"What?" Vheod said, turning to her. ''The Ravenwitch said a lot of things back there, but we never asked about the strange green stones the gnolls seem to be collecting."

"I wouldn't have believed her anyway," Vheod said. "Do you think everything she said was a lie?" Melann asked as she collapsed to the ground herself, wearily laying back on her own bedroll.

"I know her kind. The Abyss is full of creatures like her. They lace their lies with hints of the truth, just to make the lies more believable." Vheod looked at Melann. She seemed to be carefully studying him.

"She confirmed your belief that Chare'en was a fiend, not a wizard," she said after a moment.

"Yes. As I said, traces of the truth." Vheod picked up a twig from the ground and whirled it around in his fingers.

"What about what she said about you? About you freeing him? Serving him?"

"Lies," Vheod said harshly and quickly in response to Melann's words. He didn't look up at her, still staring at the small stick he spun in his hand.

"Vheod," Melann said gently, "I've spent some time with you, and I'm a good judge of character. I know you're struggling against the evil nature of your heritage." She paused, swallowing hard. The words appeared to come to her only with difficulty. "But haven't you considered the possibility that perhaps you've been set up? That somehow Chare'en-your ancestor-might have planned all of this?"

"I am in control of my own destiny," Vheod protested, shaking his head. He snapped the twig in his hands and tossed it aside.

"But what if you aren't? What if there's a part of you-the evil, fiendish part-that actually conspires against you? I‘ve seen that evil nature well up inside you. It could be capable of anything."

Melann's words cut into him like a sword. Vheod stared at the ground where he sat next to the reclining siblings. Whitlock had fallen into a much-needed sleep. Melann was quiet.

Vheod started to get up after a moment. I’ll see if I can get something for us to eat."

"No, Vheod," Melann said, still lying down. "Wait until morning. Whitlock's asleep, and I'm exhausted. We couldn't eat anything now anyway." Vheod sat back down.

"Are you sure you don't want a bedroll?" Melann asked. "I can sleep without one for once."

"I'm sure," Vheod told her, as he had on previous nights.

They both lay on the ground in silence, listening to the wind gently tug at the tree branches above their heads.

'"Vheod?" Melann asked quietly. "Thank you for my brother. I could never have rescued him, and could never have gotten out of there on my own. Thank you." Her tired eyes closed even as she finished speaking. She soon fell asleep, but sleep did not come that night to Vheod.

By the time Melann and Whitlock were awake, Vheod had already built a fire and was roasting a pair of rabbits that he'd killed with Whitlock's crossbow. The sun had risen a fair height in the sky, and the day once again promised plenty of sun and heat.

Whitlock appeared considerably better, and another dose of Melann's priestly healing seemed to restore him almost completely. He smiled when Vheod offered him some of the rabbit, and he ate hungrily. Melann also smiled silently as she accepted some of Vheod's breakfast.

Vheod had thought all through the night. Try as he might, he couldn't rule out that perhaps a part of him had conspired with other evil forces. That foul portion of him, which claimed obvious links to Chare'en, might have planned to come here so he could free his great-grandfather. Perhaps the Taint was the representation of that dark side. It certainly hadn't reacted well to Melann's holy blessings and had most certainly played a part in leading him here. It brought him to Destiny's Last Hope and the abandoned temple of the enigmatic Arach and Gyrison. Perhaps those priests had been disguised fiends, working to get him to come here to free Chare'en. If these things were true, then he'd done everything they'd wanted him to do. He was a prisoner of his own destiny.

"Vheod," Whitlock said, swallowing his food, "once again I owe you ray thanks. I didn't trust you, and you still went to great lengths to save me."

"Perhaps you were right," Vheod whispered.

"What?" Whitlock asked.

"Perhaps you were right not to trust me. Perhaps I am a fool for trusting myself."

"Look," Whitlock continued, "the Ravenwitch- she's insane-mad and evil. I don't credit her with one word of truth. As far as I'm concerned, the things she said change nothing."

"Nothing?" Melann interjected. "You mean you still think we might be able to lift the curse on our family?" Vheod couldn't tell if she was hopeful or incredulous.

"I think that we would be fools to end our quest on the word of someone who was in the process of changing me into some raven creature." Whitlock almost laughed- Vheod had to admit, in the light of day, miles away from the tree, it did almost seem absurd.

"And even if every word she said was truth-" he glanced at Vheod, then back to Melann- "and I’ll admit I probably didn't hear everything, she did say the magical staff we seek might actually be with Chare'en, whatever his nature."

"So you want to press onward," Vheod said. "Of course," Whitlock answered.

"You never have told me," Vheod said, "how you came to find out about Chare'en and the staff in the first place."

Whitlock and Melann exchanged glances, as if to decide who would relate the tale. Melann began to speak. "In Archendale, we conducted research. We knew that ages ago an ancestor of ours had offended some powerful wizard, and that the wizard cursed him and his entire line. The curse strikes down family members erratically, sometimes in childhood, sometimes as adults, sometimes skipping entire generations altogether. Each time it's the same thing-a wasting malady weakens and finally overcomes them. That was really all our family knew.

"We were lucky in that we encountered a pair of traveling sages passing through our town. When we spoke to them, they told us that the wizard-who's name, they said, was Chare'en-had kept a magical staff that could lift any curse he had bestowed. The staff, they said, was buried with him in his crypt."

"These sages," Vheod asked, following a hunch, "what do you remember of them?"

"Not much," Whitlock replied, shaking his head. "I think their names were Gyrison and ah… Arach."

Vheod's mouth dropped open in surprise. Did that make the whole tale more believable, or less? He really couldn't be sure. Thinking back, he knew he'd never told Melann and Whitlock the names of the priests he'd encountered in those spider-infested woods.

“I’m afraid that after hearing what the Ravenwitch had to say," Melann spoke up, "I believe we've either been lied to or we've made some horrible mistake."

"If we don't go and find out for ourselves, well never rest," her brother said. "We'll never forgive ourselves if Mother and Father succumb to the curse. As much as ever, we've got to go. We've got to find the crypt of Chare'en-or his prison, or whatever it is."

Melann sighed heavily. "You're right, Whitlock. You're absolutely right." She turned to Vheod. "We have to go. The Ravenwitch said we wouldn't find anything without you, but I would understand if you didn't want to go."

Vheod couldn't help but admire their convictions, and their bravery. This was the point at which circumstances put his convictions, and more, his faith in himself, to the test. The Ravenwitch had said he'd come to Toril to free Chare'en. The Taint seemed to be leading him onward, and he had little remaining doubt that the Taint was evil and untrustworthy. Still, he had to believe he was ultimately in control of his own actions.

If I can't trust that much, he thought, I should just give up on myself right now. If I can't believe that I control my own actions, I don't want to live.