Nightspun (#ONC_2020)

Chapter 11 - Waneward

Sybil awoke to find herself alone and in a completely unfamiliar room.

She sat upright within an old armchair, the golden glow of the Sunspire against the morning sky providing more comfort than she had ever known. She could feel her lingering Sunspell exhausted by what had happened but she knew Dewdrop was still alive. 

She hoped Siara was too.

But as her Sunspell reflected off the silver adorned walls it made her realise where she was. Struggling to stand, Sybil winced at the sight of her bandaged arms and legs and charged her Sunspell as much as it could go.

"Burstia!"

Sybil took mammoth steps towards the door, finding it locked and breaking it open with her newfound strength and speed. She didn't care about anything else but finding Siara. She was her Last Witness and she had to be there if it killed her.

As Sybil barged her way through the corridors still fueled with her own Sunspell, the whispers of Bridge's Keep and 'Outcropper scum' carried across the halls. Thankfully she hadn't been dressed in a Sunfall gown and still had her clothes from her home in Waterdown. Either she had been seen by the healers and already discharged or was waiting for results and placed in a waiting room until then. Too bad she didn't remember any of it or she wouldn't have broken protocol. 

"How is she?"

Sybil heard a voice around the corner and came to a grinding halt. The male elf was a respectful distance away on the sun-dappled bench far cleanlier on the one she had sat on with Amira. The Nightspell elf asked out of courtesy more than anything, his attire far more casual than the robes of the Crestmoon healers.

"We've tried all we can to replenish her supply of Sunspell but she's rejecting it. Even the High Suncaster herself tried to reignite her Casting…" 

Sybil didn't need to listen to any more. She knew it was about Siara. She froze as she remembered the last time she was in the Waneward. Her grandmother had the Chilling, the healers unable to do anything except ask the High Casters for advice again and again. It wouldn't work and getting past them to see Siara was about as easy as avoiding the sting of a beesnap flower.

"What about the Heritage tests?" 

Sybil already knew the answer, unable to repeat seeing the memory of Siara's face when she refused to provide her blood for the High Nightspinner. 

"Her Sunspell is dwindling but we can't allow anyone to see her right now. The chances of the Chilling spreading with your own power interacting with hers is...too great. I'm sorry, High Nightcaster."

Sybil held in her disdain for Rayner and focused on the facts. It was like time was repeating itself. There was no cure for the Chilling. It was in Siara's hands, they said. Just like before.

 Her Sunspell would eventually turn colder and lead to the same outcome. The Chilling would take her just like the rest of her family. That they didn't want her near anyone in case it spread. That meant her chances of seeing Siara were now down from slim to none. She had wasted her chance.

"Damnit, damn it all."

Sybil's heart raced and in a burst of Sunspell she ran past them anyways, desperate to catch at least a glimpse of her mother. before the end and dived straight for the ward she was in, jamming the doors behind her. She was now in isolation. Separated by a pane of glass but still separated. 

The Icebox was for terminally ill patients who needed controlled temperature rooms: warm for Sunspell, cold for Nightspell and humid for Stormspell. The rest had separate quarters on the other side of Neridia and although she knew of Rain and Earthspell elves she had yet to truly meet one.

"Siara!" She called aloud, hoping to see a glimpse of her roaming the halls.

Still covered in strong smelling manure and grass stains, Sybil headed towards the most secluded section of the Icebox before peering behind the fogged up glass. She couldn't see Siara but the touch of her mother's Sunstress brand was unmistakable. It was everywhere and nowhere and before long, everything Sybil had been through came crashing down at the thought of her mother.

"Hi....I guess. Looks like avoiding apologies for twenty years is our thing then?" Sybil said, laughing awkwardly despite the sombre mood.

She could only see the faint fuzzy outlines of the light blue Crestmoon robes, the faint sound of her mother's breathing, the rhythm of her dwindling Sunspell beating against her heart. 

She remembered the last time she was here, being told off by her mother for trying to draw pictures on the glass. Grandmamma had always let her draw on the fogged up glass at home, sometimes using it to Nightspun with and tell her stories. But in every good memory of her childhood, Siara was either absent or stern. It was always her Grandmamma who showed her the way forward. Until she had to do that on her own.

"Well, the damn Crestmoon cult won't let me in to see you right now since I could make things worse so...I guess now was the right time to tell me about your illness, huh?"

Suddenly her Sunspell flared into life, all the anger and frustration from the last fifty years pouring out in one fell swoop.

"Is that why you kicked me out? Couldn't bear to see your only daughter care for you, is that it? Didn't want to burden me with the truth? Is that why you had Amira and Garrett babysit me and why he…"

Sybil held in a sob her emotion almost overtaking reason as she muffled it with her arm. Barely keeping her Sunspell in check, she swallowed her pride and kept her voice in check. It was like she was back being a Nightspun again, telling the tale of Daybreak hill and how it came crumbling down.

"Did he leave because of this, then? Is that why he only came at night to see you only to leave again? Did he know? Did he...did the Casters cause this, Siara? Did he know how much you loved him? Was it worth it? Was I...worth it?"

Much like the scene before her, Sybil's memory of her father was very hazy. She remembered how warm he was, how he liked to burn everything he cooked, how he always brought home food from the forest but almost all of it would be inedible or poisonous. 

She remembered how he was always on edge, how the fireplace got ruined because he wrestled with it one two many times. But most of all, she remembered how he looked when she saw him as an adult for the first time. He looked old. Far older than any Nightspell elf she had seen before.

 His face was unclear, always hidden in shadow with one arm tight round her mother's waist like he belonged there. Like he never left. He was a fake, like a thief in the night and by the time her mother saw him for what he was he was gone. And so was she.

"He wasn't even there for me, you weren't even there for me, neither of you wanted…this so tell me why! Why can't I hate you? Why did you have to push me away too? Why didn't you tell me, I could've done something, I could've looked after you, I could've been given a choice!"

Sybil slumped to the ground, hot and cold and shivering all at once as she clung to the cool sensation of the glass, unaware of the Crestmoon cavalry running towards her.

But then, like some kind of twisted miracle the door slid open. Rayner stood a little ways away, a permanent scowl on his face. He wasn't wearing his robes but a brown jumper and slacks, highly unusual for such a stuck up leader. 

"You have one visit. Make it count."

Sybil's mouth opened in shock, half expecting an 'I told you so' or a lecture about breaking his and Garrett's nose but he simply departed from the throng of people. She could barely register her own ghost-like movements and the bickering of the other healers but in some dream-like state she heard a phrase she never thought possible from the High Nightcaster.

"Your father was right. You would've made a wonderful Nightspun."