me what time you can.”
Berith felt panic build in her chest as she understood what Halsin meant to do. The cold claw of fear gripped her heart as she thought of Halsin descending into the dark alone.
Moments from the last few weeks flashed in her memory—the sweet smile that spread across his face when she caught his eyes across the campfire. The tingle of his magic when he healed her. The warm cup of coffee he’d brought her from the Inn kitchen this very morning, and the lingering brush of their hands he passed the mug to her. Little sparks that had caught fire within her, a fire of trust and hope and want.
“I should go with you,” she begged. Surely he could hear the note of fear in her voice. “It’s too dangerous for you to do this alone.”
He grapsed her forearm in his own, pulling her close, and focused his eyes intently on her. “I will not go alone. The Oak Father will be with me.”
“Halsin…” She said his name like a plea.
He reached out, and for one brief and gentle moment, touched her face. “Trust that I need you here, right where you are. I need a light to see me through the dark. You are the beacon that will guide me home.”
Then he turned and stepped through the shimmering door.