View source for "Don't Say Sorry Vol.2" by Lyna Utano

A book bound in somewhat generic leathers. The title is embossed on the front and spine. Adhered to the back is a blurb, which reads:

"At dawn, the heart finds comfort anew!"

In the shadow of the Tower and her first romance, Amacia Glasse sets off on her next adventure with a new friend. But will her new companion steal a place in her heart? Will the realities of adventure teach her a lesson?"

"Find out in the second volume of 'Don't Say Sorry'!"

=== Ch.1 Parting Bitter and Greetign Sweet ===
I slump against the wall of a village shop and let out a sigh. The afternoon sun is a welcome treat after the bitter cold, but in this warmth, it's hard to remember that fleeting heat from the night before. I place a finger to my lips, as if to catch the last fragments of that feeling.
<br>When we had arrived at last in the shadow of the Eldritch Tower, where a small village was beginning to awake to the gentle glow of dawn, Favier was soon approached by a messenger, calling him away. Between my fatigue and the flutter in my chest, I had been practically delirious when Favier spoke.
<br>"Senorita, I am having to apologise. I am needed. But I will remember this night, I swear it, Amacia Glasse. I swear it."
<br>I had not even put a reply to mind before Emire Favier was gone, vanished as though but a passing dream.
<br>Somehow I had managed to put myself in a tavern bed and slept through the morning, and at noon I roamed like a ghoul through the atrium of the Eldritch Tower.
<br>Only now do I come to my senses, and memories of last night bubble to the surface.
<br>What was that? That... was a kiss. Why? Why would he kiss, well, me? Gods know I wanted him to, deeper things know my heart begged for it, but I'm just a terrible, worthless bard. A man like Favier would never...
<br>No! I must get myself together. I can't know what Favier meant by it, not by worrying around in circles. I'll have to ask him, next we meet. But can I? Would he want me to? And when will we meet?
<br>Excitement and melancholy flirt in my chest, a cocktail bitter and sweet. Just as I think I might languish in this muddle a while longer, I'm startled by a hand on my shoulder.
<br>"Are you okay there? You look as though you might pass out..." A gentle voice speaks to me, slow and smooth like honey. I blink, and turn, and this storm within retreats.
<br>The man crouched before me, lowering his face to match mine, bears a gentle frown as he examines my face. How must I look to this man for him to bear such worry on his brow?
<br>"I'm okay!" I say, hastening to dispel his concern with a smile. "Just a little dizzy, I suppose!"
<br>"I see..." The man studies my face a little longer, then smiles- oh, what a lovely smile! He stands up straight, taking a moment to wipe clean the gorgeous white cloth robe he wears, and offers me a hand. "All is well then."
<br>I hesitate a moment before reaching out and grasping his hand. His palm is smooth, and his grip gentle- a sensation that washes some of the mire from my mind.
<br>"My name is Berrim," the kind man offers, smiling once again with the warmth of dawn, "It is good to meet you."

       Day 13, Month 5 (Mirtul), 183 AR
<br>       Anonymous        

=== Ch.2 Calm Water and Quiet Footsteps ===
Berrim, as it happens, is a cleric. When I had learned this, I begged him to adventure with me. It was shameful, but the familiar loneliness that Favier had dispelled had begun to crawl back to the surface.
<br>To my surprise, delight and guilt, with a tender smile, Berrim had accepted.
<br>As we walk the coast to the cliffs where a dangerous smuggler's den supposedly is hidden, I listen to the ebb and flow of the waves. A sleepy rhythm, the storm not a day before quietly forgotten.
<br>A dozen questions for Berrim vie to be answered, but as I look at his slender back- slightly tense with anticipation of danger- I hold them in.Part of me knows that when battle comes, I'll only be a detriment to him. The least I can do, I reason, is not be a distraction. The compromise drags my feet like heavy sand- I am desperate to know more of this angel-like man.
<br>As we walk, afternoon fades into evening. The cowl of night begins to shroud the horizon as the Island is crowned in a dusk-red hue. It's now that I finally allow a question to bubble over:
<br>"When we find the smugglers, there'll be a battle won't there? I'm not much of a fighter, Berrim..."
<br>Berrim stops and turns to me. He watches me for a moment, his kind eyes narrowing just a little.
<br>"You said you were a bard, right, Amacia? Can you sing? Do that and... I will protect you. I promise." His hand shifts to the mace fastened a little clumsily to his belt, gripping the handle a little awkwardly. My cheeks fill with pleasant warmth. I can't help but feel that behind this man, I will always feel safe. It's a welcome feeling.
<br>My concern dispelled, we walk quietly a while more. The sunlight wanes, until I can no longer see the trail. We still have yet to find this smuggler's den, but we must be close.
<br>As I consider asking Berrim if we ought to stop for the night, my foot catches on a rock. With a yelp I fall forward, bracing for the approaching ground.
<br>My fall stops short with a soft warmth. Berrim holds my shoulders and steadies me. In the dark I barely make out his face, so close to mine, and breathe in the delicate scent of summer berries. The apology catches in my chest as time stands still. Would it be okay if I returned this man's embrace?
<br>"It has become dark. Here." He finally speaks, his velvet tone tingling my ear, and brings his hand to the holy symbol hanging from his neck. The symbol begins to shine, the welcoming glow of a toasty hearth that illuminates our faces.
<br>I see his smile, so sweet, and swallow hard. What is it that compels me now; compels me to close the paltry distance between us. I part my lips, release a shallow breath, and close my eyes.
<br>A rustle to my left. Something's there.
<br>"Amacia, behind me!" Berrim commands with a sudden urgency.
<br>"Get them!" comes a gruff voice from the darkness.
<br>A chorus of feet, and before long, the clashing of steel.

       Day 13, Month 5 (Mirtul), 183 AR
<br>       Anonymous        

=== Ch.3 Sudden Steel and First Blood ===
Three smugglers, faces masked with scraps of cloth and wielding scavenged weapon, rush forward, and Berrim rushes to meet them. I feel something heavy like iron cling to me, stopping me from leaping to action, but find nothing there.
<br>It's fear. This is battle, real battle. Berrim's life, and my life, are on the line. I know what I should do, what I must do, but I can't. He needs my song, my bolstering magic, but no notes form on my tongue.
<br>Should I just run? If I make no noise, while they are distracted, I could get away. I shouldn't be here, I shouldn't have come! Berrim would want me to get away, right? That's the sort of kind soul he is.
<br>But if fear was heavy like iron, guilt was pure lead. Amacia Glasse is many bad, no-good things, but is she a girl who leads good men to their possible deaths, and runs?
<br>I square my feet and muster what will I have and force out the notes. Bardsong is a thing of courage, a thing I sorely lack, and the tune reflects it well. Quiet and slow and sputtering. Will Berrim even hear it over the throes of battle?
<br>I see him hold his own against the assailants, but it is not an easy battle. With each swing of his mace at one brigand, his back is open to an opportune slice from another. My soul bleeds with each cut: wounds of regret of my own ineptitude.
<br>I choke out another lyric, struggling to hold the chords before my voice breaks. I don't notice the fourth opponent skulking around Berrim's guard, not until he makes a break straight for me. The bardsong falters as I scream and try to turn and retreat. I'm too late.
<br>The first cut lands squarely on my forehead, and in a flash of terrible new pain, the world bleeds into crimson.

       Day 13, Month 5 (Mirtul), 183 AR
<br>       Anonymous        

=== Ch.4 Receding Wounds and Untold Remorse ===
When I come to, the stars welcome me to total night. A little confused, I try to sit up, but pain stings in thin lines across my chest and torso. I wince, the sharp inhale burning my laboured lungs.

"Careful!" comes a tender voice, dampening the panic in my stomach a little, "Your wounds are closed but not fully healed just yet. Take a little time, Amacia."

I turn my head to Berrim, kneeling next to me with glowing hands splayed above my suffering chest. I breath in, and feel his warm fingers; it dulls the strain. As our eyes meet, he offers a calming smile. Without it, the terror that returns as my mind awakens would have destroyed me.

The smuggler that had attacked me offered no mercy, and no escape. I was defenceless against his blade, with little armour and no skill to deflect it. More than the pain, which was dulled by adrenaline, the fear of death had hung like a spectre in those short moments.It had paralysed me, opened me to the brigand further, and threatened to end me all on its own. Is that what it meant to fight- to really fight?

I can't face that feeling again. It lingers still, like cold fingers seared onto my skin. I'm not strong enough to suffer it, I'm not brave enough to endure. Tears well in my eyes as I wallow in my helplessness, and I begin to weep.

Gently- ever so gently- Berrim takes my hand in his. For a while he does not speak, but his touch is an indulgent comfort that in time sweeps these dark thoughts away. I force myself to focus on him, his healing hands, and the kind pity knitted on his brow.

"Amacia," he offers eventually, "I heard your song. It was quiet, but with its strength I pulled through. Thank you."

It's a lie, truly I know that, but I accept it as craved comfort.

Even so, I shake my head. "Thank you, Berrim. If not for you I'd be... I'd..."

Berrim lowers his gaze. When I see the sorrow wash over his face, I want to embrace him. To offer comfort as he had for me. 

But what right did I have? Me, on whose neck this whole disaster ought to be hanged. Me, too terrified to offer a well-deserved apology. None. I had no right.

"I am sorry, Amacia."

I turn in shock, stifling a groan as my wounds protest the motion. His shoulders that had looked so strong seem now so vulnerable as they shudder. It threatens to rends my heart to tatters. 

"When you asked for aid, I did not turn you down, even as I knew I could not be the guardian you needed."

I open my mouth to tell him not to say sorry, to apologise myself, but find I can't. The words cling to my tongue like tar. Instead, as I snare myself in his compassion-filled eyes, I ask a question.

"Why didn't you say no?"

He proffers no answer, but I find the one I desire in his eyes, and my heart finally crumbles...

       Day 13, Month 5 (Mirtul), 183 AR
<br>       Anonymous        
[[Category:180-189 AR]]
[[Category:Tales & Tomes]]