Chapter Text
Jena drove the posts of her tent into the soft soil with purpose. With each bringing down of the mallet, she channeled her grief, her rage, and her fear until her tent was pitched.
Night was settling over the first day in camp, and she, just as the strangers with her, reeled. Jena had had no idea what a Mind Flayer was farther back than two or three days ago. Now she had a terrifying and intimate understanding that she'd just as soon not have. But experiences and knowledge she didn't want seemed to be the keystones of her life's story.
Jena had her tent up well before the others, though they, unlike her, seemed keen on settling in and making camp something of a home. They busied themselves with setting up personal items, books, mirrors, and cushions. Minimalism suited Jena better.
The tent flap fluttered as Jena disappeared inside. She couldn't escape the rest of her companions fast enough, drawing the tent's strings tightly behind her so she could retreat into familiar seclusion and think.
The dying light of her first day stained the white canvas of her tent a bloody red. An ominous sign if ever she'd seen one. Elminster would certainly have agreed.
And thinking on Elminster, where was he? Jena had expected him to turn up the moment she'd opened her eyes on the Nautiloid ship, but the old man had yet to appear. The lack of his presence made Jena feel all the more alienated and vulnerable. Like a lost child.
A cold fear nearly stole all the air from Jena’s lungs as she let the feelings in. A tremor made her hands shake as she pressed them over her eyes.
What next? she wondered.
Find Elminster.
Though the answer was simple, the journey wouldn't be. She had never needed to reach him before. He was always there when he needed to be, and she trusted that he would be there when there was a need. But now the wizard was nowhere to be found, and in her mind the need had never been greater.
This tadpole business also seemed quite serious, though she was still trying to understand just how serious. Could she, for example, return to her teachers and wait for Elminster to find her there? Perhaps he had a solution to the tadpole problem, too.
As Jena thought and planned, she became aware that her other companions were finishing up their tents. Somebody had started dinner by the smells drifting through her tent, and she could hear the faint rattling of low conversation. Jena's heart hammered, her mind racing.
Should she even stay with these strangers, or would it be more prudent to take her chances alone? Better maybe to go alone and protect herself than risk one of the other parasite ridden companions turning on her.
As if in answer to her thoughts, there came a light scratching at the canvas.
“Jena,” it was the woman named Shadowheart, “there's dinner if you want it. And discussions of next steps.”
Next steps for what? The tadpole? Removing it? Jena was just as happy to let the group decide those steps without her. There was nothing she could offer the discussion, after all.
“Thank you,” she said through the canvas, “I will pass.”
She could hear the shrug in Shadowheart’s voice.
“Suit yourself. You know where to find us if you change your mind.”
Jena heard the crunch of Shadowheart’s feet as she departed. She could smell vegetables stewing and some kind of meat roasting. Though she hadn’t eaten since the abduction, Jena felt little desire for food. The sounds of conversation reached her. Nothing she could parse, but that was fine. Then harsher words and angrier voices. Shadowheart and Lae'zel snapped at each other again.
Jena drew her knees to her chest and tried not to think of the danger she was in, from the tadpole, to her companions, and to the countless other monsters in these lands.
That said, she reasoned, she was also just as likely to get picked off on her own if the day's encounters were any indication.
What path was the least risky?
Everyone she had met that day seemed to have a secret, the party coming together like cats sizing each other up. Shadowheart was tight lipped about her business and was respectful enough not to pry into Jena's own affairs. Lae'zel appreciated silence. So long as Jena pulled her weight in combat, she expected little complaint or questioning from her. The boys though, Astarion and Gale, were more curious. Astarion quietly observed and asked his questions pointedly, like he was trying to probe a person's psyche for weak points. Gale was extraverted and friendly, somebody whose curious questioning could easily become problematic if she wasn't careful.
Pity she hadn’t pretended to be mute. Though, even then, there was still the uncomfortable bond the parasites forced her to contend with, opening literal gateways into her companions’ minds and hearts. Pretending to be mute may have made her an even larger target for mental manipulation.
Desperation. Uncertainty. Indecision. Not to mention a healthy heaping of fear. What was the right thing to do? Jena felt stuck, tears welled behind her eyes. She pinched the bridge of her nose and pursed her lips.
Jena breathed in and out slowly, counting her breaths and kneading at the terror curled inside her breast. It helped, but she still felt a resonant loneliness that seemed to be permeating from the deepest part of her being. An ache that only felt louder the deeper into meditation she dove. She wished she could talk to somebody and wanted home.
Then she felt an uncomfortable itch at the back of her mind that had nothing to do with the tadpole.
Jena sat up, still breathing in and out on carefully parceled air. Her hand reached for a folded blanket at the foot of her bedroll and felt a guilty pang as she picked it up. Was it even right of her?
She had nothing and nobody now. Even when she had first arrived in Toril, Elminster had been right there. It was perhaps at the depths of this new alienation that Jena felt the need to cling to some tiny scrap of the life she had lost and home she'd vanished from.
Tucking the roll of blanket under her arm, Jena undid the ties of her tent. The world outside seemed to slide into sharper focus than before. The chug and gurgle of the river behind her tent provided white noise. The green grasses were soft underfoot. Trees swayed in a breeze, and above her fluttered the dark silhouettes of birds retreating home. Alhamdulillah, it was warm out, too. The dying sun was a papercut on the burning edge of the world, fiery and painting the world in its colors.
Jena turned her head slowly in every direction. When was the last time she'd experienced anything like this?
“Does our monk decide to grace us with her presence after all?” called Astarion from the campfire maybe ten feet away. Jena’s attention snapped from the natural world to the strangers watching her. She could see Astarion’s eyes narrowing to slits.
“I was just about to bring you dinner,” said Gale. “I know Shadowheart said you weren't hungry, but I'm guessing you also haven't eaten in days. Let me assure you, you will not venture far tomorrow on a poorly filled stomach. And, just to tempt you further, I will note that I am quite adept culinarily speaking.” Gale couldn't hide the pride from his voice.
“Will he always take ten words to say what two could manage?” sneered Lae’zel.
Gale frowned.
“There are some who would call me verbose, it’s true, but the art of word craft and poetry is a dying one I would just as soon preserve.”
“Join us?” said Shadowheart, scooting over on a log to make room.
Jena looked at the folded cloth in her hands. Then she gave a polite nod.
“In a moment,” she said and turned for the river.
Jena took herself down the shoreline, away from prying or curious eyes and ears. She paused. She hadn’t prayed in a long, long time, stopping well before her arrival in Toril. Which way was she supposed to face when Mecca was a universe away?
Perhaps, she reasoned, agonizing over the direction to face didn't matter so much as the quality of the prayer and intention behind it. Though who was to say - she was no expert in prayer.
Jena lay the makeshift prayer mat down, deciding to face the setting sun so she could at least see where to prostrate. Then she began to wash her hands, face, arms, head, and feet in the river. And as she washed, she felt the cold waters clear and sharpen her senses and mind, a little of the fear coming away.
Jena took her place then at the edge of the mat and drew in a deep breath. Though it had been years since she’d heard the adhan, the words came back to her. To sing the call to prayer reminded her of her father growing up. Though she'd forgotten his voice a long time ago, she heard it through the song. And like that, she was home. Alone and singing beneath the setting sun, but home all the same as all the Worlds seemed to collapse into one.
And then Jena began the sunset prayer in the last little threads of light before night fell. When done, Jena knelt on the sandy beach contemplating, skipping stones across the water’s face.
Standing in a land of petty gods and monsters, what did she believe? In a land where the beings of the Unseen World could be seen. Where there were spirits and creatures never before described in any Earthly memory. Where humans could shoot fireballs and possessed magics typically not granted to them. Jena supposed that if one did believe in an all powerful God, anything could be possible.
But what what did she believe?
An old flicker of anger passed through her. Resentment. Jena breathed deeply and closed her eyes, focusing on the breath to let her mind still just the way the monks had taught her. It was all out of her control. The only thing she could do was move forward.
Prayer mat tucked under her arm, Jena trailed back up the pebbled beach toward the flickering campfire.
