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She managed to contain her anger until after Withers had departed. But the boiling rage could not be contained indefinitely. It erupted from her – a fiery conflagration, a whirling inferno, a torrent of flame. It was not the bilious gall of her father’s blood denied. It was the incandescent fury of a goddess laid low. Bound and leashed. Whipped into servitude by the Dark Urge.
“This was not the agreement!” she screamed, as she threw firebolt after firebolt at the stone effigy of Bhaal. “I agreed-” a fireball threw several watching cultists into their god’s waiting arms “-to serve you! I didn’t sign up for sacrificing my very self upon your altar, you godsdamned motherfucking shitweasel!”
Behind her, unnoticed by Filia, her companions shuffled awkwardly. They had never heard her curse before. She had forgotten how. But she remembered now. She remembered everything. From Candlekeep to Nashkel to Baldur’s Gate. To Amn and Tethyr. To claiming her father’s divinity as her own – and for a few glorious decades, being the Lord of Murder. She had tried to do good with it. If there must be a god of murder, why shouldn’t it be someone who tries? Why shouldn’t the power belong to her? So she punished murderers and soothed the murdered, but that twisting of her portfolio had weakened her. It made her a lamb for the slaughter when Bhaal returned.
More cultists burned to cinders beneath her fiery breath. “Was that supposed to be consolation?!” she asked Bhaal’s silent effigy, indicating their crackling flesh and popping bones. “Was this-” she appraised her own hands – scales so dark red as to be almost black, like the deepest pool of blood, with sharp claws to rend and tear Bhaal’s enemies “-supposed to be an improvement over my human form?”
Two more cultists came into the room, saw the carnage Filia had unleashed, and turned to leave. Too late, as a set of perfectly aimed scorching rays shuffled them off the mortal coil.
Gale muttered, “I cannot help but notice that she’s murdering an awful lot of people right after rejecting the god of murder.”
Jaheira snorted. “If they’re here, they’re not innocents. Let her work out her anger on them.”
“What exactly is she so angry about?” Gale asked.
“Sounds like she made some kind of deal with Bhaal and he twisted the letter of the agreement,” Wyll said. “And I thought Mizora was bad.”
“And I struggle to imagine what Bhaal could have offered to make serving him seem like a good idea,” Jaheira said, scowling.
Finally their quiet conversation broke through the storm of Filia’s unleashed malice. She whirled on Jaheira. “You!” She jabbed a finger into the druid’s chest. “You lied to me!”
“What? When?” Jaheira took a startled step backwards, but Filia only stalked after her.
“You told me your old pal the Bhaalspawn rejected his father’s power, followed the path of the goody two-shoes, and lived happily ever after. Or as happy as a Bhaalspawn can.”
“Does that not match the stories you heard?”
“Oh don’t worry, I’ll have words for Volo too when I see him again.” Filia took a step back and ran a hand over her eyes – glowing red just like her father’s. “Did you not wonder what happened to her when Bhaal returned?” She took a deep breath, but her voice betrayed her by cracking as she continued, “Did you not care?”
“Of course I did! But none of the mages or priests I had scry for her could find hide nor hair of her! It was like she had been wiped from existence!”
Finally spent of her anger, or just exhausted by it, Filia collapsed on the floor of Bhaal’s temple. “I suppose I was. The Urge was a leash around my neck. I was free to resist it, to murder only the deserving, but the leash would always snap back. There were so many Alfiras. So many blackouts. And every time, another piece of me died. So that was my choice: willingly enact His goals, and lose myself that way, or resist and eventually all that would be left would be the Urge. A perfect solution to Bhaal’s problem, and not what I agreed to.”
“What was the deal supposed to be?” Wyll asked kindly. Always so kind to her, even when she didn’t deserve it.
“My service, in exchange for the right to exist. But he is, unfortunately, not a fool. He didn’t trust me to never turn against him, so he built this body with insurance. Still.” Begrudgingly, she admitted, “Better than an eternity of torment in the Abyss. Punishment for usurping his throne.”
Wyll stepped to her side and gently squeezed her shoulder. Suddenly she understood why she had felt such a strong sense of camaraderie with him after Mizora had punished him with his own transformation. At the time, she couldn’t remember how it had felt to be suddenly thrust into a body she didn’t recognize, with ridges in unmentionable places, but some part of her understood the feeling all the same. A conversation for another time, perhaps. She squeezed his hand and released it, standing to stalk towards the pile of gore that used to be Orin.
“Which makes what Orin did to me an unintentional favor. She filled my brain with holes and it was a kindness.” She dug through the blood and guts, unflinching, until she found Orin’s netherstone. Surprisingly, the Emperor stayed silent, perhaps sensing that there was more to say about her past lives.
“I am supposed to believe that you are Gorion’s ward?” Jaheira asked.
Filia shot her a disbelieving look. “I literally introduced myself as Filia of Candlekeep.”
“And I thought it a ridiculous name for dragonborn parents to give their child, but it was apparently the only thing you remembered, so I didn’t press the issue.”
Filia sighed, the deep sigh of a woman who had seen too much and been too many people. “I don’t care what you believe. I am who I am. But if it will make you feel better, ask me something only the real Filia of Candlekeep would know.”
She began to lead them out of the temple while Jaheira marshaled her thoughts. At the exit, Filia turned back. “Father beloathed, I know you’re still listening, so let me warn you: I will storm the heavens before I let you leash me again. You know I can. You know I will. We will not speak again.” Filia turned away. To her companions, she said, “My only regret is I can’t destroy that thrice-damned temple without destroying the city above it.”
Minsc, who had been quiet thus far, spoke up, “Minsc had his doubts about you, little Slayer, but Boo had none!”
Filia looked askance at the ranger. “You having doubts, I understand. But why didn’t Boo?”
Minsc produced the squeaking hamster upon his upraised palm. After a moment, he said, “Er. What do you mean, how many pyromaniac Filia of Candlekeeps could there be?”
Filia sputtered. “He knew?!” She pointed a finger at the hamster. “You knew! You could have said!”
Boo squeaked and began to wash his face. The picture of perfect innocence.
Filia sighed, chuckled, and shook her head. “I can’t stay mad at that face.”
Frowning, Jaheira asked, “Where did she meet Khalid and me?”
Filia glared up at the many, many stairs they had to climb to exit the Undercity. “Friendly Arm Inn. I had Imoen, Xzar, and Montaron with me. The latter two turned out to be Zhentarim agents, sent to investigate the iron crisis and find out why the Zhents were being blamed for it. We parted ways with them after Nashkel. Harpers and Zhentarim in the same group...recipe for disaster.”
Jaheira’s face was still full of doubt.
“Ask me another.”
“Khalid’s favorite color?”
“The color of your eyes on a cloudy day.”
“Why cloudy?”
“Because you got married in the rain. Though, in the interest of fairness, I should remind you that you told me that story after we found his gift.”
They passed one of the statues, still proselytizing about Alaundo’s supposed blindness. Filia’s fingers tapped an irritated rhythm upon her spellbook. Jaheira noted the nervous movement with a thoughtful expression.
“What was her role in Alaundo’s prophecy?”
“The prophecy was about what would happen if I failed. The Five would make the Sword Coast run with blood and Bhaal would return. Or Amelyssan, taking the power for herself. Hard to say if I failed or not, in the end. Sure, we stopped the Five. But Bhaal came back anyway, and now his cult is working in concert with Bane and Myrkul’s cults. And I was instrumental in the Absolute’s creation. Gorion would be ashamed of me.”
“No.” Jaheira grabbed Filia’s arm and turned her around, forcing eye contact. “No. You may have stumbled and struggled for a hundred years, but you turned away from your murderous heritage in the end. You are free, for the first time in three lives. Gorion would be proud.”
“You believe me?” Filia whispered.
“Boo makes a compelling case,” Jaheira replied, smirking. Her face softened, seeing something broken in Filia’s own expression, but before she could say something more reassuring, Filia yanked her into a bone-crushing hug. Patting Filia’s back, Jaheira said, “A genuine pleasure to meet you again, old friend.”