Side A – Nia
Home can be a lot of things. It can be where family waits for you. It can be where you have a bed waiting to collapse into. It can be the place you grew up even if you flew the nest years ago.
On opening her eyes, Nia was surprised to learn that, for her, “home” had become where Margrada was.
A butterfly of love fluttered in her heart at the realization.
It was quickly followed by a swarm of panic butterflies when she looked to her side and saw what that meant.
Beside her, as she kept playing – because she could not let Margrada, Osdora, and Gossma down – three elven women were taking in the sights of the Stoneling mountains, as well as the crowd of Stonelings who’d gathered around, with wonder and/or astonishment in their eyes.
Also, vines were trying to wrap themselves around Nia’s Shatter Drum.
In a burst of prioritization which she felt would make Horgi, Grash, and all the Roadies proud, Nia cast Naosha, Marianne, and Kyra from her thoughts for a moment and focused on the drum.
We need to keep this safe, she told her companion.
May I? her companion asked with undisguised glee.
She could have interrogated the former-Trouble, but something in the sheer joy it glowed with told her she could simply trust it.
You absolutely may, she said and watching as the fire which had been lingering on her hands rushed off and consumed the vegetation, not like a flame burning them to ash but like a ravenous creature tearing its prey to pieces.
The Roadies had all of a half second to flinch at fire engulfing the drum before Nia’s companion scampered back onto her hands, leaving the drum completely free of the vines which had sought to burrow into it.
“She changed it?” Grash said, nearly inciting a riot before Horgi put a hand to hold him back from taking the drum from Nia.
“Nah. Look at it,” he said. “That’s our drum. Remember what it looked like back in Frost Harbor? It’s not new, it’s clean!”
Which was somehow a holy revelation for the Roadies and prevented them from tearing Nia limb from limb.
Good work, she told her companion and gave her attention over to repairing the wreck she’d made of their carefully constructed rhythm.
Only to find that the rhythm was fine.
In fact it was stronger than it ever had been.
And it was easy to hear why.
Why do we all sound so close together? Nia asked the three other women who were effectively sitting right beside her.
Because we are, Osdora said, playing the words into her part of the song.
Which probably isn’t a good thing, Margrada said. We were trying to figure out how to stop the two realms from mixing.
Yeah, you don’t want to do that, Gossma played back.
In fact we may need to mix them even more, Osdora played. Nia, be a dear and see if your mother can convince the Roadies to bring all of the drums out of storage. We’re going to need more players for what comes next. A lot more.
Side B – Yasgrid
Grasping Endings’ soul brought Yasgrid a measure of comfort. She’d surmised that Endings wasn’t simply a construct of divine power – the true nature of the Troubles as beings enslaved to a role in the Elven Gods creation scheme for the Darkwood had pointed her in that direction – but there is a wide gap between what she had at first only suspected and then believed enough to take a leap of faith toward versus holding tangible proof in her arms.
Unfortunately, being proven right did not resolve the calamity which was growing ever more intense around her.
“What have you done?” the soul which had been Endings asked.
“Something someone should have done a long time ago,” Yasgrid said.
There is no controlling this, the Darkwood said its words drowned in the roar of the storm that remained of Endings.
“Yes. There is,” Yasgrid said. “You can do it.”
“I don’t know how, but you’ve sundered me from my bindings,” the soul said. “I could not reclaim them even if I wished to.”
“And you don’t wish to,” Yasgrid said. Freedom could be as traumatic as bondage but she had chosen to believe that the soul trapped within Endings would prosper once released.
“I am not used to wanting anything. Not even the destruction of the Troubles. That wasn’t desire. It was purpose.”
“But not your own. Not one you chose, or were given any choice in bearing.” Yasgrid had guessed that from edges which prevented Endings speaking about aspects of itself. The crystal blade was allowed to do many things but never reflect upon itself.
“I feel…I feel unformed. I had been a tool for so long. And I did not hate my bearers. I don’t know if I chose my role. I do not remember choosing it, but so many memories seem to be lost to me. I cannot recall who I was, or what I was before I was the blade.”
“None of those are as important as who you choose to be now, and who you become tomorrow,” Yasgrid said.
“I will not be a blade. Or a tool to anyone else,” the soul said. “Not even you.”
“My hand is your in friendship only,” Yasgrid said. “I will never wield or manipulate you again.”
“You will let me go and choose my own path as you’ve done with the others whose hearts you bear.” The soul wasn’t guessing at that so Yasgrid didn’t waste her words confirming it.
If that one will not reclaim its position then the power it carried will never cease raging, the Darkwood said. All will be undone. The work of my creation, and all other creations.
“Everything will be okay,” Yasgrid said. “I know how Endings power can be controlled, and this soul isn’t the one who can do it. You are.”