Feather and Stone 

A sweeping breeze came through the tops of the Evindal trees, pulling out leaves as it chilled the surrounding air. The brown crinkled leaves fell to the forest floor that was just beginning the long slumber of winter. The sea of green had turned to an army of brown and gray, all except for Silborh's hedge that surrounded Ginnen. 
Balneir wrapped his coat tighter around his chest before bending down onto his knees to continue his work. He was carving into a perfectly cut stone slab that stretched several feet across, just enough for multiple men to stand upon it in a circle. That was his intent, to work with the Othorian rune through ritual just as before. This time, it would be different, for he had a new power that strengthened his connection to Othoria and the gods. His work was meticulous, Balneir carved using water against the stone. He had been collecting buckets of rain water for weeks, using the change of seasons to his advantage. He used his new skills, given to him by Silborh, to weave with the water itself. 
Balneir placed his hand on the surface of the water in the bucket beside him. With his eyes closed, he drew the Othorian rune for water in his mind's eye and whispered its name to himself. Hadün. In his first attempts, it took several drawings and tries saying it's name before he felt the connection between his energy and the water. Now, it takes only once and merely a thought of the symbol. He weaved the water into a sphere shape and forced the water to spin violently. Balneir pulled his hand from the surface of the water. In the palm of his hand, the orb of water spun vigorously in place. Then, Balneir pushed the sphere into the stone, just enough to continue carving his line.
He continued carving the stone until his lines finally met. Balneir knew that he was successful when the Othorian rune glowed with a soft, white light and hummed quietly. He stood up from the stone slab, his back aching from being bent for so long, and looked around at his work. Balneir had restored The Hall that housed the rune, just as before but, this time Balneir added standing stones. He placed the stones in a circle around the stone slab that he stood on. This would help calm the energies that came from the rune. Balneir let the water fall back into the bucket and brushed off the dust from his pants. He felt the energy in the room shift suddenly, like the wind brushed over his spine. He glanced around the room, until his eyes caught glimpses of Silborh's rune in the doorway of The Hall. 

Seconds later, Silborh took a step through the doorway. His white eyes surveyed the room before he continued into The Hall. Silborh stopped beside one of the standing stones that stood taller than him, and placed his hand on its cold surface. He took a long breath in through his nose. 
"You have strengthened the connection," he stated, squinting at the stone. Balneir stepped down from the stone slab. 

"So, I was successful," Balneir said, almost to himself. 

"You have progressed far for such little time," Silborh replied, his white eyes falling on Balneir. 

"I was told to learn." 

Silborh stroked his charcoal beard before making his way to the slab of stone Balneir had made. His dark colored robes scraped the dried leaves against the wooden floor as he went. The god stood beside Balneir and examined his carving work. The white glow from the rune made Silborh's eyes reflective and Balneir couldn't bear to look at them for too long. 

"Sa thedia," Silborh whispered. 

"The end and the beginning. Until the end comes," Balneir recited. Silborh met Balneir's eye, "The way is shut." 
Balneir shifted his weight and frowned at the god. "How, why?" he asked. 

"Tha hithan inadan aun thedi," Silborh replied. Balneir's mind showed him runes as the god spoke in wind, the language of the gods. 

"Aya?" Balneir asked. 

"It was decided amongst my brothers and sisters," Silborh stated. He bent down and stroked the glowing rune. Balneir said nothing, only frowned as he watched the runes inside his vision hover around the god. Silborh took notice of his frowning, "The path to the Chamber still remains." He stood straight again, "No one may follow in your footsteps to my domain nor the others'." Silborh looked around at the stone circle. 
"You have done well here," he told Balneir. Then, the god stepped onto the slab of stone, the glowing light casting shadows under his eyes. 

"Vor niev sa otha," Silborh said. 

"Go with the winds," Balneir replied, bowing his head. 
Then, the white glow intensified until a swirling force of wind surrounded the ring of the circular rune. The soft hum crescendoed until it echoed off of the standing stones and back toward the center. Balneir stepped to the outside of the standing stone circle to find it untampered by the rune's energies. The wind spun violently for only a few seconds and carried the god back to Othoria.

Balneir was left inside The Hall, the Othorian rune had returned itself to a peaceful hum and shimmer. 

✴

 The stars still hung over the vast fields of the Illitran Plains. An airy fog was rolling just above the blades of gold this early in the morning. There was little to be heard in the dark, the loudest sound was the crackle of the hearthfire's embers. Vesstan laid asleep in a bed of straw and feathers and was kept warm by the furs of a buffalo. His dreams were filled with the wonders of what he may face in the morning upon the mountain tops. The naming ceremony between him and his bird was to happen today. His brother slept in the bed beside him, a survivor of the quest. 
There were footsteps outside, the crunch of dirt beneath a pair of boots. Shael wrapped her coat tighter around her breasts, her heavy breaths visible in the cold air. The light of her torch guided her along the road. She maintained a hurried pace out of anger and the fear of the occasional sound of a scurrying animal in the grass. She came to a neighboring house and without hesitation from the time of morning, knocked at the wooden door. Shael rubbed her cold arms and pressed her ear against the cold wooden surface. The wood was dampened from the night's humidity and she could hear nothing. She slammed her fist against the wood three times. 

Vesstan heard three thuds in the haziness of a dream. Another three, and he felt a hand squeeze his arm. He pulled his mind from the dream and flung open his eyes. His brother was over him, standing beside his bed. 
"Someone is outside," Rathal whispered. Another three pounds at the door. Vesstan flung the fur blankets off of his bed, the cold air hitting his bare chest. He pulled a pair of woolen pants over his legs, barely able to see in the dark. 

"Who would be out at this hour?" Vesstan whispered to his brother. Rathal snatched his dagger from the night table beside his bed. 

"Let us go and see," he replied. Vesstan followed his brother to the middle room of their home that held the hearth. His mother and father were already there. Another three pounding fists at the door. Yesnoa was lighting a torch using the last of the hearthfire's flame and his father was already moving toward the door with his simple sword. Yesnoa saw her sons and waved her hand, telling the boys to stay back from the door. 

"Who is there?" Alred demanded, his sword at the ready. A voice came quickly from the other side of the wood. 

"It is Shael." 

Alred let his sword down and propped it against the wall. He pulled open the door, revealing Shael wrapped in her coat and carrying a torch.
"Where is he?" she demanded. The flickering light from the torch made the tears on her face appear to shimmer. 

Vesstan furrowed his brow and came to his father's side. Shael tossed the torch onto the ground beside her. 
"Is he with you!?" Shael asked, her voice was shaking. Her green eyes looked frantically through the doorway. Vesstan struggled to find the words to tell Omydaedren's mother that her son was gone. Shael's eyes filled with fresh tears as she shoved her hand into her pocket and ripped out a piece of parchment. 

"He left only this!" She exclaimed, thrusting the parchment toward Vesstan. Alred put his hand on his son's shoulder. 

"Shael, he is gone. He left yesterday morning," he told the woman. Shael covered her face with her hands. Yesnoa came to her and wrapped her arms around the crying woman. She shot a concerned look at her husband. Vesstan swallowed hard and could feel a pit forming in his stomach as the night's wind pushed itself through the door. Shael pulled herself away from Yesnoa. 
"You did not stop him!?" She asked. 

"Shael, your son is a man now. We cannot make his choices for him," Yesnoa replied, she reached to comfort her again. Shael pushed her hand away. 

"That rolls off your serpent tongue when it is not your son that marches into Rak'kinthar arms," she growled, her eyes piercing Yesnoa. 
"Go home Shael," Alred said plainly. 
The woman took a step away from the door and retrieved her torch from the ground before her eyes fell on Vesstan. She dug her eyes into his and he could feel her blame fall onto him as well. Then, she marched off toward her home. Yesnoa came back inside and shut the door behind her. She gave another look to her husband and took a long breath. Vesstan swallowed hard again.
His mother rubbed his chilled arms, "I will prepare breakfast for you boys." She started toward the hearthfire. 
"I don't believe that any of us will sleep anymore this morning after that," she muttered. 
Rathal was already tending to the hearthfire. Vesstan made his way beside his brother, letting the fire warm him. 

"It is not your fault, little brother. Daedren made up his own mind long before yesterday." 
Vesstan said nothing, only watched the flames grow inside the circular hearth. A rustling noise took his attention away from the crackling embers and he quickly pulled his mother's torch out of the hearth and made his way back into his bedroom. 

"Good morning, Zrerra," he whispered as he lit the candles around his room. Zrerra was perched on a large piece of driftwood that was pulled from the river. She was cleaning her feathers and making low clucking noises. Vesstan softly stroked the bird's wing, "My halthear."
Then, he went to the small window in his room, the stars were still glowing in the morning sky, and pushed it open. 
"There you are, go hunt for your breakfast," he told Zrerra. The bird fluttered her wings before she swooped off of the branch and dove through the window. 

"Mother made you this," Rathal said, coming through the door. He carried two wooden bowls of steaming oats and handed one to Vesstan. 
"I thought I would spare you from what mother is muttering about around the hearth," his brother told him, raising his eyebrows. Vesstan stirred his meal with a spoon, the heat warmed his face. 
"Is it about Shael?" he asked. Rathal took a seat on his bed, "Yes, and Daedren." Vesstan sat across from his brother, on his own bed, and set the bowl down to cool. 
"She doesn't like it that he left," Vesstan replied. Rathal shook his head, his threaded hair bouncing off of his shoulders. 
"I suppose none of us really did," Vesstan added. He let out a deep sigh and felt a twitch in his face from the scars. Rathal scooped some of his oatmeal into his mouth. "We could do little about it before and it is the same now," he said, his mouth full. Vesstan took up his bowl again and filled his mouth with the warm oatmeal. 
"We can only pray for Aerrus's eye to fall on him," Rathal added, pointing his spoon to the sky. 

"I plan on visiting the Temple today, before the ceremony, for both our sake's," Vesstan replied.    

"It is wise to do so before the ceremony. It is not an easy quest," Rathal said, scooping more food into his mouth. 
Vesstan shifted his weight on the bed. His mind filled with the thoughts of his approaching quest of solitude in the mountains of Tannator. The quest that all Skytalons take to receive their bird's name. He could remember Rathal being flown to their campsite, used by their ancestors for years, to begin his quest. Hagen took his turn soon after and they both returned with visions from the gods. His mind raced with anticipation of what he might receive in his own meditations. 

"I believe that I am ready for what is to come," Vesstan stated. His brother stood from his bed, empty bowl in one hand, and placed his other on Vesstan's shoulder. 
"Then you have already completed the first step of your quest. Perhaps the most essential part," he told him. Then, he peered out of the small window, "You had best get moving if you want to make it to the Temple, the sun has begun its own journey." 

Vesstan looked toward the window, the sun's purple glow was starting to consume the horizon that he could see. He gobbled up the rest of his warm oatmeal and snatched a woolen shirt to put on before his coat of fur and skins. He pulled his leather boots on over feet and shook off the chill from his frigid room. 

"I will see you at the towers," Rathal said, pulling his own coat over his arms. 

"Until then," Vesstan replied. 

Vesstan was met with the sharp wind as soon as he stepped out onto the dirt path. He wrapped his coat tighter around his chest and headed toward the city. After a few paces, he heard Thorn's call across the sky and felt the massive bird glide just overhead. The soft shadow of the wings rippled along the grass. Vesstan watched Thorn fly toward the city, guiding the morning sun across the land where he flew. Zrerra swooped down to meet Vesstan on his shoulder. She let out a squawking noise when she latched her talons to his coat. 
"It is almost time now," he told Zrerra. She was watching Thorn in the distance closely, waiting for the flock to fly out. She squawked again and Vesstan felt like he understood what she meant. "No, there is no Daedren today. He is gone, remember?" he said with a sigh. Zrerra shifted her feet on his shoulder and made a noise like a soft pur. Vesstan could not decide if the bird was satisfied or not with his answer. 
"Go on, to the towers. I will find you there," he said, nudging Zrerra off of his shoulder. She leaped from his shoulder and took flight inches from the ground. She pushed her wings upward and toward the aviary towers in the distance. Vesstan turned toward the city and continued down the dirt path. 

The farms along the path were just beginning to stir with activity, waking to Thorn's call. Vesstan could see the humid breaths of the sleeping buffalo in the fields and could smell the manure that the farmers used for their crops. He nodded his head to the farmers he saw along the road.
When he reached the wider path within the city, it was scarce of anyone. He could smell the faint scent of baking bread and breathed it in deep. The path led him further into the city until he came upon the Temple. 
The building blended in with the rest of the city's interior. It was built with large bricks of cut stone from the mountain side and towered over the surrounding homes and shops. An eight pointed star sat on top of the tallest tower, each point representing a god. The entrance to the Temple was made from sturdy, wooden doors that remained open during the daytime. Vesstan made his way inside, the Othkin were already busy sweeping away dirt from the road. They greeted him with a nod of their heads and he nodded back before continuing through another set of smaller wooden doors.
Further inside, high windows lined both sides of the wide interior. On every other one, a depiction of a god was stained onto the glass. Their shadows loomed over the inside as the rising sun's rays came through the right side. Silver chandeliers hung high overhead that were shaped into eight pointed stars and lit by dozens of candles. Around the wide and open room, there were several areas dedicated to individual prayer and meditation. Each area had a colored cloth that was laid across the smooth, stone floor with square pillows made of furs and feathers to sit on. There was no one around this time of morning, only the Othkin, or children of the wind. 
On the far side of the room, an archway was cut from the stone brick wall. Tapestries of gods hung on either side of the archway. The rune of Othoria hung over the opening. It was a circle, with two half circles stemming from it on two sides, one open and the other closed. Larger half circles also stemmed from the center circle and reflected the smaller ones on either side. Vesstan could smell the scent of sweet incense being burnt from inside the room that the archway led into. He breathed the scent in deep and felt it relax his mind. He continued inside under the archway and stepped down the couple of stairs that led into the room. This room was circular and had a dome shaped roof. There were indents in the walls that each held a statue of a god. They were constructed to be taller beings and they seemed to ominously tower over the room. A metal carved rune that represented a god was placed at the foot of each corresponding statue. Candles were lit all around the room and inside small indents in the brick walls. The room was called the Chamber and was a physical representation of the same room in Othoria. 
Vesstan stood in front of the rune of Aerrus, the god of light and protection. His statue depicted the god fully adorned in armor that covered every inch of his body, even his face. He wore a helmet with a crest of horse hair and was rarely seen without it. The god held no weapon, only a shield, and it rested at his feet with both hands holding it steady. An eye sigil was painted on the shield in blue and was referred to as Aerrus's Eye. His metal rune was an open circle with a line striking through it. The line was decorated with small curves on both ends. Candle sticks were scattered all around the rune and Vesstan used a tall one from the wall to light another under the rune. Then, he placed his hands on the rune of Aerrus and closed his eyes. 

Aerrus, protector of the children of Othoria, please let your eye fall upon Omydaedren on his quest and offer your shield to me on my own. 

Vesstan sat quietly in front of the rune, for a short time, to show gratitude just as he was taught to do. Then he opened his eyes again and stood. I hope to you that Omydaedren will make it to Ginnen, he thought to himself, intending it for Aerrus. Vesstan's eyes shifted to Silborh and fell into a skeptical squint. He looked the mysterious god up and down. His statue depicted him clothed in dark robes and studying a book, to show his observing nature. The god's statue reminded him of Monhais although, Monhais looked older and more shriveled. 

I will never understand why Omydaedren took such a liking to that old man, Vesstan thought to himself. 

"I suppose we had the same idea," a voice came from behind Vesstan. He knew it to be Isbeil and quickly spun around to face her. She wore some of the finest blue wool in Wameri which made her braided pale hair stick out even more than usual. Vesstan took notice of how the color reflected off of her pale blue eyes. 
"I suppose so," Vesstan replied. He was not sure if the woman's anger still lingered or if it would fall onto him. Isbeil stepped down into the Chamber and came beside Vesstan, still in front of Aerrus. Her head only came below Vesstan's shoulder.  
"Are you praying to Aerrus or to Silborh?" she asked. 

"I prayed to Aerrus, to protect Daedren on his quest," he replied plainly. 

"I thought for a moment that you were going to pray to Silborh but, the way you were looking at him," she trailed off, lighting a candle instead of finishing her words. She put her hands on Aerrus's rune and sat quietly for a moment. Vesstan folded his arms and glanced again at Silborh's statue. 
"If you do not pray to him to talk sense into our friend if he gets to Ginnen, then I will," she continued, her large eyes opened again. 

"When he gets to Ginnen." 
"Do you believe all of his stories?" Isbeil asked, her eyes falling on the nature god. Vesstan furrowed his brow, "Omydaedren believed in a lot of stories that Monhais told him." He looked up at Silborh and tried to gather the right words. 
"Some of them I believed to be true but this one, this one I am not so sure about," he finally replied. The woman seemed to be satisfied with his answer and said nothing for a moment. Then, she turned to leave the Chamber but stopped short at the stairs. 

"You know, I have never met this Monhais," she told Vesstan. 
"Omydaedren never took you to see the old man?" Vesstan asked, surprised. Isbeil shook her head, the two braids behind her bouncing off her back. 

"He must have fantastical stories to tell, if he can convince a man to face a horde of Rak'kinthar on another man's word," she said, smiling awkwardly. 

"I can take you to see him before my ceremony today, he won't be busy with Daedren gone," Vesstan suggested. 
"Would you?" Isbeil asked. Vesstan shrugged his shoulders and began leaving the Chamber of the Temple. 

"You can hear with your own ears how mad he is," Vesstan said, continuing through the Temple. Isbeil followed behind, the sound of her heels echoing off the stone walls with every step. Vesstan felt the chilled air sweep through the road as soon as he stepped outside. 
"Ta'thul will not let us have a slither of spring before the equinox," Isbeil muttered as she pulled her coat tighter around her small body. The air finally calmed once again, letting the morning sun warm the land. 
"This way," Vesstan said. 

 He led Isbeil through the city's wide road which was beginning to stir with activity. They came upon Monhais's simple home of stone brick. 
"This is it?" Isbeil asked. Vesstan opened his mouth to answer her but then he took notice of Monhais's door. The wooden door, that was normally set askew from a past snowfall, was set open. His chest pulsed with worry, "Something is wrong here." Then, Vesstan swiftly made his way inside the home with Isbeil following behind him. The wind's chill had made it inside and had blown some of Monhais's strange creations from their shelves. Feathers and papers swirled around the unkept rug as another wind swept through. The wind pushed dust off of the shelves and counters and Vesstan could see the particles as the sun shined through the window. He rubbed his nose as the musty scent of the place filled his nostrils.
"This place is filthy," Isbeil whispered. She seemed to cringe at everything she saw in the room. Suddenly, the wooden floor creaked as if someone moved in the backroom. 
"Monhais?" Vesstan called, loud enough for the old man to hear him. There was no answer, only more sounds of movement. Isbeil pulled a short knife from the belt underneath her coat. Vesstan frowned at the knife. The woman nudged him forward with her elbow. His chest began to fill his body with a pulsing feeling of worry. They crept together around the counter and further to the back room of Monhais's home. Vesstan led, and could see through the archway, the two chairs that Omydaedren and Monhais would sit in. He couldn't smell a fire going in the mantle and saw no sign of the old man from where he stood. He continued under the archway. 

He saw Shael, standing by the bookshelf. She was looking down at one of the chairs in the middle of the room. Her face showed clearly how upset that she was but, Vesstan could see a spark of hatred. She met his eyes as soon as he came through the archway. Vesstan furrowed his brow and turned his head. The woman stuttered backwards and rubbed her eyes. Vesstan still saw no sign of Monhais. 
"Shael," Isbeil said, confusion in her voice. 

"Where is Monhais?" Vesstan asked. He began to fear the worst from Omydaedren's mother as he remembered what occured this morning. The older woman pushed her dark curls behind her. She lazily moved her hand toward the chair she had been looking at when they arrived. 
"The winds have taken him."
Vesstan forced himself to walk to the front of the chair. There, the old man was sitting in his cushioned chair but his body was still and lacked any color of life. Vesstan's eyes widened and he took a step away from the body. Isbeil rushed to Vesstan's side and saw the old man's body. She squinted her large blue eyes, "Did you do this?" she demanded from Shael. Omydaedren's mother folded her slender arms before she spoke, "Look at him, he has been gone for some time. I have only got here moments before you did." 
Vesstan came closer to the body and examined it. Monhais's eyes were shut like he had fallen asleep in the chair. There were no wounds on him and he still held on to one of his books. Vesstan hesitantly felt the old man's wrinkled hand. Cold. 
"She isn't lying Isbeil. The body is cold and he has no wounds," he said. Isbeil pushed her boot against the floor, "She could have poisoned him." Her accusation made Shael snort through her nose. 
"He would not be so cold if I had. I wasn't even aware--" she stopped short as she choked on tears. "I was not aware Omydaedren knew this, Monhais that you call him." She pulled her coat tighter around her body and wiped away an escaped tear from her pale cheek. Vesstan felt his heart add guilt to his already shaky body. 
"Call the guards if you like Madam Labridain," Shael spat. 
The woman glared at one another and left Vesstan glancing from one to the other. He was quickly convinced they were using a language that, as a man, he did not understand. Then, Shael squinted at the young Drarvuno woman one last time before she stomped out of the room. Isbeil's glare followed her out of the room until she had left Mohais's home. She then tucked her knife back into her belt. Vesstan looked back to Monhais's body. The old man was still grasping a book in his hands, one of leather binding and parchment. He gently took hold of the closed book and pulled it from Monhais's stiff fingers. He turned it over and read the title that was burnt into the leather surface, Elements of Osera. 

"What is it?" Isbeil asked, coming to Vesstan's side. Vesstan flipped open the book and let the pages fall from his thumb. The binding forced the pages to haphazardly open to written pages. Vesstan noticed that the words were all hand written with the same shaky handwriting as he remembered Monhais to have. 
"The book he was holding, I think he wrote this," Vesstan replied. He flipped one of the pages over. The new page was consumed by a drawing of a rune, the words under it read 'Oth' with a translation to 'Wind' beside it. The rune was drawn as a vertical line that, at the tip, spun into an upward spiral. Instead of finishing the spiral, it was pulled back into a straight, diagonal line that cut through the first vertical one. Finally, dropping short into a parallel vertical line again. Vesstan stared at the rune for a moment. It felt like the rune was pulling him closer and closer like it had a life of it's own. Then, Isbeil snatched the book from his hands. "You are holding it too high," she asserted. 
She flipped a few of the pages, Vesstan caught glimpses of other runes but Isbeil stopped on one called 'Thed' with the translation to 'Land'. 
"This is pretty," she stated. That rune was drawn as a full circle with two lines through it. One, a vertical line and the other diagonal with a crooked end. 
"Are these the type of things he filled Daedren's head with?" she asked, looking up at Vesstan. He shrugged his shoulders, "I have never seen or heard of any of this," he replied, pointing to the rune. He looked again to Monhais and noticed something strange on his collar bone. It usually was covered by his brown robes but Vesstan could see it now from the angle he stood at. It was a dark spot on his skin that he almost dismissed as a shadow but the lighting was not right. He reached and carefully pulled the collar of Monhais's robe away to inspect it further. When he pulled it away, the contrast with the body's pale skin made the mark's appearance more obvious. The mark was black like the night itself and took the form of a dark vein on the old man's skin. Vesstan's chest pulsed with fear and he ripped his hand from the body. 
"What's wrong?" Isbeil asked, slamming the book shut. Vesstan examined his own skin before responding, "His skin--" he began but did not know how to describe it. Then, he took hold of Monhais's chilled hand and pulled the sleeve of his brown robes up to the man's elbow. His pale skin was revealed, and it was covered in the black veins that made Vesstan cringe. Each vein almost appeared to be physically sucking the life out of the body and Vesstan could not imagine what they would look like on a still living person. 
"Gods!" Isbeil gasped and took several steps back, dropping the book at her feet. Vesstan could barely peel his eyes from the blackness corrupting the man's dead body. 
"Did you touch it!?" Isbeil demanded. Vesstan did not answer. Those stories, he thought to himself. He told them like he knew them to be true, because he was there! Vesstan could feel his own heart thumping in his ears. 
"Vesstan!" Isbeil pulled him out of his own thoughts. He looked over his hand again, just to be sure. 

"That is not how it spreads."
"How do you know that? He's a Rak'kintha!" 

"No, he would have gone mad like those monsters years ago, if he was." 
"He has the markings, Vesstan!" 

"He is Korborin, Isbeil!"
Vesstan rubbed his hands over his scarred face. Isbeil stepped forward hesitantly as if the corruption would lunge itself at her. 
"Those stories, about The Spine," Vesstan began. "He told them with such great detail and I wondered if they held any truth...but he was there." 

"In The Spine?" Isbeil frowned. 
"There are people who live in The Spine, they call themselves Korborin. At least, that is what Monhais told us," he explained. 
"Why would someone live in Kallemor's Spine?" Isbeil argued. 

"They are cursed, like the Rak'kinthar. They retain their minds but the curse still remains." 
"According to Monhais, the Korborin stay there because, well, you reacted as they expect everyone else to," Vesstan continued.
"Among other things."
"How do you know all of this and I do not?" she asked, folding her arms. Vesstan picked up Monhais's book from the floor. "I listened to his stories and most sane people avoid The Spine all together, if they can," he replied. 
"The ones who have seen the Korborin, dismiss them as an illusion that Kallemor creates. To draw you in, and turn you into a Rak'kintha." 
Vesstan put both hands on the book. If those stories are true, he thought to himself. 

"Do you think perhaps all of his stories are true?" Isbeil asked. Vesstan rubbed his scars.
"I am not sure." 
For a moment, there was silence. Vesstan still struggled to look away from the corrupted skin. "Did Omydaedren know?" Isbeil asked. Her eyes were pinned to the floor. Vesstan thought for a minute before answering, he would have told me this!  
"No, he did not know." 

Thorn's call came echoing through the stone structures of the city. Vesstan felt his chest pulse once again. "Gods! I will be late!" he exclaimed. 
"Go then, I will alert the Temple about Monhais," Isbeil said. Vesstan hugged the book in his arms tighter, his expression of worry told the short woman all she needed to hear. 
"If I find any more secrets the old man has kept, I will find you after the ceremony," she told him, glaring around the room. Vesstan's worried expression turned to the old man. He gently took hold of his lifeless arm. "Go with the winds old man," he whispered. Then, he turned back to Isbeil and looked down at her, "I will be done at sunrise tomorrow," he told her. She nodded and Vesstan started for the door. 
Outside, the air was noticeably warming as the sun was rising higher into the sky. He took one step and the flock of phoenix birds soared overhead, just above the rooftops. They tossed dirt into swirling clouds and Vesstan could only cover his face from the pieces being flung at him. The birds forced the cold air into him and he stumbled backward from the gusts. Gods! The entire sky and you fly so close to the ground! 
Once the air settled, Vesstan pushed himself into a swift walk down the dirt road. 
Mother will surely have it out for me when I get back to the towers!