"Hill of the Wind”, or “Weathertop” as it was called by Breelanders, was rightly named, but even its howling gusts couldn’t deter her from her task this night. Why she felt that it had to be here, under the careful watch of the full moon, was still unknown to her. It was a gut feeling that she couldn’t explain, nor did she care to think about it too much as her pale-green eyes watched the red drip from the bright silver steel of the ceremonial blade and her newly slashed palm into a melted pool of wax.
Slowly, the blood swirled through the hot yellowish liquid, eventually turning it a hue of burnt orange as the marriage of the two neared completion. Catalinna nodded to herself, satisfied with the result, and carefully removed the mixture from the flame to pour into a candle mold. After setting the wick, she pulled out her flask and walked to the edge of the summit to enjoy the view as she waited for it to cool.
Time seemed to pass slowly, but perhaps that was just her impatience to see if this would actually bring her the answers she was seeking. She took one more sip from the flask and walked over to check the mold for the tenth time; finally, it was ready. Without pause, she turned the metal container over and slid the candle out into her right hand for inspection. Her slender fingers glided over the firm, bumpy surface of the top of the candle and then down the perfectly smooth, slick sides; and as she turned it over in her hands, the deep orange color almost seemed to glow in the moonlight. It was now ready, and so was she.
Cat looked around one more time to make sure that no one had followed her and then took one more shot of the moonshine before lighting the wick. As the twisted strands of cotton accepted the fire, she stepped back and pulled herself up to sit on the ledge just above the burning candle. The flask once again found its way to her lips as she closed her eyes; and as she breathed in the smoke and the scent of the blood-infused tallow wax, she thought of his face- the face she saw frequently in her nightmares.
At first, the flame flickered as the vulnerable fire was pushed around by the steady breeze, but as the candle burned, the wind stopped and a sense of unearthly quiet descended on Amon Sûl. The air felt heavy and thick, and it seemed to be warmer than it was before. In the stillness, the sound of metal on stone could be heard from far away, and the occasional cry of beast or man would break the silence as time itself would seem to slow down.
Cat grinned to herself at feeling this strange shift; she knew that he had received the summons. Opening her eyes, she took one more sip from her flask and then screwed the top back on before standing so that she could await his arrival. No sooner had she stood, a man, big in stature and powerfully built with a face that seemed almost ageless, suddenly appeared next to her. He was wearing a blood red tunic and leggings instead of his normal robe, and his steel grey hair was cut short.
Desad, the Deacon of the Last Breath, sat on the boulder casually at ease with his fine leather boots stretched out, and smiled at Cat, his teeth flashing with silver inlays. He glanced down at the burning candle and shook his head in amusement. "Well....I must admit this IS a surprise. Someone has been whispering tips into your delicate ear, witchspawn.”
The red-headed woman looked down at him; if she had been surprised by his sudden appearance next to her, her face did not show it. "You're not the only one full of ‘em, hm? Surprises that is." She flashed him a devilish grin as she moved to sit back down. "I see we're bein' all relaxed and informal, hm? Fine by me." Once seated, she held out the flask of moonshine to him.
The man sipped the liquor and handed it back. "If it weren’t for the surprises, this job would become quite tiresome.” His eyes turned to evaluate her. “Shadow magic, now THAT is an interesting wrinkle.”
Cat winked at him as though she was fully confident in this 'magical' thing she just did, though inwardly she didn't know the first thing about magic and she was somewhat surprised herself that it worked. "Your specialty, hm? Raisin' things from the shadow?... Makes me question if you're dead, and if so, do I now get control of ya?"
Desad raised an eyebrow. "Shadow...MY specialty?” A sudden realization came into his expression. “Ahhhh, I see; you have no idea what just happened, you just followed someone's directions. No matter, the Witchfire sleeping in your soul must have some bite to it after all. Due to the rules imposed by the summoning, whether you are aware of them or no, you didn't call me to fight so… I assume you think you have a question?”
Cat grinned at him. "You mean you don't already know why I called you here? I was told by your associate, who's dead again now by the way, that you've been talkin' to people about me."
The Deacon’s head bobbed slightly from side to side as he thought about which of his ‘servants’ she might be speaking of. “My associate, now dead you say?... I have many dead associates, you will need to be more specific.”
Cat shook her head in amusement. "Must get borin' for ya, workin' with all those dead personalities, hm?" She paused for a moment to chuckle at her own jest before continuing. "But I was speakin' of the one in that bridge town that was supposed to rouse the old bat from her grave."
Desad thought for a moment, then nodded. "Ahhhhh, I understand.” He flashed a wicked, silver-toothed smile. “Well then, he got a bit chatty did he? Not surprising....the dead so seldom get a chance to date.”
"Eh, I'm not in the market for a lad right now," she said as she wafted her hand at him. "...and that one, especially, wasn't my type; I like for them to have a better head on their shoulders, not one that's been decapitated before."
Desad laughed softly."Well, truth be told, you never know where they have actually been before they buy you a drink and tell you that you have beautiful eyes before commencing with all that groping, do you? More of them have been decapitated in the past then you would expect. But… I suggest you get to your point or I am going to begin to think THIS is a date...and careful, Daddy may spank.”
His last statement caused her to laugh loudly. "Don't flatter yourself, silverteeth; you'd have to buy more stout than you could afford before you could even think about a date with me and even then, that’s a big ‘nah’… But anyway, I brought you here for business matters… to see if we could work out some deal, hm?"
The Deacon raised both eyebrows. "A deal? Well, this is novel...Very well then, what sort of "deal" are you offering?”
Cat shook her head and then lifted the flask to her lips to take a good swig from it before answering. "I have a few questions first, hm? The old bat spoke of a deal that she made with you, or maybe it was with another of your people- not too sure, she likes speakin' in riddles... Anyways, I want to know what that deal was."
Desad nodded softly. "Very well, this could be useful… Many long years ago, the Witches began to dwindle due to time and tide and the rise of the darkness in the East, and most of them realized that their precious barbarians were soon to be wiped out by the forces of Angmar as well as their former ‘brothers.’ Many of these Witches came to us and made an offer; they would provide the Guild of the Unsealed what it desired most in return for the lives of the others.”
His soulless gaze turned to look toward the North as he continued, “Your ancestor, the witch Moyna, counted ancient and great amongst her kind, made such an offer and it was accepted. For decades she had roamed the wasteland of Aughaire as a "healer" but now she culled those same hills like a wraith and the locals began to call her the ‘Soulreaper’; she would draw the children of the Trev Gallorg to her and then give them over to the slavepits of the Unsealed. Some of these served us in life, others in death, but ALL served, even the Soulreaper… that is, until the day the Witch wanted out of her bargain. She came to the fortress of Carn Dum and offered a deal upon the Brazen Scales to Donark, the Paymaster of Mordor…”
Cat inwardly cursed that he spoke a name- there was no one here with her to help her remember it, but such was the risk she took and it would have to be so for now. As he continued to speak, she remained silent and tried to absorb all the information that she could.
“… She told him that she would renounce the Witchfire, allowing it to burn out once and for all, and that she would leave those lands, never more to be involved in the matters of Angmar. In return, she would be released from her original agreement and her spawn would be allowed to live in peace, far from such matters. And so it was for a time...until she broke her agreement and involved herself in the business of Angmar again. Thusly, the Unsealed were no longer bound, and made our displeasure known upon the witch's child, Rohina.”
Cat’s eyes narrowed a bit when he spoke her mother’s name, but she held her tongue to allow him to speak what he would of her.
“She spent days..weeks in fact, dying,” he continued, “and her soul still toils for her new masters. But even such a heartbreaking display did not cause the Witch Moyna to see the error of her ways; still she persisted in opposing the will of the Unsealed and refused to come forth. So… other actions were taken.” His eyes finally turned back to Cat. “But you must know all about those....”
As he hinted to her own ambush- which left her scarred and without the memories of her past- the corners of her lip twitched downward for a moment, but she quickly covered up the would be scowl with her usual impish grin. "More than I'd like to know about it, hm? I was told that you hold the boy's shadow."
Desad nodded softly as he reached into his tunic and brought out a small, black mouse. "Indeed… I store it here for the time being; always readily at hand and quick to transfer, but in this container, oh so very fragile...almost anything could destroy it.” He flashed her taunting grin. “I find that a fine analogy for reflection...”
Cat peered at the tiny rodent and then held out her hands to see if he would let her hold it. As he rested the mouse in her hands, he smiled and said, "Oh this is a quite heartwarming reunion… The last time you saw the lad he was impaled on a broken wagon wheel, twitching as his life blood ran out and calling out for a mother who could not save him. His realization that he had been abandoned, just as his spirit fled his carcass, was truly moving.”
That image played in her head as he spoke it; it was one she had seen many, many times in her nightmares. "Too bad for you that you didn't kill both of us that day, hm?"
"Who told you I wished you dead?” Desad looked shocked. “If I wished you so, you would be... No, you are just where I wished you to be.”
Cat didn’t respond right away; her eyes were locked on the mouse. She watched as its nose twitched and then her gaze drifted upward to his eyes; her mind seemed so close to recognizing.. something, but it wasn't something that quite made it to the heart or even unlocked a certain remembrance. For a brief second, disappointment could be seen on her face, but then she laughed and turned her attention back to Desad.. "If I were where you wished me to be, you wouldn't have been so surprised at seein' it was me here, hm?"
“Oh do not mistake me...the fact that someone taught you a bit of Shadowcraft was surprising, but now I suspect I know what happened....I meant your overall situation. Thus far you are doing just as I had hoped.”
“Yeah, yeah… I don’t take you for the hopin’ kind.” Cat grinned at him as the mouse walked across her hands. "So… you have the boy, my mother, and you've marked two others that are close to me- one of which you have her children, hm?"
The Deacon nodded in confirmation. “Your son, your mother, the two children of the woman, as well as the fates of the woman and the beastman… Yes, those would be the stakes on the table....and all you need to do to gain them all is provide me with a single object.”
“Go ahead and say it, though I can wager what 'object' you're speakin' of.”
Desad laughed softly. "I knew you were a quick one, far more aware of such matters then your mother was, poor soul… Yes, give me the Chalice Without Mercy, and you will gain all that I have spoken of… a mother at peace, a young son in your arms, your companions, and the children of your companion. All you need give me is what is mine by previous agreement; an agreement that your grandmother- a child murderer on an epic scale, who cared not that her choices caused you and your son to suffer- broke most foully. All you need to do is right that wrong, and you will find Angmar most generous.”
Cat grinned at him in amusement, "Sounds 'generous' indeed, hm?... But come now, I'm not so stupid as to think that the first two will ever truly be brought back to the livin'" At those words, she finally handed the mouse back over. "Nor am I one to care about anyone else but myself, silverteeth. With that bein' said, I'm tired of all your critters houndin' me day and night. Why haven't you gone after that chalice yourself, hm? What guards it that keeps you from it?"
The man shrugged softly. "I would have thought the Soulreaper had made that clear. to you.. The chamber in which it lays can only be opened by the High Priestess Aganalu, or her second, and a bearer of the Witchfire, in tandem.”
"And what's so special about this fancy cup, hm?"
“Many things... It is a lovely piece of Arthedain craftsmanship, such delicate yet forceful lines, truly a masterwork of a long dead artist… It is also what one might call a safety valve. Without it, certain things cannot be done, or undone.”
Cat quirked a brow, “Such as?”
His gaze turned away and down toward the flame. “Your candle is fading....You now have the deal you came seeking; discuss it with your companions... I think I know what they would have you do.”
Cat’s eyes also turned toward the candle to judge just how much time she had left. “Then I have two conditions before you go'
He looked back to her and almost snorted out, “Conditions? Seriously?”
Cat grinned at him and continued on. "Yeah… First, if I hand the cup over, it's to be to the son and daughter of that lass; AND they'll be freed then and there once puttin' it in your hands... And second… well, this one is really more in question stage right now… Is the brazen scale you spoke of the only thing that can rid me of this 'witchfire' you and the old bat speak of?”
The Deacon’s brows arched at hearing the ‘demands’ and after a moment he nodded. “To your first condition...so be it. As for your question...the Brazen Scales are not involved....Without the chalice, the Witchfire remains where Moyna placed it. Nowhere.”
"So you would use the chalice to make sure it never awakens in me, hm?"
He nodded again. “Exactly, and once that has occurred, all other things which should occur, shall...and you will be freed from your cursed grandmother's manipulations and callous disregard. You will refuse to sacrifice yourself to the part she planned for you in defiance of the Tribute Infernal.”
Cat licked her thumb and index fingers and then slowly moved them toward the flame of the candle. "Good... I have no plans of sacrificin' myself for anyone. I'll be in touch, hm?" With that she pinched the dampened fingers together on the flame to snuff it out and she was once again alone on Weathertop.
...or was she?
