The Wandering Saiin

[Valindria]

We all began as something else.
-The Purifier

Valindria strode into Naarunti’s Library, a hand lifting to fondly brush the portrait of a lovely woman as she passed. A delicate fingertip slid along the bottom of the frame, as a fleeting smile came and went on the healer’s lips. Naarunti was a darling of a woman, roughly of age with her own mother. A stern taskmistress when you were pressed into service with sorting scrolls and books, the ever-needed dusting of shelves and lecterns; and the frequent need of a courier – for Naarunti, the Golden Scribe – was also one of the focal points of information that came and went from the Conclave. It could be argued, that she knew everything the Serving Master knew. Sometimes before he knew it. She was modest though, and would never hover this fact over others.

Naarunti kept a gloriously tidy mess of her Library, and like most keepers of infinite scrolls; knew where everything was so long as you didn’t touch anything. If you really, really had to; it had to go right back. She had succeeded in teaching everyone else this very simple command, and only the luckiest spy would fool her seeming omnipotence in her own Library.

It was helpful that Naarunti was away from the Library. And Anaie was one of the lucky.

The scrolls were often stored in two ways, one was in a neat pyramid situated in a cubby type bookcase; the other was in a box clustered end upwards, so the colored ribbons could stick out and readily identify to the attuned what each one must be. None of these boxes were labeled, presumably to frustrate attempts to easily catalogue the contents or decode the system that Naarunti had devised for the storage of the Conclave’s data worth recording. It could also be presumed that dossiers of each member, past and present; would be among the data deemed worth recording.

Valindria knew, because like her parents and brother before her; she had seen her name and earned title etched in blood into one of these venerable scrolls. The parchment was treated in a sort of resin and preserved via means that Naarunti did not share. There was one to list all of Val’s accomplishments of note, and when. When she had been accepted into the Conclave, if she was married. If there were children, their names and when they were born; and who their father was. If she had met her end, when and how. All of this would eventually be recorded, a way for the Conclave to honor a sister. For her memory to not be forgotten, so long as Silvermoon stood. So long as the Conclave endured.

Anaie was certainly sure to read said scroll if she came across it.

That was the only thing Val could think of when she saw Anaie with her gloved hand in a cubby, apparently in the act of returning a scroll she had perused. The hand that had brushed the portrait fell to her side, fingers curling slightly as though to reach into the pocket of her robe. It was so brief, the tableau; then when a male voice sounded in query behind her, Time resumed its usual march. So, this was how it was going to be.

With the rustle of her robes, she turned like she might have done in reply to that male voice. Barely a minute later, after a responding question had left her lips; the owner of the male voice walked into the Library. His eyes widened slightly as though in flat disbelief of what he saw – one of his colleagues with a hand upon the Scribe’s usual lectern, leaning like she was faint. He moved immediately to her aid, his sword quiet in its sheath as he laid a hand upon her while an annoyed expression formed on his face. The second he did, she jerked away from his grip; her hands filming over in a blinding sheen. The runic aura at her feet changed from its usual soothing sky blue, to the red of warning. In his instinct to steady his balance, he placed a gauntleted hand upon an innocent stack of trays; spilling them and their paper contents to the floor in a jarring clatter. Both hands pointed at him as she struck, the force of it alternately catching him off guard and opening the window of opportunity even further. The healer took the chance when it presented, three more times she smote the man down. Eyes narrowed, hands lowering to her sides; she exhaled in a sigh as she bent over him, quickly determining that he breathed no more. His chestplate nearly glowed with the heat of the ire she brought upon him, so much that there was very little blood, it having been burned away. The metal showed black marks where the strikes had landed.

She didn’t look back. If Anaie was smart, she would have used the opportunity to depart.

Some time later, Valindria sat down in the Hall of the Shield and looked at the palms of her hands. The plush velvet cushion under her felt very immediate, a sensation that grounded her in the harsh versus the gentle. Gentle would have been the peaceful passing in one’s sleep in their due time; instead of the harsh gravity of accusation that sucked one down before the hourglass was done. But she had expected that this may happen, merely waiting for the time to act.

[Valindria]

“Valindria, what has happened here?” The man said. He was dressed in his ceremonial robes, a simple affair of ivory linen and silk. His age showed, his standing amongst his people venerable; unassailable as to his reputation. His pointed ears were pierced once to each side. He looked down at her for a long moment; then exhaled softly and took the seat next to her. As soon as she had reported that Gorion was dead, he had asked her to return to the Library. And so, she now sat in the same chair she would occupy when she came to see Naarunti.

She had looked up at him when he had spoken, then away again. Her hands were now folded neatly in her lap, the bottom hand’s fingers fidgeting with the soft fabric of her robe. Summoning the words that were needed, she looked over at him again.

“Gorion was in Naarunti’s Library when I stopped by to see if she was about. He had been looking through the scrolls, presumably for something specific. He took umbrage at my arrival, and by his attitude I considered him a threat. In my response, I struck as he began to draw his sword. I am contrite, though I suspect that he was looking for information to feed to our enemies. He rarely comes here, and his disregard of scholars is known.” She sighed softly, her expression becoming neutral as she awaited whatever judgment he elected to impose.

Lorius, the Serving Master and longtime leader of their Conclave; studied her silently for long moments. His face was solemn, though it did not reach his eyes; keen as they were – detecting any falsehood. After a small eternity, he also sighed softly. The exhalation disturbed his pale hair, long in the years he let it grow as it willed. He chose his words carefully, his tone gentle. “Do you believe Gorion was a spy?”

“Yes, my lord.” Her expression did not change. She met his eyes, green upon green, without flinching – allowing him unfettered access to judge her words.

“You did not consider notifying us before acting, because you were convinced he would attack you?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“How long have you suspected that he was a spy?”

“Only recently, my lord. But my instincts have never failed me. I kept my silence because I could not prove it, and he had been with us long enough for you to know if he played us false.”

“We shall see. Ferron and Relanta will find the answers I require.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“You will be present when his spirit is called back, Valindria.”

“Yes, my lord.”

He rose, his hand reaching out to touch her shoulder lightly; like her father would do when she was maudlin.

“I believe you. But I must observe the forms, even if it undermines your position.” He strode away in quiet whisks, leaving Gorion’s body where it lay. The papers and scrolls that had been upended were equally ignored.

Valindria stood as well, her expression unchanged. “I know.” The words were soft, with a gentle finality.

The Library was a wreck. Naarunti was going to be livid.



The judgment had been favorable. She would not be tried and executed for murder. The summoning had been difficult. Gorion apparently thought he still felt his injuries in death, and Valindria kept the memories of the rituals to herself. Afterward, she returned to her residence, a modest three room apartment that was sparsely furnished, but still neatly arranged with things she liked to look at. One of her prize possessions was a crystal statue, which was enchanted to respond to her touch; the lovely face resolving into the image of her mother, who had departed from the world. Her smile was loving, gentle; and it always brought a sense of peace to her daughter.

Valindria, the Wandering Saiin, moved to sit in the center of the two person loveseat, and looked around the room. Then she turned to the window nearby; and stared out through the glass that separated her from ... everything. Tomorrow, she would gather what she owned and leave here. Not to wander as she had done as part of the Conclave, but to take her place amongst the Grim.

Peace through annihilation.