What Secrets Await

Chapter 2: Redcliffe

{picture: this is Maeva}

Skylarks and bush sparrows chirped loudly as she awoke from deep sleep. Her burned arm was aglow with warmth. It was tender but also felt improved. Human voices spoke not far away, saying that supplies were coming and all was safe now, that the Inquisition was protecting everyone and everything in the valley.

From her position lying on her side, she opened one eye. The morning light hit the topmost peaks that surrounded the crux of the valley. For a few moments she couldn't remember where, when, or even who she was, until the memories came rushing back in the form of eyes, faces, screams, tears, and stars.

All that really did happen , she told herself.

She sucked in a long breath then forced herself up to her feet, stretching to work out the soreness in her legs while looking around. Ten times the survivors she'd seen yesterday had seemingly come out of the woodwork. The little township of the Crossroads was a bustle of activity; people unloading supplies from carts, hammering and sawing to repair the small buildings, the healer's hut nearby tending to the wounded that had only just arrived.

Her stomach growled at its emptiness. Eager to move about and avoid thinking of sadness, she set off to find food.

A quarter hour later her belly was contented by a meager breakfast of military rations. Determined, Maeva headed down the western path toward the tunnel that she'd been forced through yesterday.

The valley had truly transformed overnight. Some people stood talking along the road as if it were any other day but others were still in shock. She passed multiple banners draped from pikes stating that this area was under protection of the Inquisition. Their insignia's sword and sunburst reminded her of the dark gentle face and armored hand that was extended toward her last night.

As she passed by the townsfolk she overheard sobs, growls, and cheers about the Inquisition. The story of their rise stimulated a variety of opinions, so far mostly positive. Apparently, the continued rebellion between rebel Circle Mages and renegade Templars had escalated dramatically since the Temple of Sacred Ashes was destroyed. The Inquisitor had somehow survived the explosion, and had the power to close the rifts. Then they'd arrived at the Crossroads and fought off the rebels. " The Inquisition saved us! " said the townsfolk.

Not fast enough , thought Maeva.

She approached the darkness of the intervalley tunnel with relief. Slipping into its shadows she felt a tear escape her eye.

The familiar glint of the metal chest near a sconce on the right caught her eye, just like it would of anyone that passed through the tunnel. The lit-up chest was always a useful decoy and distraction. At this, she turned and walked to the left wall instead, away from the light.

She sat down on a rock as if to adjust her boots. This was out of protective habit; she was already confident that the shadows hid her movements well enough, and that no one was around. She reached back into the darkness behind the rock then her hand returned with a pair of long iron daggers in twin leather sheaths. Another quick pinch from the shadows retrieved her hardened leather jerkin and pouch belt.

She slipped the jerkin over her head and tightened it around her torso. Straps wound overtop to secure the dagger sheaths to her back. She tightened her belt, allowing the attached pouches of trap-makings and poison-waxes to rest atop the skirt of the jerkin. Within less than a minute she resumed an unhurried walk through the tunnel passage.

As she rounded the corner that exited the tunnel, her sight involuntarily landed on the spot where her mother died. It didn't matter than it was over a hundred paces away. That spot would be forever branded onto her mind and spirit. She halted at the mouth of the tunnel. Near the dreaded spot, a few people stood around a wagon that carried a heap of dead bodies. A Chantry sister spoke rites at them. A pair of mourners wept as they listened.