FIC: THUNDER ONLY HAPPENS WHEN IT'S RAINING (43 part 2/?)
Title: Thunder only happens when it's raining
Author: zagadka4_lj
Pairing: Cara/Kahlan
Rating: PG 17
Warnings: none
Disclaimer: I own nothing of Legend of The Seeker and this was written for enjoyment; certainly mine, hopefully yours.
Summary: Set immediatly after Tears.
When the Keeper was defeated, it seemed that life should start again with happiness and joy, but now Kahlan was feeling only woe and sadness. Along the way toward home, things go awry for the Seeker and his band. They are forced to take paths which will bring them to face what future holds and deal with events from the past. Kahlan will find out that love has many sides and shapes.
Words Count: 4611
A/N: This is my very first writing work and for this reason my style and my skill with english will change as the chapters go by (hopefully improving...)
I consider this fic as my personal version of season 3 and it is entirely based on the TV Show also because I haven't read the books. The title of the fic and of the chapters are all titles or verses taken from songs of my favorite band The Corrs.
I am posting this story also on Fanfiction.net (username zagadka4); my aim is to catch up here and then proceed at the same pace on both sites.
Chapter 43 part 2 - Listen carefully to the sound of your loneliness
(Verse from the song “Dreams”)
Amelia was feeling numb. Since the day her Mistress left the Temple she felt drained, completely empty.
When her subjugated side was on charge, she thought that it was due to the missing of her love. The Sister cried most of the time and tears leaked down so constantly that she didn’t even pay anymore attention to the trickling from her face. When her lucid side was ruling her she was worried because without her Mistress her plan was endangered. She didn’t know where the key of her Rada-Han was and she hadn’t enough ascendant on any other Mord-Sith to get close to aforesaid key. And to serve her Lord she needed to be in the position to break free from the hideous collar wrapped around her neck, if not at her liking at least with a certain ease. But over this deed, Amelia was wondering about the fate of her Mistress. Zafire left the Temple several days before and every time the sorceress asked about her to other Mord-Sith coming to her for occasional torturing sessions, she never had a single word in answer. Not that she expected any.
What she expected were blows and beatings, and she was indeed generously supplied with those to ensure that she was duly submissive and to show her that she had no right to talk - or any other right for what that mattered. The torture was painful, but since the red haired woman remained blank all the time, dangling from the chains and screaming, but without any glimpse of rebellion, it usually lasted short. The jailers in red leathers just thought that it was pointless hurting the Sister of the Dark more than necessary, since the Lord Rahl wanted her in good condition to perform spells. And it was more than obvious that Mistress Zafire had done an excellent job in flawlessly breaking the sorceress.
The days were lasting in the complete stillness and Amelia used to stare from the little window of her cell, which overlooked the road leading to the Temple. From that spot she could see people coming and going from the building, but there was very few traffic on that way. Nobody ever arrived there and only sometimes she saw some Mord-Sith leaving on horses, just to come back later, probably after patrolling the surroundings or providing supplies. Apparently the recruiting of new initiates was a practice momentarily set aside and Amelia guessed that - given the still scanty ranks Rahl had at hand and the preciousness of a talented Sister of the Dark within those walls - the reason was that they didn't want to draw any kind of attention to that Temple in particular.
Since how long time was she closed in this dark place? She didn’t know… weeks, months… days had ensued one after the other and were now a confused dull memory in her head. When Darken ordered to have her imprisoned it was summer and now the cold and the shortness of the daylight told her that it was late autumn or early winter, but she was unsure as she wasn't very well acquainted with D’Hara weather. She missed the open air and would give whatever for a walk in a golden meadow. Strolling hand in hand with her beloved… Amelia found herself sighing at the window. She found herself wishing to see the black horse carrying her stunning Mistress back to her.
Until one day Zafire actually came back.
The Sister of the Dark recognized her immediately; she was mounted on a speckled gray horse and had a black cape spread over her, but Amelia hadn’t the slightest doubt that it was her Mistress. The riding woman was bent forward on her steed, leaning her head on the horse’s neck and holding her belly with one arm, while the other was limply dangling and barely holding the reins of the beast. She was evidently injured.
When Amelia saw her she felt a lump swelling in her throat by the emotion to see her Mistress back again and by the upheaval of seeing that she was hurt, apparently badly. The sorceress glued her gaze on the riding woman but the portion of outside she was allowed to see from her position was too meager and from the unfortunate angle of the window she wasn’t able to see the door of the Temple where the Mord-Sith stopped. Instead Amelia heard a dull thud to which a clinking of reins and the neigh of the horse ensued. Her Mistress had just heavily fallen from the saddle. After a short while bustles and voices echoed at the entrance of the Temple; evidently Amelia wasn't the only one who noticed the approaching horse and its known rider. A few moments after the creaking of the massive studded door and rustling of leathers mixed with a low grumbling suggested that other Mord-Sith were dragging their beaten sister inside.
Amelia began to scream her lungs out: she wanted to get out of the cell immediately. She needed to see her Mistress now.
She knocked her fists on the heavy door, squeaking like possessed, scratching and kicking against the boards of the wooden barrier. She created such a racket that someone actually came to her, vexed by the noise. An extremely young Sister of the Agiel entered the jail. Without a word she backhanded the sorceress, providing her a bruise on her cheek and silencing her for a while. But Amelia was used to way worse than this and if this lass thought that she could overcome her so easily she was largely astray. Indeed after a moment the Sister restarted bustling about, yelling that she expected to be immediately brought to see Mistress Zafire.
The unfazed Mord-Sith kept on systematically hitting her, but she lacked that enthusiasm only a practiced Sister of the Agiel had. This girl was instead implementing with scholastic bore her freshly acquired notions, as if she was inexpertly rolling out the just read instructions of the 'Good Mord-Sith's Handbook'.
And that was miles away from repressing Amelia's fussing; the Sister of the Dark was unstoppable and completely out of herself, just like she was at the beginning of her training. But the appointed Mord-Sith had by her side the peculiarly vigorous strength of prime of life and manners recently trained at the utter impassivity, no matter what kind of solicitation she was exposed to.
Hence Amelia changed her strategy and began to threaten that she'd cut her tongue off with her teeth and suffocate with her own blood if that stupid Mord-Sith didn’t instantly bring her to her Mistress. A rift cracked through the schooled face and the Mord-Sith captor felt an icy shiver running down her spine. The thought of what had happened to her sisters after Master Rahl accused them of being responsible for Nicci's folly crept into her mind. There was no doubt that she'd be instantly executed if it turned out that the death of this hysterical sorceress was her fault. And she was just at the beginning of her Mord-Sith career - thus easy to be held up as sloppy- to afford such a risk.
The red-clad jailer lowered her Agiel and Amelia consequentially stopped her motions, wanting to prove that the only thing that she wanted was to be taken to her Mistress. The young Mord-Sith gauged the sorceress expression for a moment then grabbed Amelia by her collar and unceremoniously dragged her out of the cell; the Sister dutifully yielded to the rough escort and was pleased to see that she was directly brought to the sick bay of the Temple.
As she entered there Amelia eyed two more Mord-Sith - one particularly tall and the other with a brown haired braid - standing stiff some paces away from the bed lying against the wall opposite to the doorstep she had just crossed. The two women were mumbling with one another and scowling, but the Sister didn't pay any attention to their speech. Her gaze was instantly captured by the form lying onto the bed: Mistress Zafire was unconscious and weakly sprawled. Amelia gasped at the sight of how much vulnerable she looked at that moment; a kind of aspect she'd never even glimpsed in the adamant woman before. The harmed Mord-Sith had a blood dirtied linen cloth tossed over her abdomen. Under the stained fabric the Sister eyed the rims of a ripped red leather uniform desolately wagging and a thin trickling of blood; a sad red pool slowly widening on the floor beside the bed. Amelia was more and more aghast, but apparently she was the only one.
“What the hell are you doing? Don’t stand there stock-still, you idiots!” Amelia shrilled. “Help her! She’s hurt!”
The two Mord-Sith spun their faces with a jerk and glared at Amelia. The deep furrowing of their foreheads persisted as they moved the look to the young sister who absurdly brought such a hassling intruder there. The red-clad girl was still holding the sorceress by her collar looking like a clumsy owner dealing with her disorderly dog. The mute accusation of being an inconsiderate newbie flew from the more experienced sisters' gaze and hit the bull's eye, making the new recruit awkwardly twist.
“She was about to have an apoplectic attack if I didn’t take her here!” The girl justified herself with a shade of nervousness, mixed with insecure nerve. The two fellows scowled deeper and the taller woman pursed her lips, about to harshly reprimand her credulity and to retort regarding the more than questionable theory, but the younger Mord-Sith moved up with her explanation.
“Lord Rahl wants her alive and she was threatening to choke with her own blood. The only thing that she wants is to see her Mistress.” The girl glowered toward Amelia and shook the Rada-Han to spur the unexpected crony at confirming the statement. The Sister hastened at nodding putting the most cretin grin she could muster on her features. “You see? Over the annoyance her mouth provides, she’s innocuous.” The young Mord-Sith concluded with a smirk streaked with boldness.
But the smirk dried and the boldness evaporated as soon as Amelia hastened at confirming that she was eager to provide aforesaid annoyance. The Sister's focusing again on her injured Mistress drove upset mouthy words out of her shaky lips.
“Move your darn lazy leather-clad asses! Do something! She’s dying!!”
The acute howled order was punctuated with a violent shaking of her hands to invite the women there to get a move. Amelia was incapable of figuring out the reason of the stillness in these stupid pointless women, just hanging around and doing diddly squat to help the warrior agonizing onto the bed.
“She’s still breathing, but is as good as dead.” The taller Mord-Sith dryly replied, wanting to put an end to that peculiarly eager pet's hassles. She returned her look to the woman lying on the bed and raised her chin. “The injury is too severe to be cured. We can't do anything for her.”
The Sister of the Dark gaped breathless, but after a moment a spark of hope enlightened her mind.
“Thus you’ll give her the Breath of Life.” The Sister deduced aloud with unmistakable relief in her tone.
The tall Mord-Sith - who looked to be the one in charge at the moment - quickly moved her gaze from her wounded sister to the weird sorceress; a renewed scowl cutting through her features. She wondered how Mistress Zafire could have bent this woman to the point of gaining such an utter devotion from her. Fear obliged pets to adore their mistresses, but if it happened that the Mord-Sith holding their leashes died, they never shed a tear. Instead this red haired woman looked now on the verge of desperation. The tall woman blew another strike to demolish the sorceress' hopes.
“Her body is too compromised. She cannot receive the Breath of Life.”
There wasn't any hint of concern for her sister, instead a certain shade of annoyance because of the hitch Zafire supplied pointlessly coming back there. For Mord-Sith if death had to be, then it was better if it came quickly and without pitifully dragging oneself worse and worse in the chagrin of being hurt and helpless. Of being useless until biting the dust. And though it was said that Mord-Sith don't fear anything not even death, they however didn't like to stare at a withering sister. Death was never a nice sight to be seen if it touched a member of their sorority; it was the kind of spectacle which could come close to scratch their renowned indifference and for this reason it was unpopular. Unless the harmed sister explicitly asked for the only kind of pity Mord-Sith were capable of - the same one they'd grant to a lamed horse - they didn't steal life from each other. They were sisters after all.
“Creator only knows why she rode up here. She knows that we can’t do anything for her.” The tall Mord-Sith sternly concluded with her arms crossed on her chest.
Panic spread over the Sister's features. Her Mistress had returned just to die before her very eyes? The other Mord-Sith didn't seem very concerned about Zafire's imminent departing and their inactivity made clear that they wouldn't do much to prevent such a tragic event. And even if they would, they couldn't...
...but Amelia could!
The Sister of the Dark face palmed as she was suddenly struck by the obviousness: she was an exceptional healer damn it! And she had given proof of her skills with a powerful enchantment in front of Zafire after being beaten from Darken Rahl a time ago. The reason for her Mistress' apparently nonsensical coming back to the Temple had to be the thought that she'd have at least a chance of surviving if she could reach her talented pet. It had to be that, Amelia thought... her Mistress hoped in her, relied on her, thought of her as her salvation...
And there was nothing Amelia wished more than to save the life of her beloved Mistress.
“Take this Rada-Han off immediately! I can cure her!” She imperatively ordered, grabbing and shaking the metal collar with impatience.
The young Mord-Sith frowned, the brown haired one widened her eyes in honest astonishment and the tall one laughed sincerely amused.
“It's been ages since someone made me laugh like that!” The woman admitted chuckling. “I'm gonna ask Lord Rahl to personally attend to you once she's dead.”
The mention of her Mistress' possible death drove shudders in Amelia and an wave of utter dislike toward this disrespectful woman. “I'm not joking and you have to rush. I won't let her die and I won't be anyone else but hers!” She stopped for a moment with short breath. Before leaving, her Mistress obliged her to tell that she wouldn't belong to anyone else... at that time Amelia thought that it was a farce, but now she was forced to reconsider her opinion.
“Hold your tongue, little pet. You're not exactly in the position to give orders, don't you think?” A mild amusement was still lingering in the leather-clad leader, but it was fading fast. Patience was not the most innate of Mord-Sith's qualities and though Lord Rahl wanted this sorceress healthy, that didn't mean that her arrogance would be tolerated.
“Stop wasting time with your blathering and set me free from this damn Rada-Han! I told you I can heal her!”
“Do you think we are toddlers?!” The towering woman's face was now harsh, though she persisted with scorning. A cold threat was bordering the edge of her words. “We know you are insidious like a snake.”
“Then you'd better reconsider your opinion, you kind of female cockscomb, because I am your only chance of survival now!”
In a flash the outraged Mord-Sith threw her knee on Amelia’s stomach. The red haired woman doubled over, collapsing on the ground ang gasping for oxygen. She heavily panted momentarily incapable of uttering anything but pained groans.
“I thought that Zafire taught you better to keep your insolent mouth shut. Bring her back to her cell!” She barked to the younger sister. “Tie her and gag her so that she can't self damage herself with her hysteria.”
“How can you be so moronic not to see that you're doomed if you let her die?!” Amelia struggled to scream, still knelt on the floor and actually terrorized that those petty women could prevent from helping her Mistress.
“Who cares if Mistress Zafire dies? So be it. A Mord-Sith accepts her destiny without complaints.”
“If Mistress Zafire dies,” Amelia hissed with her eyes narrowed to a slit, hardly believing that this woman was incapable of grasping the gravity of her situation. “the Keeper will torture her until she tells him where I am. Believe me, your skills with administering pain are less than nothing compared with the abilities my Lor-... ehm my former Lord has at hand. Your resistance to pain? A fleck of dust he can wipe away before you can even say 'what?' And when he knows what he wants - because he will! - he’ll unleash against you every single Sister of the Dark on the face of the earth to set me free.” She was bluffing as the Keeper wanted her exactly where she was now. But those silly Mord-Sith didn’t know it.
An Agiel pressed against her jugular was the price for her voicing unwanted arguments. Amelia clenched her teeth and again groaned in pain.
“Do you think you’re scaring me? Your magic is useless against our kind.” The red-clad woman hissed with a truculent glare. “Mord-Sith fear nothing. Much less a bunch of badly equipped fanatic sorceress who rely on one skill alone, which happens to be what Mord-Sith effortlessly deflect.”
“And how long can you resist a siege here?” Amelia breathed out, mustering up as much intimidation as she could. “Because the bunch you're talking about is much larger than you imagine. I don’t really think you could resist forever and we both know that Rahl’s ranks are still scanty. You won’t have any backup and in the end I’ll be released by my fellow Sisters.” The tall woman gritted her teeth. This insolent sorceress wasn’t completely wrong about any help to be expected from Master Rahl's ranks. But was that true that there were so many Sisters of the Dark out there? That the Keeper wanted this particular Sister back so strongly? Before being again forcibly clouted, Amelia eyed the smallest hesitation on the cold face before hers and as soon as she ceased seeing double, she laid on the thicker.
“You don’t fear anything huh? Not even the Lord Rahl’s fury? Because furious it's how he’ll become when he will lose the only sorceress he has at hand. And his plans require magic, we both know it. Not that you'll be allowed to attend to you Master's rampage, since my Sisters will have wiped you all out by then.”
Amelia paused her tirade with short breath, letting her words sink in and hoping that her arguments could efficiently penetrate the barrier of certainty of the leading Mord-Sith. The reward for her courage was not only the lack of another strike to silence her, but an even more satisfying glint of genuine doubt peering out of the schooled features of the tall woman; it lasted only for a split second, but it didn't go unnoticed.
“My magic is useless against your kind, you’re right.” Amelia insisted, slowly standing and feeling that she was on the right way. “So what are you afraid I could do with my powers? Kill her?” And she pointed her forefinger to Zafire. “The one and only thing I crave is to save my Mistress... don't deny it to me...” Her tone had slipped into bitter distress.
The Mord-Sith pondered for some moments, scowling deeper and deeper and weighing pros and cons. Looking for tricks in the reasoning of the insidious red haired woman. She couldn't be sure that what she had said was true, but also couldn't ignore that there was an actual risk in letting Mistress Zafire reach the Keeper. And though this hysterical sorceress may be faking with her wish to save her Mistress, it was undoubted that she was broken; the past weeks of torturing with her complete meekness in reply were an assurance about it. Thus if she was that devoted to her Mistress, she'd be unwilling to do something to disappoint her. And even if she tried, she was alone inside a Temple filled with dozens of Mord-Sith.
The tall woman fixed her gaze on Amelia and stepped toward her, grabbing her by the collar and shaking her violently.
“Make a wrong move and you’ll regret the day your mother opened her legs for your father!”
The Mord-Sith released the grip with a yank and ordered her sisters to point their Agiels to the sorceress and not let her make a wrong move. Then she walked in strides to Zafire; she rummaged for a moment and took off the key of the Rada-Han from the unconscious woman’s leathers. Amelia gasped astonished by this sight: what if her Mistress never came back to the Temple? She'd be forever collared? Before she could question further about this matter, the leading Mord-Sith approached and put the key into the keyhole. A low click ensued and with a low-pitched hum her constricted magic was suddenly set free.
The refreshing surge of her powers flowed from inside her and sprang from her core up to her skin, bouncing back and jauntily gushing. Filling her, making her feel alive. Like brand new. Powerful. The mighty tidal wave mounting inside her was overwhelming and she even seemed to faintly glow. The women menacingly enclosing Amelia seemed to reel at the airflow of the extraordinary magic suddenly emanating from her form. Their innate ability at repelling magic made their red leather soles slightly scrape backward against the floor, since the two different kind of powers couldn't occupy the same space and the stronger was claiming its room.
Amelia would have liked to gloat over their sharpened frowns and their tightening the grip on their Agiels, but she had a more urgent task to accomplish than to scorn the arrogance of those women.
She tilted her head to warn the Mord-Sith that she was about to move toward the injured woman. Then she hastily reached her Mistress, followed suit from a couple of wary Agiels and their carriers. The soft whine of those vicious weapons was a constant unnerving chant cried an inch behind her back, but Amelia ignored it. Instead she took a moment to stare at Zafire: her beauty was dulled by an unusual paleness; her face was taut and glistening with a thin layer of sweat. The awesome feline blue eyes were locked and couldn’t flash her with the usual intensity, which always reduced her in a bundle of confused quivers. The lying woman’s breath was quick and uneven and Amelia was coursed by a pang through her chest, hearing the pained whispers getting past through the same lips which had kissed her so eagerly until not long ago.
The Sister removed the cloth from the abdomen of the hurt woman. The tall Mord-Sith hadn’t lied when she said the body was compromised: it was a miracle if Zafire was still breathing. A horrible wide gash was opened in the wounded woman’s belly and her bowels were awfully visible from it; blood and other bodily fluids were spilling from that opening. The acrid stench and the gruesome sight drove retching and heavy nausea gripping on the pit of the Sister’s stomach; it also made her instantly shift to her lucid personality. But her purpose to save her Mistress didn’t change.
If the weaker part of her was bent to the Mord-Sith and willing to save her out of devotion, on the other hand her stronger part needed this woman alive for the time being, because she served her cause. The Sister relied on her capacity of influencing and manipulating this woman. On the capacity to put her hands on that precious little key if she wanted, without arouse suspicion and remaining unsuspected within Rahl's ranks, as her Lord wished. That was... not certainly the wish to hear Zafire's voice again... to cross her look with the deep blue of the ocean into her Mistress' eyes one more time... to feel the warmth of that lithe body on hers...
Amelia shook her head to shrug off distracting and nonsensical thoughts; she instead got herself to work.
The injury was deep and involved several vital organs, plus the infection had already spread widely in the Mord-Sith’s body. A few more hours and Zafire’s heart would be reached by the sepsis and would stop beating; unless the loss of blood wouldn’t kill her before. She concentrated and took Zafire's face in her hands before performing her enchantment: her magic began to flow from her fingers and to repair what had been damaged. It thoroughly kept on restoring balance in what had been upset and deftly giving new strength to what had been debilitated.
It took the red haired woman a lot of time and all of her energy to literally drag the Mord-Sith out of the threshold of the Underworld, but she succeeded. She was a great sorceress; the Keeper himself chose her and made her excellent.
But even so, she had underestimated the wound or maybe overestimated her powers. The fact remained that even if she turned out to save her Mistress from the immediate danger, the injured Mord-Sith was still extremely weak and vulnerable. The loss of blood wasn’t something Amelia could remedy and the gash in her abdomen - though mostly healed - was still open and could easily get infected again. There were several other less severe wounds spread all over the black braided woman’s body, which needed to be tended; Amelia had sensed them, but didn't have enough power to heal them. Zafire needed to be carefully cured and even so, it wasn’t taken for granted that she'd survive.
Amelia sank on her knees panting and completely exhausted; she couldn’t do anything more for her Mistress and was barely able to remain conscious.
“She's still in a critical condition… needs care...” She exhaled.
The two Mord-Sith behind her profited from her collapsing and locked the metal collar around Amelia's neck then began to drag her away to finally bring her back in her cell, but the Sister started to fuss with limp movements. The women in red leathers looked at their leader still standing in the room and waited for her orders. The Sister of the Dark had proved that she was sincere so far and she wasn’t certainly a menace in her current state of weakness, the tall Mord-Sith gauged. Furthermore she was again in check of the Rada-Han, therefore unable to make the slightest stand. She nodded, curios to see what this Sister of the Dark had in store. The two Mord-Sith fellows loosened the grip on the jailed sorceress.
Amelia faltered toward the bed and propped onto it lifting up her Mistress’ face. Then she lowered to kiss her forehead and murmured: “Mistress, be strong… resist… stay alive...”
Then she crumbled on the floor and gave up any resistance, letting the red-clad women drag her away.
Author: zagadka4_lj
Pairing: Cara/Kahlan
Rating: PG 17
Warnings: none
Disclaimer: I own nothing of Legend of The Seeker and this was written for enjoyment; certainly mine, hopefully yours.
Summary: Set immediatly after Tears.
When the Keeper was defeated, it seemed that life should start again with happiness and joy, but now Kahlan was feeling only woe and sadness. Along the way toward home, things go awry for the Seeker and his band. They are forced to take paths which will bring them to face what future holds and deal with events from the past. Kahlan will find out that love has many sides and shapes.
Words Count: 4611
A/N: This is my very first writing work and for this reason my style and my skill with english will change as the chapters go by (hopefully improving...)
I consider this fic as my personal version of season 3 and it is entirely based on the TV Show also because I haven't read the books. The title of the fic and of the chapters are all titles or verses taken from songs of my favorite band The Corrs.
I am posting this story also on Fanfiction.net (username zagadka4); my aim is to catch up here and then proceed at the same pace on both sites.
Chapter 43 part 2 - Listen carefully to the sound of your loneliness
(Verse from the song “Dreams”)
Amelia was feeling numb. Since the day her Mistress left the Temple she felt drained, completely empty.
When her subjugated side was on charge, she thought that it was due to the missing of her love. The Sister cried most of the time and tears leaked down so constantly that she didn’t even pay anymore attention to the trickling from her face. When her lucid side was ruling her she was worried because without her Mistress her plan was endangered. She didn’t know where the key of her Rada-Han was and she hadn’t enough ascendant on any other Mord-Sith to get close to aforesaid key. And to serve her Lord she needed to be in the position to break free from the hideous collar wrapped around her neck, if not at her liking at least with a certain ease. But over this deed, Amelia was wondering about the fate of her Mistress. Zafire left the Temple several days before and every time the sorceress asked about her to other Mord-Sith coming to her for occasional torturing sessions, she never had a single word in answer. Not that she expected any.
What she expected were blows and beatings, and she was indeed generously supplied with those to ensure that she was duly submissive and to show her that she had no right to talk - or any other right for what that mattered. The torture was painful, but since the red haired woman remained blank all the time, dangling from the chains and screaming, but without any glimpse of rebellion, it usually lasted short. The jailers in red leathers just thought that it was pointless hurting the Sister of the Dark more than necessary, since the Lord Rahl wanted her in good condition to perform spells. And it was more than obvious that Mistress Zafire had done an excellent job in flawlessly breaking the sorceress.
The days were lasting in the complete stillness and Amelia used to stare from the little window of her cell, which overlooked the road leading to the Temple. From that spot she could see people coming and going from the building, but there was very few traffic on that way. Nobody ever arrived there and only sometimes she saw some Mord-Sith leaving on horses, just to come back later, probably after patrolling the surroundings or providing supplies. Apparently the recruiting of new initiates was a practice momentarily set aside and Amelia guessed that - given the still scanty ranks Rahl had at hand and the preciousness of a talented Sister of the Dark within those walls - the reason was that they didn't want to draw any kind of attention to that Temple in particular.
Since how long time was she closed in this dark place? She didn’t know… weeks, months… days had ensued one after the other and were now a confused dull memory in her head. When Darken ordered to have her imprisoned it was summer and now the cold and the shortness of the daylight told her that it was late autumn or early winter, but she was unsure as she wasn't very well acquainted with D’Hara weather. She missed the open air and would give whatever for a walk in a golden meadow. Strolling hand in hand with her beloved… Amelia found herself sighing at the window. She found herself wishing to see the black horse carrying her stunning Mistress back to her.
Until one day Zafire actually came back.
The Sister of the Dark recognized her immediately; she was mounted on a speckled gray horse and had a black cape spread over her, but Amelia hadn’t the slightest doubt that it was her Mistress. The riding woman was bent forward on her steed, leaning her head on the horse’s neck and holding her belly with one arm, while the other was limply dangling and barely holding the reins of the beast. She was evidently injured.
When Amelia saw her she felt a lump swelling in her throat by the emotion to see her Mistress back again and by the upheaval of seeing that she was hurt, apparently badly. The sorceress glued her gaze on the riding woman but the portion of outside she was allowed to see from her position was too meager and from the unfortunate angle of the window she wasn’t able to see the door of the Temple where the Mord-Sith stopped. Instead Amelia heard a dull thud to which a clinking of reins and the neigh of the horse ensued. Her Mistress had just heavily fallen from the saddle. After a short while bustles and voices echoed at the entrance of the Temple; evidently Amelia wasn't the only one who noticed the approaching horse and its known rider. A few moments after the creaking of the massive studded door and rustling of leathers mixed with a low grumbling suggested that other Mord-Sith were dragging their beaten sister inside.
Amelia began to scream her lungs out: she wanted to get out of the cell immediately. She needed to see her Mistress now.
She knocked her fists on the heavy door, squeaking like possessed, scratching and kicking against the boards of the wooden barrier. She created such a racket that someone actually came to her, vexed by the noise. An extremely young Sister of the Agiel entered the jail. Without a word she backhanded the sorceress, providing her a bruise on her cheek and silencing her for a while. But Amelia was used to way worse than this and if this lass thought that she could overcome her so easily she was largely astray. Indeed after a moment the Sister restarted bustling about, yelling that she expected to be immediately brought to see Mistress Zafire.
The unfazed Mord-Sith kept on systematically hitting her, but she lacked that enthusiasm only a practiced Sister of the Agiel had. This girl was instead implementing with scholastic bore her freshly acquired notions, as if she was inexpertly rolling out the just read instructions of the 'Good Mord-Sith's Handbook'.
And that was miles away from repressing Amelia's fussing; the Sister of the Dark was unstoppable and completely out of herself, just like she was at the beginning of her training. But the appointed Mord-Sith had by her side the peculiarly vigorous strength of prime of life and manners recently trained at the utter impassivity, no matter what kind of solicitation she was exposed to.
Hence Amelia changed her strategy and began to threaten that she'd cut her tongue off with her teeth and suffocate with her own blood if that stupid Mord-Sith didn’t instantly bring her to her Mistress. A rift cracked through the schooled face and the Mord-Sith captor felt an icy shiver running down her spine. The thought of what had happened to her sisters after Master Rahl accused them of being responsible for Nicci's folly crept into her mind. There was no doubt that she'd be instantly executed if it turned out that the death of this hysterical sorceress was her fault. And she was just at the beginning of her Mord-Sith career - thus easy to be held up as sloppy- to afford such a risk.
The red-clad jailer lowered her Agiel and Amelia consequentially stopped her motions, wanting to prove that the only thing that she wanted was to be taken to her Mistress. The young Mord-Sith gauged the sorceress expression for a moment then grabbed Amelia by her collar and unceremoniously dragged her out of the cell; the Sister dutifully yielded to the rough escort and was pleased to see that she was directly brought to the sick bay of the Temple.
As she entered there Amelia eyed two more Mord-Sith - one particularly tall and the other with a brown haired braid - standing stiff some paces away from the bed lying against the wall opposite to the doorstep she had just crossed. The two women were mumbling with one another and scowling, but the Sister didn't pay any attention to their speech. Her gaze was instantly captured by the form lying onto the bed: Mistress Zafire was unconscious and weakly sprawled. Amelia gasped at the sight of how much vulnerable she looked at that moment; a kind of aspect she'd never even glimpsed in the adamant woman before. The harmed Mord-Sith had a blood dirtied linen cloth tossed over her abdomen. Under the stained fabric the Sister eyed the rims of a ripped red leather uniform desolately wagging and a thin trickling of blood; a sad red pool slowly widening on the floor beside the bed. Amelia was more and more aghast, but apparently she was the only one.
“What the hell are you doing? Don’t stand there stock-still, you idiots!” Amelia shrilled. “Help her! She’s hurt!”
The two Mord-Sith spun their faces with a jerk and glared at Amelia. The deep furrowing of their foreheads persisted as they moved the look to the young sister who absurdly brought such a hassling intruder there. The red-clad girl was still holding the sorceress by her collar looking like a clumsy owner dealing with her disorderly dog. The mute accusation of being an inconsiderate newbie flew from the more experienced sisters' gaze and hit the bull's eye, making the new recruit awkwardly twist.
“She was about to have an apoplectic attack if I didn’t take her here!” The girl justified herself with a shade of nervousness, mixed with insecure nerve. The two fellows scowled deeper and the taller woman pursed her lips, about to harshly reprimand her credulity and to retort regarding the more than questionable theory, but the younger Mord-Sith moved up with her explanation.
“Lord Rahl wants her alive and she was threatening to choke with her own blood. The only thing that she wants is to see her Mistress.” The girl glowered toward Amelia and shook the Rada-Han to spur the unexpected crony at confirming the statement. The Sister hastened at nodding putting the most cretin grin she could muster on her features. “You see? Over the annoyance her mouth provides, she’s innocuous.” The young Mord-Sith concluded with a smirk streaked with boldness.
But the smirk dried and the boldness evaporated as soon as Amelia hastened at confirming that she was eager to provide aforesaid annoyance. The Sister's focusing again on her injured Mistress drove upset mouthy words out of her shaky lips.
“Move your darn lazy leather-clad asses! Do something! She’s dying!!”
The acute howled order was punctuated with a violent shaking of her hands to invite the women there to get a move. Amelia was incapable of figuring out the reason of the stillness in these stupid pointless women, just hanging around and doing diddly squat to help the warrior agonizing onto the bed.
“She’s still breathing, but is as good as dead.” The taller Mord-Sith dryly replied, wanting to put an end to that peculiarly eager pet's hassles. She returned her look to the woman lying on the bed and raised her chin. “The injury is too severe to be cured. We can't do anything for her.”
The Sister of the Dark gaped breathless, but after a moment a spark of hope enlightened her mind.
“Thus you’ll give her the Breath of Life.” The Sister deduced aloud with unmistakable relief in her tone.
The tall Mord-Sith - who looked to be the one in charge at the moment - quickly moved her gaze from her wounded sister to the weird sorceress; a renewed scowl cutting through her features. She wondered how Mistress Zafire could have bent this woman to the point of gaining such an utter devotion from her. Fear obliged pets to adore their mistresses, but if it happened that the Mord-Sith holding their leashes died, they never shed a tear. Instead this red haired woman looked now on the verge of desperation. The tall woman blew another strike to demolish the sorceress' hopes.
“Her body is too compromised. She cannot receive the Breath of Life.”
There wasn't any hint of concern for her sister, instead a certain shade of annoyance because of the hitch Zafire supplied pointlessly coming back there. For Mord-Sith if death had to be, then it was better if it came quickly and without pitifully dragging oneself worse and worse in the chagrin of being hurt and helpless. Of being useless until biting the dust. And though it was said that Mord-Sith don't fear anything not even death, they however didn't like to stare at a withering sister. Death was never a nice sight to be seen if it touched a member of their sorority; it was the kind of spectacle which could come close to scratch their renowned indifference and for this reason it was unpopular. Unless the harmed sister explicitly asked for the only kind of pity Mord-Sith were capable of - the same one they'd grant to a lamed horse - they didn't steal life from each other. They were sisters after all.
“Creator only knows why she rode up here. She knows that we can’t do anything for her.” The tall Mord-Sith sternly concluded with her arms crossed on her chest.
Panic spread over the Sister's features. Her Mistress had returned just to die before her very eyes? The other Mord-Sith didn't seem very concerned about Zafire's imminent departing and their inactivity made clear that they wouldn't do much to prevent such a tragic event. And even if they would, they couldn't...
...but Amelia could!
The Sister of the Dark face palmed as she was suddenly struck by the obviousness: she was an exceptional healer damn it! And she had given proof of her skills with a powerful enchantment in front of Zafire after being beaten from Darken Rahl a time ago. The reason for her Mistress' apparently nonsensical coming back to the Temple had to be the thought that she'd have at least a chance of surviving if she could reach her talented pet. It had to be that, Amelia thought... her Mistress hoped in her, relied on her, thought of her as her salvation...
And there was nothing Amelia wished more than to save the life of her beloved Mistress.
“Take this Rada-Han off immediately! I can cure her!” She imperatively ordered, grabbing and shaking the metal collar with impatience.
The young Mord-Sith frowned, the brown haired one widened her eyes in honest astonishment and the tall one laughed sincerely amused.
“It's been ages since someone made me laugh like that!” The woman admitted chuckling. “I'm gonna ask Lord Rahl to personally attend to you once she's dead.”
The mention of her Mistress' possible death drove shudders in Amelia and an wave of utter dislike toward this disrespectful woman. “I'm not joking and you have to rush. I won't let her die and I won't be anyone else but hers!” She stopped for a moment with short breath. Before leaving, her Mistress obliged her to tell that she wouldn't belong to anyone else... at that time Amelia thought that it was a farce, but now she was forced to reconsider her opinion.
“Hold your tongue, little pet. You're not exactly in the position to give orders, don't you think?” A mild amusement was still lingering in the leather-clad leader, but it was fading fast. Patience was not the most innate of Mord-Sith's qualities and though Lord Rahl wanted this sorceress healthy, that didn't mean that her arrogance would be tolerated.
“Stop wasting time with your blathering and set me free from this damn Rada-Han! I told you I can heal her!”
“Do you think we are toddlers?!” The towering woman's face was now harsh, though she persisted with scorning. A cold threat was bordering the edge of her words. “We know you are insidious like a snake.”
“Then you'd better reconsider your opinion, you kind of female cockscomb, because I am your only chance of survival now!”
In a flash the outraged Mord-Sith threw her knee on Amelia’s stomach. The red haired woman doubled over, collapsing on the ground ang gasping for oxygen. She heavily panted momentarily incapable of uttering anything but pained groans.
“I thought that Zafire taught you better to keep your insolent mouth shut. Bring her back to her cell!” She barked to the younger sister. “Tie her and gag her so that she can't self damage herself with her hysteria.”
“How can you be so moronic not to see that you're doomed if you let her die?!” Amelia struggled to scream, still knelt on the floor and actually terrorized that those petty women could prevent from helping her Mistress.
“Who cares if Mistress Zafire dies? So be it. A Mord-Sith accepts her destiny without complaints.”
“If Mistress Zafire dies,” Amelia hissed with her eyes narrowed to a slit, hardly believing that this woman was incapable of grasping the gravity of her situation. “the Keeper will torture her until she tells him where I am. Believe me, your skills with administering pain are less than nothing compared with the abilities my Lor-... ehm my former Lord has at hand. Your resistance to pain? A fleck of dust he can wipe away before you can even say 'what?' And when he knows what he wants - because he will! - he’ll unleash against you every single Sister of the Dark on the face of the earth to set me free.” She was bluffing as the Keeper wanted her exactly where she was now. But those silly Mord-Sith didn’t know it.
An Agiel pressed against her jugular was the price for her voicing unwanted arguments. Amelia clenched her teeth and again groaned in pain.
“Do you think you’re scaring me? Your magic is useless against our kind.” The red-clad woman hissed with a truculent glare. “Mord-Sith fear nothing. Much less a bunch of badly equipped fanatic sorceress who rely on one skill alone, which happens to be what Mord-Sith effortlessly deflect.”
“And how long can you resist a siege here?” Amelia breathed out, mustering up as much intimidation as she could. “Because the bunch you're talking about is much larger than you imagine. I don’t really think you could resist forever and we both know that Rahl’s ranks are still scanty. You won’t have any backup and in the end I’ll be released by my fellow Sisters.” The tall woman gritted her teeth. This insolent sorceress wasn’t completely wrong about any help to be expected from Master Rahl's ranks. But was that true that there were so many Sisters of the Dark out there? That the Keeper wanted this particular Sister back so strongly? Before being again forcibly clouted, Amelia eyed the smallest hesitation on the cold face before hers and as soon as she ceased seeing double, she laid on the thicker.
“You don’t fear anything huh? Not even the Lord Rahl’s fury? Because furious it's how he’ll become when he will lose the only sorceress he has at hand. And his plans require magic, we both know it. Not that you'll be allowed to attend to you Master's rampage, since my Sisters will have wiped you all out by then.”
Amelia paused her tirade with short breath, letting her words sink in and hoping that her arguments could efficiently penetrate the barrier of certainty of the leading Mord-Sith. The reward for her courage was not only the lack of another strike to silence her, but an even more satisfying glint of genuine doubt peering out of the schooled features of the tall woman; it lasted only for a split second, but it didn't go unnoticed.
“My magic is useless against your kind, you’re right.” Amelia insisted, slowly standing and feeling that she was on the right way. “So what are you afraid I could do with my powers? Kill her?” And she pointed her forefinger to Zafire. “The one and only thing I crave is to save my Mistress... don't deny it to me...” Her tone had slipped into bitter distress.
The Mord-Sith pondered for some moments, scowling deeper and deeper and weighing pros and cons. Looking for tricks in the reasoning of the insidious red haired woman. She couldn't be sure that what she had said was true, but also couldn't ignore that there was an actual risk in letting Mistress Zafire reach the Keeper. And though this hysterical sorceress may be faking with her wish to save her Mistress, it was undoubted that she was broken; the past weeks of torturing with her complete meekness in reply were an assurance about it. Thus if she was that devoted to her Mistress, she'd be unwilling to do something to disappoint her. And even if she tried, she was alone inside a Temple filled with dozens of Mord-Sith.
The tall woman fixed her gaze on Amelia and stepped toward her, grabbing her by the collar and shaking her violently.
“Make a wrong move and you’ll regret the day your mother opened her legs for your father!”
The Mord-Sith released the grip with a yank and ordered her sisters to point their Agiels to the sorceress and not let her make a wrong move. Then she walked in strides to Zafire; she rummaged for a moment and took off the key of the Rada-Han from the unconscious woman’s leathers. Amelia gasped astonished by this sight: what if her Mistress never came back to the Temple? She'd be forever collared? Before she could question further about this matter, the leading Mord-Sith approached and put the key into the keyhole. A low click ensued and with a low-pitched hum her constricted magic was suddenly set free.
The refreshing surge of her powers flowed from inside her and sprang from her core up to her skin, bouncing back and jauntily gushing. Filling her, making her feel alive. Like brand new. Powerful. The mighty tidal wave mounting inside her was overwhelming and she even seemed to faintly glow. The women menacingly enclosing Amelia seemed to reel at the airflow of the extraordinary magic suddenly emanating from her form. Their innate ability at repelling magic made their red leather soles slightly scrape backward against the floor, since the two different kind of powers couldn't occupy the same space and the stronger was claiming its room.
Amelia would have liked to gloat over their sharpened frowns and their tightening the grip on their Agiels, but she had a more urgent task to accomplish than to scorn the arrogance of those women.
She tilted her head to warn the Mord-Sith that she was about to move toward the injured woman. Then she hastily reached her Mistress, followed suit from a couple of wary Agiels and their carriers. The soft whine of those vicious weapons was a constant unnerving chant cried an inch behind her back, but Amelia ignored it. Instead she took a moment to stare at Zafire: her beauty was dulled by an unusual paleness; her face was taut and glistening with a thin layer of sweat. The awesome feline blue eyes were locked and couldn’t flash her with the usual intensity, which always reduced her in a bundle of confused quivers. The lying woman’s breath was quick and uneven and Amelia was coursed by a pang through her chest, hearing the pained whispers getting past through the same lips which had kissed her so eagerly until not long ago.
The Sister removed the cloth from the abdomen of the hurt woman. The tall Mord-Sith hadn’t lied when she said the body was compromised: it was a miracle if Zafire was still breathing. A horrible wide gash was opened in the wounded woman’s belly and her bowels were awfully visible from it; blood and other bodily fluids were spilling from that opening. The acrid stench and the gruesome sight drove retching and heavy nausea gripping on the pit of the Sister’s stomach; it also made her instantly shift to her lucid personality. But her purpose to save her Mistress didn’t change.
If the weaker part of her was bent to the Mord-Sith and willing to save her out of devotion, on the other hand her stronger part needed this woman alive for the time being, because she served her cause. The Sister relied on her capacity of influencing and manipulating this woman. On the capacity to put her hands on that precious little key if she wanted, without arouse suspicion and remaining unsuspected within Rahl's ranks, as her Lord wished. That was... not certainly the wish to hear Zafire's voice again... to cross her look with the deep blue of the ocean into her Mistress' eyes one more time... to feel the warmth of that lithe body on hers...
Amelia shook her head to shrug off distracting and nonsensical thoughts; she instead got herself to work.
The injury was deep and involved several vital organs, plus the infection had already spread widely in the Mord-Sith’s body. A few more hours and Zafire’s heart would be reached by the sepsis and would stop beating; unless the loss of blood wouldn’t kill her before. She concentrated and took Zafire's face in her hands before performing her enchantment: her magic began to flow from her fingers and to repair what had been damaged. It thoroughly kept on restoring balance in what had been upset and deftly giving new strength to what had been debilitated.
It took the red haired woman a lot of time and all of her energy to literally drag the Mord-Sith out of the threshold of the Underworld, but she succeeded. She was a great sorceress; the Keeper himself chose her and made her excellent.
But even so, she had underestimated the wound or maybe overestimated her powers. The fact remained that even if she turned out to save her Mistress from the immediate danger, the injured Mord-Sith was still extremely weak and vulnerable. The loss of blood wasn’t something Amelia could remedy and the gash in her abdomen - though mostly healed - was still open and could easily get infected again. There were several other less severe wounds spread all over the black braided woman’s body, which needed to be tended; Amelia had sensed them, but didn't have enough power to heal them. Zafire needed to be carefully cured and even so, it wasn’t taken for granted that she'd survive.
Amelia sank on her knees panting and completely exhausted; she couldn’t do anything more for her Mistress and was barely able to remain conscious.
“She's still in a critical condition… needs care...” She exhaled.
The two Mord-Sith behind her profited from her collapsing and locked the metal collar around Amelia's neck then began to drag her away to finally bring her back in her cell, but the Sister started to fuss with limp movements. The women in red leathers looked at their leader still standing in the room and waited for her orders. The Sister of the Dark had proved that she was sincere so far and she wasn’t certainly a menace in her current state of weakness, the tall Mord-Sith gauged. Furthermore she was again in check of the Rada-Han, therefore unable to make the slightest stand. She nodded, curios to see what this Sister of the Dark had in store. The two Mord-Sith fellows loosened the grip on the jailed sorceress.
Amelia faltered toward the bed and propped onto it lifting up her Mistress’ face. Then she lowered to kiss her forehead and murmured: “Mistress, be strong… resist… stay alive...”
Then she crumbled on the floor and gave up any resistance, letting the red-clad women drag her away.