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Mornings in Waterdeep had always been cold. No matter the season.
Even when Morena was a child, her cheeks had been stung red when she rushed to the docks, the sun barely rising above the frost-kissed roofs of the city. She would not dare to run like that now: not in those damned heels and with the hip that reminded her every other step they were due for a rain.
The cobblestones clapped within the rhythm of her steps, echoing within the streets. There was an occasional nod here and there to the people already awake and tending to their morning business. No one would dare to ask her why she would trudge through the city on her own in such an ungodly hour, with nothing but a basket of roses.
It would have been an improper question to ask – it had not been just roses.
There had been a box of biscuits, buttery and taken out of the oven that very morning; the letter on the bottom, carefully folded into an envelope and sealed by her hand; and a couple of jams from her larder – the strawberry with a hint of vanilla, and the blueberry with honey. She had not changed the recipe for the past forty years: they were Gale’s favourite.
He had always had such a sweet tooth.
She adjusted the woollen shawl around her shoulders and rubbed the back of her hand against it. It truly had been chilly: her knuckles were all rosy, as well as the tips of her ears. What she would not give for a cup of tea. Scorching hot, with a droplet of milk.
Unfortunately, she would have to wait for it until she had returned to her own home.
A little past a year ago, a good cup of tea in Gale’s home would be an absolute certainty, accompanied by a small pastry, or even a glass of sherry if the situation called for it, and always – always – a nice conversation. There would not be one awaiting her that day, nor a nice soft armchair to rest in.
As she passed the final corner, she held up her chin. No neighbours will see her lowering her head, not for a damned moment. The Dekarios did not cower to anyone.
Let everyone see how proud she is of her son.
She approached the door of the tower. Despite knowing what would follow, she could not help but hope for a change in their little routine.
When she had first heard of Gale falling out of Mystra’s grace out of the mouth of a former mage friend, she had barged down the street with clenched fists, and more than a few choice words addressed to anyone who might have dared to look at her son differently.
But the tower that had always welcomed her remained closed that day, the doors not budging an inch. Gods know how long she would have been trying knocking and calling, making a spectacle of herself, were there not for the familiar flapping of wings from above.
When Tara flew down to the street her tail did not stop flapping, even as she landed in front of Morena.
“Many apologies, Mrs. Dekarios. Mr. Dekarios is not feeling well.”
“All the more reason for me to visit. He cannot expect me to stay put on the doorstep when I can be of help to him. How about I put on some tea, buy some biscuits? Plain, if he needs to go easy on the stomach.”
“I’ve been told to tell you he does not want to endanger your wellbeing and that you would receive a word from him as soon as possible.” Tara was decisively not meeting her eyes. “He is also of the thought that it would be beneficial that you would not visit him for the foreseeable future.”
It was the formality that stopped Morena from protesting in disbelief at her son’s manners. For Tara not to put in an anecdote or even a personal remark about Gale–
“Tara. Please, let me see him.”
“I am so terribly sorry, Mrs. Dekarios,” Tara’s ears drooped down. “He does not wish it.”
Morena’s heart skipped a few beats. Her friend had been many things – a fine wizard, her son’s oldest companion, and a terror of all postal pigeons in Waterdeep, but never a liar. Morena’s son was truly denying her entrance into his home and not even bothering to do it in person.
“I see,” Morena said. The window that Tara flew through remained open, the curtains gently moving in the sea-breeze. The sun was shining through, and she could glimpse a shape behind. Too broad to be a shade of a houseplant.
Morena had not spent over half a century on Faerûn to be blind to people's intentions. Those who did not want to have any contact with others did not cut them off while listening to their responses. And certainly not those who had been nothing but caring towards their mothers and entertaining their various whimsies.
He did not wish to endanger her well-being? Did not want her to visit? Fine. But if he had thought, for only a moment, that he could get rid of her so easily, he had clearly forgotten who had raised him.
“If that is the case,” she raised her voice. “I shall honour his wishes. Should there be any development whatsoever, let me know. And remind him to wear his socks when barefooted. It does terrible things to one’s kidneys.”
The certain shimmered ever so slightly. Tara’s ears perked up as her eyes trained on the window and then back to Morena, lighting up with understanding.
“Of course, Morena,” she purred. “I will let him know immediately.”
She was ever a wonderful conspirator.
She had flown to Morena’s house the very next evening - Morena was already preparing a package delivery to Gale’s tower, woolen socks included. Looking very pleased with herself, Tara had assured her that Gale had taken her advice, had been feeling much better, and he had written her a letter – short and not explaining much, but written by his hand. Morena did not ask how long Tara had nagged him about writing it. It had been an assurance calming her heart against the rumours that had already been swelling within the mage circles in the city. The talk of malevolent magic and Mystra’s wrath on one hand, Gale’s own severance of his tether to the Weave on the other, and the buzz of common gossip in between.
It did not help that Tara, as forthcoming as she had been about Gale’s wellbeing in broad terms, had never given her the true reason for Gale’s seclusion. There must have been something else, apart from the shame and heartbreak that must have plagued him. Nevertheless, Morena had been grateful for every bit of information on her son that was not muddled by the gossip of Waterdeep, and Tara had provided her with as much as she could, bringing letters and thanks from Gale for whatever gifts Morena had sent either through her friend or brought on her own.
But no matter how cordial the letters were, Gale had still held her at arm’s length away from himself. The tower remained a fortress, unbreachable from the inside. And perhaps from the outside as well. It had always been Tara who did the necessary runs in the city these days. If Morena was honest with herself, she would have to admit that Gale might have not left his tower since last year, and was that not a disheartening thought?
Morena tried her best to help them, as much as she could: gave Tara tips for shopkeepers who would not think twice about a tressym carrying the groceries back to her wizard; kept in touch with mages she trusted who might have been wiser to Gale’s condition; wrote to that old kook Elminster many letters, and spent a fortune on sending him unflattering messages, demanding his assistance in helping her son. But none of it was enough.
Her writing to Gale brought her some comfort – debating with him over recipes, his childhood, and the state of their respective plants. He had never written to her about his current state. She never asked whether he had been protecting her, himself, or both.
The door to the tower stood before her. She braced herself for whatever excuse would the mirror image of her son supply her with this time.
I am terribly sorry mother; I have been terribly busy with my research.
Apologies. I have been feeling rather under the weather. Best you do not contain it.
I would love to have a chat with you, but I am afraid I am deep in my studies and would not be properly sociable.
It did not really matter. At least he took the unpleasant duty of the doorkeeper from Tara’s shoulders. Morena barely looked at the image anyway, only for a brief while, to see her son’s likeness in front of her, and then always turned to the curtained window.
It was closed, the curtains drawn. It had been rather early, after all.
She knocked on the door, turning to her left already. The mirror image had always appeared there, beside her heart.
But there was none.
She knocked again. “Gale?” she called out.
No blue apparition. No Tara opening the window for herself. Nothing.
She took a step back from the doormat, looking up at the tower. The curtains had not moved. There was not a hint of a figure standing behind, listening to her responses.
Her hands gripped the basket tightly. Her last visit had been ten days ago: Tara would have surely let her know if anything grave happened, would she not?
Unless something would have left her indisposed. Something that grew inside that tower. The rumours that spread around the city, those that spoiled her friendships with several mages, reminded Morena of their existence.
She warded herself against such thoughts. Gloom was no help to her, nor to Gale and Tara – but an action would be. She was about to violate her son’s wishes and take the matters to her own hands.
Or, more precisely, the doorknob.
She felt light-headed when her hand touched its metal surface, her blood rushing to her head.
The door opened without a hitch.
A strange sight greeted her. She had spent many hours within this tower, and the hall always welcomed her – alight either with sunlight, or with the magical torches Gale had enchanted. Now, the curtains were drawn, and the hall was drowning in a heavy shadow; dust gathering on the furniture and cobwebs in the corners of the hall; the carpet on the stairs folded and pushed to the side. It must have been months since someone tried to maintain it properly.
“Gale? Tara? Is anyone home?”
No answer.
She looked into the kitchen. It fared no better – the dust did not gather here as much, but the place had been barren. No fruit in the bowl, no pastries on the counter. There was a bouquet of dried roses on the small table – they were in the basket she brought Gale a month ago.
It had not been abandoned there. The drying was too perfect; Gale must have done it intentionally, before placing it there.
A loud rumbling sound from inside the house interrupted her thought.
Her basket was left abandoned in the kitchen as she ran to the sound. Her hip protested but she moved as fast as she could.
She opened the door to the library with a slam.
There was a shelf that had been clearly toppled over, a clatter of tomes, scrolls and spilled ink, and in the midst of it all, there was Tara, with her teeth deep in a scroll twice her size.
She dropped it from her mouth upon seeing Morena.
“Oh! Mrs. Dekarios! Wonderful to see you!” Her fur was ruffled, and her tail was wagging at a quick pace. “I need someone with opposable thumbs to roll this blasted thing in all its length.”
There was no trace of Gale. The thought of him hiding behind one of the curtains briefly entered her mind, but she soon dismissed it. Her son was not a child anymore to think a piece of cloth would keep him hidden from the outside world. Not to mention, the sight of the clatter on the floor would have him too upset to remain quiet.
“Tara,” she said, as calmly as she could. “What is going on here? Where is Gale?”
“Oh, Morena,” Tara looked down on her paws. “I appear to have lost him.”
“Lost him? Lost him how exactly?”
Tara went still for a moment, before she let out a frustrated yowl and flew up to the near study table, pacing back and forth.
“I am of the opinion that leashes are an unnecessary cruelty, but by gods, I should have put him on one. This whole thing with the orb, my, I thought we had enough of our share of disasters, but apparently, I was wrong!”
Her tail swept a bundle of empty scrolls down on the floor, adding to the pile.
“And just when things were going so well!” she lamented. “I’d finally found him after he so rudely left me here – and to think he would assume I would be content with staying put! As if! I’d convinced him to come back, that we still had time, and then that wretched thing comes out of the sky and starts fishing out people up to the skies! There truly is no rest in this world!”
“Tara,” Morena raised her hand. “You need to pace yourself; I am no wiser than I have been a minute ago. What wretched thing? Were you not here?”
“No, Mrs. Dekarios, we were not.”
She sat down on the edge of the table. “Mr. Dekarios had been planning to leave Waterdeep for some time now. I am sorry for not telling you. I hoped there would be something that would help us negate that option or at least postpone it. But that was not the case. I just did not expect him to leave so soon.”
“Why wouldn’t he tell me? I don’t need to know about his every move, but if he were to leave the city permanently, it would have been polite to let me know.”
“That is exactly what I have been telling him, Morena. I do not need to tell you how stubborn he can be. I think perhaps he did not want to worry you. And as I’ve mentioned, we were on our way home when we were so impolitely interrupted.”
“By a wretched thing, fishing people up to the skies?”
“Yes, Mrs. Dekarios. A nautiloid, to be exact.”
“Oh.” She slipped down to a chair in front of Tara. “Goodness.”
“I am truly sorry, Morena,” she heard Tara say. “I have promised you to take good care of him, and I have failed most spectacularly.”
Morena’s fingers were tapping the armrest. The first wave of shock was already leaving her, and her mind was racing.
It was strange. Her son was missing. She should be scared. But as alarming as the situation was, she had felt the most in control as she had not in months.
She could finally do something.
She could help.
“Very well, then,” she said and stood up. “If that is all, we need to get to work. I think my place would be more suitable, don’t you think, Tara? Unless you need something from here that would help us locate him?”
Tara’s eyes lightened up. “There is this teleportation scroll, Morena. We would have to find him first, of course.”
“Naturally. Do either of you have anything that could help us with Scrying?”
“I am afraid not. Divination magic was neither of ours’ speciality.”
“Of course. No matter. There are still people in this city who would help us.”
She picked up the scroll and turned to Tara. “Do not be harsh on yourself, my friend. It is hardly your fault that the illithid decided to appear anywhere near Faerûn after such a long period of rest. Besides, I am quite sure Gale is escaping their captivity as we speak.”
“I have no doubt, Morena.” Tara landed on her shoulders, purring. “Shall we, then?”
“We shall,” Morena said and together they left the room.