Her last syllable shot out through the open windows. The two friends sat staring at each other, both tense from similar stubbornness, until the sounds of birds chirping and the wind trickling through the leaves returned
Vylas blinked slowly. “Jularra…”
“I’m not going to tell it,” she whispered.
“Yes,” he replied. “You said that.”
“No,” she said as she shifted. “That’s not what I mean.”
Vylas frowned.
“I’m going to do what I wanted to do from the beginning. I’m going to fight. I’m going to destroy it.”
Vylas’ jaw dropped.
“What are you talking about?” he asked sharply, shaking his head. “That thing is old.” He sounded almost disgusted that she would even suggest the idea. “It has ages of knowledge behind it. You know that! It was already powerful before Colendra did whatever she did to it! I was talking about trying to strike a deal—not fight it!”
“Listen!” Jularra returned, rapidly becoming surer of her position. “If I don’t say anything and your potion works, that will work to our advantage! There is always a way to undo something that is done. One must simply learn how!”
Vylas rolled his head from one side to the other.
“Jularra. There is no knowledge available to us that can defeat, or undo, that agreement. The magic Colendra used on that thing came from a time when that level of skill was more common; when it was known and used by scholars all over the world, passed down for generations in societies and cultures that felt responsible for the knowledge. The Nurudians were a culture of sorcery. It was entwined with their existence! Our skills are nothing in comparison!”
“Vylas, I’m not disagreeing. I can appreciate the challenge, and maybe even the futility. But it's as you say: I have to make a decision on what to do next. I’ve decided to resist. My attempt to fulfil that twisted obligation is floating down that fucking creek out there. So much for doing what was expected of me. Now, you can either help me, or not. I’ll love you either way, but I’ve made my decision.”
Vylas looked at Jularra without expression. He sat calmly, digesting everything she had said to him. Jularra was in no hurry to force a reply, and let her dizzy head fall into her hands.
She saw him rubbing his jaw out of the corner of her eye, but stared silently into the fire while the forest made music outside.
Here it comes, she thought. The rejection.
After a thoughtful silence, Vylas poked at his forehead, and shifted to prop himself up on the hearth as he stood.
“Mmph,” he grunted.
Vylas stretched quickly after standing and made his way over to a set of shelves in the corner. Jularra allowed her eyes to flicker up once, then stared back into the fire. A few wooden bangs and thumps confirmed that he was looking for something, then he dragged a chair back over to the fire. He held a jumble of letters and a moderately-sized map on parchment. Jularra finally looked over, craning her neck to try and catch a glimpse as he held it up to the light.
“I wanted to look for accounts that might mention past queens who weren’t able to provide an heiress in time,” he said. His voice was soft.
Jularra stopped trying to look. Her shoulders fell in disappointment.
“But I...” he swallowed. “I found these instead.”
Vylas handed Jularra the fistful of letters, and focused his full attention on the map.
“I haven’t heard from her since before you were born,” he resumed.
Jularra shuffled through the first few letters and saw them all signed by "Leona". The name sounded familiar. An acquaintance from the past? Vylas had mentioned her before, but only in passing.
“She was extraordinary, Jularra.” His eyes were still locked on the map. “She helped me make the most of my magical learning. She nurtured my love for it, and sweetened the mystery of magic.”
Jularra shifted where she sat, mentally adapting to the conversation’s change of direction.
“Leona,” she said, glancing at the letters again. “I remember you speaking of her, but I didn’t know she was skilled in magic. But then—”
“I haven’t spoken of her much,” Vylas finished. He turned to stare out into the woods. “She was a treasure, Jularra.”
Jularra sat, puzzled, with no delicate way to ask why Leona was relevant to her decision to fight the Voidwarden.
“She is the wildest fire I’ve ever been warmed by, Jularra. Everything she did or said was filled with such passion, such conviction.”
The look on Vylas’ face grew distant. The corners of his mouth worked to find the placement of long-gone smiles, and his eyes widened while trying to focus on old images. He wore pure contentedness on his face as scenes from another time sped through his mind.
“She is a good soul, Jularra, but she grew too…” Vylas trailed off as he pondered the right word.
“Fixated,” he said finally, wincing as if poking an unhealed cut. “She became too fervent. Too radical. Her desire to grow in her magical knowledge became an obsession. Our conversations had little to do with anything else, and I found it increasingly hard to talk with her about other things. That’s why our letters trailed off, I suppose.”
Jularra sensed that he was talking more to himself. His mouth drifted open; he himself had drifted, losing touch with the present. But the picture of the pleasant past blew away, leaving his mouth dry. He blinked and licked his lips before turning to Jularra with flooded eyes.
“Yes. We stopped writing to each other years ago,” said Vylas. “I don’t remember which of us first stopped returning letters. I just… remember… that they stopped. But if anyone has the knowledge you seek, or an idea of how to obtain it, it would be her.”
Jularra wasn’t expecting the abrupt shift back to their original conversation. “Wait, what? You’re telling me to fight?”
Vylas chuckled. “You made it quite clear that you were going to do that, regardless.”
“Well, yes.”
