chapter twelve.
an eye for an ear

Fallon dragged her feet at the back of the pack, kicking every stray rock unfortunate enough to cross her path. She did so with a grumble that she didn't bother hiding, though it did little to stir the attention of anyone but Astarion, who shot her a cursory glance over his shoulder every so often, always with a sly look of amusement. She buried her eyes in the ground below, a foul pout affixing to her lips. What a sorry state of affairs.

Until she was cured, Fallon's fate was that of a leper, kept at arm's length and best not interacted with, lest she get the wrong idea. Orikas had shored himself in her stead and he did not even feign bashfulness at the promotion. Fallon couldn't help from wallowing in self-pity. In the turn of a night, all had changed.

They took a short break at noon, beneath the shade of an oak. Fallon took it upon herself to rest on a sunbathed rock, back faced to the group and her legs crossed beneath her. She was starved by then, for as practiced as she was at long stints of hunger, she had not eaten for the better half of a day and it was beginning to wear. Her quick retreat became one of regret as her stomach bellowed. As if on cue, an outline cut against her own.

A link of salami, wrapped in thin linen, landed at her side. 

"I figured I best keep you satisfied. It wouldn't do for you to waste away after the evening we had."

She could hear his smile. Was it possible to know something so vividly after such a short while? Fallon shut her eyes yet it haunted her even behind the folds of dark.

"I'm not hungry."

"Here I was thinking you stubborn as a mule. Cut the moping." His voice grew sharp. "If you're at all concerned about the change, don't continue to take things lying down. You're better than that, aren't you?"

Fallon wanted to snap back but how could she? With the way things stood now, he was her last ally. Defeat quivered her brow and her rigid posture deflated. He was right, and worse still, he knew it. Just as she couldn't deny reality, neither could she fold to it. Doing so would leave her vulnerable, and such an affordance was still beyond her when it came to the vampire spawn. Astarion didn't wait to hear whatever percolated on her lips. As she heard him retreat, she unwrapped the link and took a sullen bite. The best she could do was hope that whoever this woman in the Wetlands was had an answer. 

When they resumed their journey, so too did the conversation ahead of her. Fallon feigned disinterest as her ears perked, picking up her pace just a hair to fall downwind of the chatter.

"The days of sitting around haven't done me any favours," Dalaia puffed, "I almost forgot how much of a misery it is to lug this thing around."

"I was ever so curious why a thief was carrying a halberd, seems counterintuitive frankly."

"Well I'm the back up, so to speak. Any trouble and that's where I come in, if these three manage to mess things up."

"Does that happen quite often?"

"Not nearly enough, but I get my cut regardless so I'm happy. Like I was telling you before, it's no different than what I was used to, y'know, back in the day."

"Hmm, what's harder? Corralling seven snotty-nosed tiefling children or playing clean up?"

"Can I answer that honestly?"

Fallon realised Dalaia was addressing her and flushed. It was the first acknowledgment Dalaia had granted her since starting on the road.

"Answer however you want. I'm not your keeper," Fallon mumbled.

"Oh ok." Dalaia nodded hastily. "Well, it depends on who messed up. See if it's Marth, then yes, because he's liable to trip over a flat surface if he isn't paying attention."

"I'm not that bad." Marth muttered. "You should try having limbs as long as mine."

"It's only when you're bumbling around in your regular form. I'm not at all knocking what you do otherwise, with all that druid stuff." Dalaia grinned, swiping stray hairs blown from the wind against her face. "Orikas handles his own, but those things he throws around take a toll on the mind. More than once I've had to throw him over my shoulder."

Orikas did not respond as Astarion let out a sharp note of laughter, but instinctually Fallon knew her brother was scowling in response. Nothing bothered Orikas as much as being exposed for his truth.

"And what about our dear leader? You must have a story or two."

Astarion's verbiage was not lost on Fallon. Something close to gratitude sparked in her chest. Dalaia paused to consider this.

"Fallon's nimble, like a seasoned hare in a trap. She always manages to burrow her way out. I would say it's more to do with presence when it comes to her, mostly stuff around Baldur's Gate. Y'know, negotiation and the like. Swatting off pests at the tavern. It's hard to be taken seriously when men see an opportunity to swindle."

"Have to ward off many zealous suitors?" If Astarion was trying to sound disinterested, Fallon saw through it.

"Hardly suitors. Unwanted attention's a better description, but all I gotta do is crack my knuckles and then bam! They realise I mean business and so does she." Dalaia paused. "Got many yourself back in the city? Don't take this the wrong way, but I imagine you to be popular with the ladies. And the gents! Whoever's the fancy."

He suddenly cleared his throat. Fallon dared to hazard a gaze to find Astarion fiddling with the collar of his shirt.

"Oh there's plenty of ways I've managed to have fun over the centuries, don't you worry."

Fallon frowned. What had she detected in his tone? Hesitation, a loose stone pressed where he would prefer it undisturbed. This confused her, given the way Astarion carried himself. Antagonistic as their interactions had been, they had held an undercurrent. His way of communication was a mix of snark, wariness and undeniable flirtation. Pressed on the latter's implications, he had become coy.

"And what of you? Any sweethearts awaiting you back home?"

"Pfft, I'm yet to meet anyone worthy of the bother."

"What would your criteria be?"

"Someone who can outpace me in a tavern."

"Ah, charming."

"Halt the talk." Orikas said with a raised hand. "We're fast approaching."

Fallon glanced upwards. The others ahead of her had reached the apex of the hill right before its decline. She forded the hill several steps in their wake, the trees thinning with the descent, replaced by mangroves with thick twisting roots dipping in and out of dappled waters. Humidity grew with each step, cloying the lungs with moist earth and herbacious scents. Water lapped at the bottom of the path, for there would be no hope of dry socks when the Wetlands soaked all that lay ahead.

Orikas did not hesitate before stepping past the threshold of dry ground. Not without a grumble, Dalaia and Marth followed after him. Fallon drew even with Astarion as he let out a snort of disgust. Even on Marth, the water was deep enough to swallow to the knee.

"How about I sit this one out? Let you all venture ahead while I look after the bags? Or just stand around looking pretty, I can do both."

"Oh, leave you alone to fend for yourself against whatever bog monsters are hiding in wait?" Fallon cocked an eyebrow. "Be our guest."

She swallowed her own discomfort and submerged the toe of her boot. Sun warmed as the water was, it didn't make the sensation any more palatable. It wasn't until she was wet to the thigh that she turned to find Astarion glaring in annoyance.

"If you think that trick is going to work on me, you're sorely mistaken."

"It's no trick! Just a statement of fact."

Fallon turned, only to hear a hurried splash behind her. She let herself smirk as Astarion appeared at her side with a scowl. 

"Bog monsters, you think yourself a jester, do you? Nothing here but sheep and frogs."

"And if any of them lay a hand on you, I'll be sure to protect you." Fallon replied with a shrug. "You're welcome."

The woman's house was easy enough to spot in the Wetlands, set atop a path of dry earth covered in lush grass. Its roof moss strewn and honed from wood that appeared to be from the surrounds, it almost looked like it had sprouted from the ground of its own accord. As the group emerged from the water, Marth pointed towards a painted sign beside a low shrub of lavender.

"Riverside Teahouse. This must be the place."

"A teahouse? Yes, seems like the spot. Do you imagine she's boiled the kettle already? You know, for the healing draught." Fallon muttered, trying to wring out the leg of her pants. Already this seemed like a complete waste of time.

"It's a lead. We follow leads, especially when it means it might help our friends." Marth's brow knitted together. "We just want the best for you, Fallon."

She straightened upwards abruptly beneath his gaze. Marth's plea might have been sincere, but all it had done was rub her wrong. Her arms rigid at her sides, she started for the front steps. Help her? She would help herself if it mattered so much.

Fallon made to thump her knuckles against the large wooden doors, but they opened with a flourish before she could even try. She found herself face to face with an old woman, her grey hair braided near the temples and wrapped in a firm bun, clothed in a teal and grey dress. She greeted Fallon with a warm smile, slender brows rising in pleasant surprise.

"Well hello there, dearie! Lovely to see such a pretty thing having wandered into these lush lands. I see you have company too, come in, please come in! You're just in time for dinner." She glanced over her shoulder as she stepped aside to make way. "Mayrina! Say hello to my guests."

The teahouse was filled with warm delicate light and reminded Fallon of a treehouse. She entered with hesitation, finding herself on a landing above a lower pit, though the floorboards climbed upwards to her left and she could just make out the rungs of a ladder climbing higher still. Below her, a girl of curled golden locks sat in a high backed velvet chair. She looked up mournfully from the lattice of a half-eaten pie, dark kohl streaking down her cheeks.

"H-Hello guests," she said through half-sobs. Fallon frowned, turning her attention back to the old woman as she hurried down the stairs. There was indeed a kettle puffing steam above the fireplace.

"So what'll it be? I sense a need for a hearty brew, would I be right?"

Marth cleared his throat, stepping as close as he dared to Fallon.

"Actually, we don't want any, er, tea or anything. We're here because we were told you might be able to help us. Our friend is in need of a healer, both of them do actually. Um, but we were never told your name?"

"Oh, call me Auntie Ethel! Everyone does. I'm a friend to all. Help? I'd love to help. Help with what exactly?"

She sounded keen, a little too much for Fallon's taste. Auntie Ethel had paused in front of the kettle but returned to face them, grinning a toothy smile. Fallon hadn't taken her eyes from Mayrina, the girl refusing to return the gaze. 

"Why is she so upset?" Fallon asked slowly. Auntie Ethel waved her hand in response.

"Don't address her, please, not until she's finished her food. Did you hear that Mayrina? Every last bite, and I won't say it again!"

"B-but Auntie Ethel!" Mayrina wailed. "I can't eat another bite! My stomach feels like it'll split in two."

"It'll split into more if you don't start chewing, girl!" Auntie Ethel snapped. She quickly adjusted her collar and resumed her smile once more, yet it did not find her eyes. "As we were discussing before the interruption, I would love to be of use. What seems to be the problem?"

"I'm the problem." Fallon replied flatly. "I doubt you'll be of any use. I don't like this. I want to go."

"We're going nowhere." Orikas said before Marth could interject. He shot a look of warning to the man. "She has an affliction."

"Would it be the one nesting behind those peepers? They're very curious, those eyes of yours. Quite peculiar indeed." 

Auntie Ethel leaned closer to inspect Fallon's eyes. She recoiled, raising her hands in response to halt the woman.

"Not so close. My touch would singe you." With a shiver, she realised there was something pleasant about the threat of it. Auntie Ethel frowned, her curiosity turning to Fallon's hands.

"It would? So you're not here about the worm then." Her voice fell flat. "Hmm, a pity. I was making quite a business out of the sorry souls who were searching for a cure. Much more profitable than the zealots, truth be told."

"I don't suppose you had one."

"No, but I've wracked up quite a collection!" Auntie Ethel grinned. "If it's not the illithid that worries you, then what else?"

"Like I said, I have a touch that spurns ever since the infection." Fallon chose to gloss over just how the tadpole had found its host. She liked this not one bit, she could smell a conman from a mile away. "Dalaia, show her your wound."

Dalaia cleared her throat as she unfurled her bandaged hand. The old woman bleated with curiosity at the sight of the tiefling's warped flesh. Fallon, too, could not hide her shock. She had expected a burn, but had been revealed was black and hewn as a tree fallen to a woodsman's axe. Beside Dalaia, Marth shuddered at the sight.

"Curious, nay, fascinating! Hmm ... Fine, I think I could be of help, but I need something in return."

"Not my eyes." Fallon said quickly.

"No, the eyes will not suffice. I need flesh! For knowledge, yes, nothing nefarious. I see you are a woman of capability, you'll put up a fight for your fingers. How about this? Your ears. No one really needs them, do they? They're just folds of skin and cartilage at the end of the day, aren't they, dearie?"

Fallon laughed but Auntie Ethel was not joking. As the truth sunk in, Fallon's face fell. Her ears. Perhaps the pick was smart, and she wondered if Auntie Ethel were capable of such insight. They had always been a bitter reminder of her lineage, the mark of Virric Mossdreamer's presence in her blood. It set her stomach sick to think of what would remain, two gaping holes at the sides of her head where the wind would catch and swirl, but she could always obscure them as she always had. Perhaps it would be easier without them.

"I'd be insane to consider it ..."

"Or smart! You do look like a clever little thing. The ears or the nose, it's cute as a button it is."

"If I were you, darling, I would spare us all that sight. Worse still, Orikas might mistake you for a githyanki woman, and I personally don't wish to entertain how that might end."

Dalaia, who was rewrapping her hand, made a retching noise.

"Gods, reel it back a little, would ya?"

"The ears." Fallon said quickly. "Just take the ears."

"Lovely. Not a problem!"

With little pause, Auntie Ethel waved her hand in the air. Fallon gasped as she felt a rush of air and a clawing pain, clamping her hands against her ears. Her stomach dropped when she found only a void. Her ears had been plucked clean from her skull and in their wake, noise hit her like the clang of a gong. She let out a cry. Even the distant hum of bugs was too much, clanging discordant in the confines of her ear canal. 

Auntie Ethel gazed hungrily at her boon, now hovering above her open palm. Through the curtain of her clenched eyelids, Fallon watched in horror as they floated like a pair of fleshy leaves. Auntie Ethel raised a hand to grasp one between her fingers. Her cry of pain caused Fallon to double over, gritting her teeth.

"Filthy!" Auntie Ethel decried, her volume piercing. "This was a ploy, wasn't it? Your friend does not need a healer. Nay, she needs a god!"

"What do— Sorry Fallon." Marth lowered his voice several octaves. "What do you mean?"

Fallon dared to level her gaze on the woman's fingers. Pads of flesh now bubbled, the whorl of her fingertips disfigured. All of Auntie Ethel's false cheeriness cleared and only a harsh scowl remained. The old woman glowered down at the her.

"Did warn you." Fallon managed through her teeth.

"Right you are, dearie, right you are." She turned to Marth, shaking her head bitterly. "What I mean is that her blood runs with a muck far beyond the reaches of its homeland. Shadowfell, a cursed plane where all hue dims and the bones of the dead form pyres higher than any mountain known in Faerûn. Only rivers that run in those valleys stink of decay."

"Sounds like my kind of place," Astarion said. Auntie Ethel let out a callous snort.

"Oh of course, such with your condition flock to dance among the Netherese. And dance they do! With the shadows and the shades, those twisted folk who shed their mortal form and don the black to hide their withered husk beneath. Damned foul beings, couldn't be contained either, had to try infecting beyond their means. A blessing it was that Thultanthar fell upon Myth Drannor when it did, who knew where else that floating city would have blown next. Place was a blight on all who managed to set their eyes upon it."

"But I've never been to Shadowfell, nor Thultanthar." Fallon interjected. She had recovered from the initial shock, though her hands remained as they were. "I certainly don't possess a drop of Netherese blood. You are clearly mistaken. I'll be having my ears back, and properly intact. I said you would be of no use, now look how things have turned out."

Fallon spoke with convict but she could feel the weight of her friend's gazes upon her, their suspicion palpable. First Dalaia's hand, then this talk of Shadowfell? They would have been foolish not to heed it. Fallon knew this in her bones, forcing herself upright. Even if they doubted her, she wouldn't. She couldn't. Virric's lineage to Feywild was well-known and afforded his status. And Cosmel? Well, her mother had been a cleric of Selûne, her prayers spoken to the Moonmaiden. A healer and a tender whisper, not born of whatever necrotic evil crept the lands of Shadowfell.

Auntie Ethel shook her head sharply.

"Oh dearie, a deal is a deal. Is this your first lesson in consequence? As much as I hate to be cruel, one can only learn from their mistakes."

Fallon's hand leapt to her side, loosening her dagger. A swift flick of her wrist, she levelled it at the old woman's throat.

"Then I'll have to take something of my own."

A grumble of annoyance, Fallon felt its tremor against her steel.

"Fine! I pity you, you have truly no idea of what's to come. I have my suspicions, to be sure ... Perhaps I could share them?"

"Fine. And what of the ears?"

The woman rolled her eyes, motioning as much as she dared to Fallon's blade. Slowly she lowered it. Auntie Ethel smiled, her eyes wary, clicking her fingers. Fallon watched as her own flesh dissolved to nothing in the palm of the woman's hand, a tight pressure at the sides of her head. Beneath her hands she found purchase, yet as she began to lower her hands, she realised something with a drop of her stomach. 

Her ears were back, drooped like the petals of a wilting flower. There would be no more hiding their presence.

A shadowy form remained above Auntie Ethel's open palm. She descended the short stairs to the fireplace where a stone bowl rested on a wooden table. It resembled a mortar better than anything meant to be eaten out of, the basin of which swirled with what looked to be murky water from a bog. She upended her hand into its open mouth.

"I have an inkling," Auntie Ethel said, "let's see if it's true."

A sharp gust filled the hut, a collective bang as the shutters and door slammed closed. The group jumped, their confusion turning to horror as the interior was thrown into a false dusk. A beckoning fog coated the floor below, it licked at their ankles and hummed like a tuneless chorus. Fallon gasped as she saw the arcane light of Orikas's soulknife cut through the dim, snuffed near instantly. Her brother cursed loudly.

"Calm yourselves! Keep your wits!" Astarion shouted, for Marth had begun to babble beneath his breath.

"The walls!" Marth cried. "Look at the walls!"

Figures had appeared around them, imposing silhouettes stretching against wood. Fallon recoiled, for their gaze was blind yet it felt as though each pierced the thin veil of her skin. Then to her surprise, her fear waned and in its place, the unmistakable sensation of belonging. She realised she knew them, as much as she knew herself, though she could not possibly fathom why. As Fallon found one who stood tallest among the twelve, she saw the figure of a woman dash from the confines of the figure's silhouette, movements jerky as a shadow puppet in the hands of a chid. To the single barren wall, the figure ran in a frantic sprint.

A snap of fingers broke the air. With a startle, Fallon realised the motion was her own. Shadow melted from the walls, crawling along with the fog back into the mortar. Once more, Fallon heard the sound of bird song, the far off slosh of water against the wetland banks. Peace, tranquillity. Fallon breathed a ragged sigh.

"What was that?" Marth's tone was wary. Auntie Ethel ascended up the stares, the mellow smile having resumed on her lips.

"A picture paints a thousand words, someone wise once said. From what we all just bore witness to, it seems as though my guess may well be right."

"And what guess would that be?"

The second she had spoken, Fallon wished she hadn't. Auntie Ethel's weathered lips parted to reveal her yellowed teeth. Whatever she had to say was sure to sow discord, and Auntie Ethel harvested this with glee. She had the callous eyes of one who was no stranger to despair. Fallon cursed herself. She had played right into the woman's hand.

"Why, that your soul treads a road that will leave it disfigured beyond recognition, dearie! You seethe with shadow magic, just as many before you, bards who serenaded the shadows to jig with their melody and lyricism. A foolish lot, who would prattle and preen with their newfound audience, only to find this magic was not in service to them but to a curse that dates back to the Shadowking of Talfir, Verraketh Talembar. 

"That which bowed to them in charm would soon bring them to their knees as its strength grew, splitting the wielder in two. Those wise would gut themselves before they twisted beneath Verraketh's fist, others fell and played puppet with undead shade. For as long as no other Shadowking existed, the curse would foster such sorry souls to his deathly song, marching forth so that his legacy would rise once more."

Fallon looked down at her hands and then to the others. She had once thought it impossible to see her brother pale, and yet she found him white as snow. Dalaia clutched her bandaged hand. Marth had taken a step back. It was Astarion alone who met her eye, though this brought Fallon no consolation. His eyes shone with a devilish splendour. This could not bode well.

"So how do I fix it? All curses have breaking points." Fallon's voice was ailed with tension. Split in two? Undead shade? The information was all too much, none of it good. "I'm not ... I'm not dying, am I?"

"Your new ears make you look so forlorn, it pulls at the heart strings. I'll throw you this last bone. Humour an old woman with her turns of phrase, it gets boring out here with only ungrateful company. You are not dying, but there are some fates worse than death. Your body is not your own, so long as you are breathing."

"You didn't answer the question. What can I do?"

"My bones wheeze, my back aches. If you want a word more, then put something else on the table. Perhaps the druid's lips for a tune from my own? And what of the tiefling's wound? I could take a horn or two to fix it!"

"Enough of your trade offers," Fallon snapped, "answer me or I'll slit your throat."

"Don't you dare threaten me again, you insolent little brat!"

She took a step back, Auntie Ethel's voice had rung with more than simple fury. An earthen sound, like wet soil squelched beneath the heel, hinted in her voice. Not for the first time, Fallon suspected there was more than met the eye to the woman, and she certainly didn't want to find out what.

"We'll find another way then."

"A wise choice, my sweet. Now run, I'm done with entertaining the likes of you. But do stop by in the future, if you ever get another itch. You'll know where to find me." Auntie Ethel raised a finger to her bottom lip. "Best of luck to you, dearie. Though a piece of advice, on the house so to speak. Waste not a second more. Take that dagger of yours and ram it to your windpipe! Because the last who fell to this curse first swallowed his pride and then swallowed all his friends along with him. Anyhow, toodle-oo!"