The Gossamer Plain

CHAPTER TWELVE

Dwarves, Vhok thought in disgust. Here, as far away from Faerun as I can possibly be, there are damnable dwarves!

The stout ones looked in many ways like their normal kin. Strong, sinewy arms and legs sprouted from thick, stumpy torsos. Though made of fire, their hair and beards were thick and bushy. Both their skin and clothing seemed fashioned of brass or bronze.

And most importantly, thought Vhok wryly, they are all frowning.

Those in the front rank brandished copper-colored war-hammers, while those in the back held short spears aloft. All of them were trying to approach the duo in a stealthy manner.

Invisible, the half-fiend realized. He grew angry that he and the priest had become careless, had stopped paying attention. We are tired, he thought. Tired idiots.

Vhok turned to Zasian to gauge the priest's intentions and spied another group of the flaming dwarves coming from the opposite direction. They, too, had been invisible a moment earlier, until Zasian's spell had revealed them. Between the two lines, they held both ends of the trail. They had planned their ambush well, for there was nowhere for the two travelers to run.

The two groups of fiery dwarves, realizing they had been exposed, slowed a bit and held their weapons higher. They eyed Vhok and Zasian warily but did not rush forward to attack, as the cambion expected. Instead, one from the first group stepped forward, a staff thrust toward the duo. "You will surrender to us, outlanders," he said in thickly accented Common. "Or you will perish by flame and weapon."

Zasian only stared. He seemed a bit bemused at the turn of events. He gave Vhok a glance. "Well?" he asked. "What do you want to do? Perish or surrender?"

Vhok realized the priest was barely preventing himself from bursting out in laughter. The cambion wasn't quite sure what was so amusing to the man. "I hardly think this is funny," he growled, low so the others couldn't hear him. "More gods-forsaken dwarves, and we had to stumble into the middle of them. I never want to see another dwarf in my life!"

"Surrender now, or we will slay you!" the leader of the creatures called, a bit louder and more forcefully.

"A moment, please, my friend," Zasian said, motioning to the dwarf for patience. "We are discussing your terms." He turned to Vhok and almost started laughing. "It's funny because I know how put out you are!" Zasian said quietly, still smirking. The priest chuckled for a moment, then managed to straighten his face. "In all seriousness, though, they have called for our surrender. Do you wish to fight our way out of this, or perhaps see if we can negotiate with them? We might convince them to guide us to the City of Brass."

Vhok grimaced. "I hardly think dwarves, hair afire or no, are interested in helping us," he said. "I'd as soon eat them alive as speak with them, and the feeling is mutual, I'm sure."

"Not necessarily," Zasian said. "These beings dwell far away from Sundabar and the Silver Marches. There's no reason to assume that they are aware of your animosity toward their kin or your reputation back home."

The leader of the dwarves, apparently impatient over the travelers' refusal to respond, barked orders at his squads of soldiers. The dwarves on both sides closed in on Vhok and Zasian. From a back rank, one even lofted a short spear into the air. The weapon struck the ground near Vhok's feet and wobbled there for a moment.

"I'll kill them all," Vhok hissed, reaching for Burnblood. "Every last one of them."

"No," Zasian admonished, taking hold of the cambion's arm. "Restrain yourself."

Vhok was on the verge of yanking his arm free, but the tone of the priest's voice gave him pause. He turned to glare at the man instead, to warn him against ever laying an unwelcome hand upon himself again.

"I told you I would speak plainly when I thought your actions were folly," Zasian said as the dwarves closed in. "Well, this is one such time. You do nothing to further your own cause by fighting them. They are intelligent-we can reason with them. Give it a chance before you become berserk with bloodlust against them."

Vhok clenched his teeth in fury, unwilling to acknowledge that the priest had a point. He only wanted to wreak havoc among the flame-haired nemeses and be done with them. But he knew that Zasian was right. Both of them were exhausted from travel and battle, and what they really needed were allies rather than enemies. Once more, he was being forced to trust where trust did not come naturally.

"All right," he said, yanking his arm out of Zasian's grasp. "We'll try it your way first." He released his blade, letting it slide back into its sheath, and held up his hands in supplication. "We agree to your terms," he called to the dwarves. "We have no wish to fight you." Then he turned and whispered fiercely to the priest, "But if this doesn't work out well for us, I will flay you along with Myshik!"

Zasian's stare was cold and indignant, but he didn't say anything.

The dwarf leader insisted that the pair drop all their weapons. It took several moments for the two prisoners to explain that their goods would burn to a crisp should they let them go.

"You have our word that we shall not lift a finger against you," Zasian said, "but we cannot allow our belongings to leave our possession. However," he added, reaching into his tunic, "we can offer you this as a show of good faith."

The nearest dwarf drew up in alarm when the priest began pulling something out, and the others raised their weapons higher, ready for trouble.

Seeing their concern, Zasian paused and smiled. "It is nothing to harm you, I promise. It is merely a token of our trustworthiness." He withdrew his hand slowly, letting them see that he held only a simple pouch.

Vhok recognized it as one of the numerous packets of gems they had brought with them to aid in smoothing negotiations once they reached the City of Brass. He wasn't sure he liked the idea of Zasian revealing how wealthy they were, but it was too late to object. If those dwarves were as greedy for the bright, shiny things as the dwarves back home, they might be softened up by such a gift.

On the other hand, the cambion thought, they might try to tear us limb from limb to see if we have more.

Zasian carefully opened the pouch and sprinkled a few amethysts into his palm. He held the gemstones out for the leader to see. The dwarf's bright, pupil-less yellow eyes burned brighter and he reached toward the stones with one hand. Very quickly, Zasian slipped the gems back into the small pouch and set the entire bag into the dwarf's palm.

"I would find something else to put those in," he suggested. "That bag is likely to turn to ash in a matter of moments."

The dwarf stared at the priest for several breaths, as if appraising him, then nodded and produced a small copper urn from within his belongings. He dropped the gems, pouch and all, into the urn and put it away.

"Your gift is most generous," he said, "though as our prisoners, everything you own belongs to us anyway. Do you have more?"

Zasian drew himself up and gave the dwarf leader a commanding stare. "We would prefer to think of ourselves as your guests," he said imperiously. "And consider carefully that you managed to get your hands on those without any sort of struggle. To obtain more, against our wishes, would be much more difficult. The loss of life would be tremendous, hardly worth the effort."

The dwarf's eyes grew wide again, though for a very different reason. He drew himself more upright, too. He was on the verge of challenging Zasian's threat. Then he appeared to think better of it.

"You will come with us," he announced. "We must take you before Lord Cripakolus, the azer clan chief. He will decide what must be done with you."

Vhok frowned. "We have traveled far and battled strange winged lizards in the sky. We are quite weary and must rest soon. Can this not wait?" He didn't relish the idea of being taken to some dwarven stronghold for questioning.

"No," the dwarf said. "But our camp is not far. Lord Cripakolus will want to meet you. We azer do not see such exotic travelers in our mountains very often. He will receive you as guests, not prisoners, if you give him more gems. As gifts, of course."

Vhok snorted in derision, but Zasian gave the cambion a warning look before nodding to the dwarf. "If your clan lord is willing to provide us with a guide to our destination, then we might be able to come to an arrangement that pleases him." Then, more softly, so that only Vhok could hear, he added, "What can it hurt? At the very least, they might be able to offer us more comfortable surroundings in which to rest. It can't be much worse than here."

Vhok still held reservations, but again, the priest's arguments made sense. And he had already agreed that they would follow it to some conclusion. He didn't see the point of changing his mind too quickly. He looked at the azer leader and motioned for them to proceed.

"Lead on," he said, glaring. "And pray that your clan lord accommodates us well."

The dwarf stared back at Vhok briefly, then turned and issued more orders to his soldiers. The troops took up positions as escorts, surrounding the two visitors. The fiery humanoids then began to lead their two charges up the trail, climbing the slopes of the mountain.

The path meandered just as it had before Vhok and Zasian had run into the dwarves. The trail switched back on itself multiple times, ascending the steep slope at a gradual rate. The land was solid, though it still popped, crackled, and spit jets of flame into the air almost constantly.

The smoky haze that was so prevalent at the lower elevations grew even more pronounced up the mountainside. Unlike the highest reaches of mountains on Abeir-Toril, the trees did not become more stunted and then disappear completely. Instead, the crystal-trees grew larger, creating a glassy canopy that almost completely blocked out the ember glow of the sky above.

It reminded Vhok of walking through an immense cathedral, not a comfortable sensation for the half-fiend.

The group crossed several of the narrow black bridges. Each had been crafted from blocks of glassy black stone. Each block appeared perfectly formed, rather than hewn. Vhok was certain the rock had been liquid at one time and had been poured into molds.

As they walked, Vhok whispered to his counterpart. "How did you know they were there?" he asked, inclining his head to indicate the dwarves. "How did you see them when they were still invisible?"

"Ah," the priest said, nodding in understanding. "My weapon. I can perceive invisible things with it at any time, even without concentrating to detect them. I keep the scroll handy to aid others without the benefit."

"If we had noted them sooner, we might not have wound up in their 'care,' " Vhok said.

"And we might also still be arguing about where to take refuge," Zasian shot back. "Think of the potential benefits rather than the consequences."

Vhok grunted. "I am trying," he said, "but old hatreds are difficult to overcome."

They continued for some time longer until at last they reached a valley, a broad flat shelf cut from the mountain near its top. Steep-sided ridges huddled on either side of it and provided protection. A great stone wall made of the same igneous rock bisected the valley, with a large gate set near the middle. A stream of fire leaked through a low gap at one place in the wall, then meandered the rest of the way out of the valley until it plunged over the side and became a tumultuous cascade skipping down the mountainside.

Vhok could see more of the flame-haired folk manning the walls. As the group approached, a heavy portcullis made of bronze-or some similar metal-rose, admitting them entrance. Just like on Faerun, the clans of dwarves seemed to love mountain fortifications that were stout and forbidding.

Their escorts led them through the massive portal and into the enclosed space beyond, where a small village lined the main thoroughfare. Only a handful of buildings had been erected, constructed of stone and brassy metals. Vhok saw puddles of fire everywhere, and smoking vapors wafted across his field of vision. A handful of azer, gathering fire into large kettles or urns of brass, stopped and stared as the entourage passed. The cambion spied citizens of all ages, from the very elderly to the diminutive young. Vhok stared back at them all, trying to keep his distaste from showing on his face.

After passing through the small surface community, an advance outpost if the cambion read the situation right, Vhok and Zasian followed their escort into a great passage cut into the stone of the mountain. Twin valves of coppery metal could seal the great mouth of the cavern when needed, but they stood open, and numerous azer passed in and out under the watchful gazes of more soldiers, armed and dressed similarly to those who accompanied the travelers.

The interior of the large tunnel glowed the ember orange color of fire. Vhok observed that the stream that pierced the outer wall originated within the passage, flowing down from the ceiling and walls like thin syrup, then gathering into a pool upon the floor. From there, it wound its way through the village before disappearing over the side of the mountain.

The path was bisected by the great lava pool. A series of large stone blocks, several paces on a side, served as stepping stones. The top of each block sat perhaps the height of a man above the surface of the liquid fire, but Vhok still felt the great heat radiating from it. He realized for the dozenth time that he was parched and badly needed water. He wondered if it even existed on the plane.

Beyond the stepping stones, the path became solid again, rising higher into the mountain. Like many dwarf abodes, the central tunnel had been cut wide, ran straight, and bore many side passages. At one place, the route became a ledge within a gargantuan cavern where a lake of lava roiled and churned far below. The huge chamber featured stalactites jutting down from the ceiling. Unlike the familiar stone projections found in caverns in Faerun, the ones Vhok observed were formed from molten rock that cooled as it dripped down from above. From time to time, great bubbles of superheated gases erupted from the lava, causing gouts of liquid rock to spew upward, adding to the bizarre geological formations.

At last, the duo's dubious honor guard led them into a palatial audience chamber.

The builders had adorned the entire place-floors, walls, columns, and ceiling-with brass sheeting, giving the place a coppery hue. Caldrons of fire lit the chamber, as did great flaming jets that roared up from the floor at regular intervals. Warriors dressed in brass suits of armor stood at attention along a walkway leading from the entrance to a steep-stepped dais on the far end, where a throne rose up to tower over all.

Numerous cages hung from heavy chains attached to the ceiling. Vhok could see bizarre creatures of fire imprisoned within them. Some, like the serpentine salamander with its humanoid torso and flaming, fan-shaped spikes, he recognized. Others, he did not. He spied three-legged lizards with their mouths atop their heads, tentacled horrors that hovered rather than sat, and a dozen other things besides. They paced restlessly or lolled without any interest in the goings on below them. Some sat and watched, their eyes white-hot coals with gazes that bored through observers.

"Lord Cripakolus," the escort leader announced in a clear, ringing voice, "Clan Lord of the Everash tribe, King of Smoke and Embers, I present to you two travelers found trespassing upon our mountain. They come bearing gifts. They, uh, have not been disarmed, your lordship, as they claimed their belongings would burn up should they leave their hands."

Vhok cast a glowering sidelong glace at the azer and rolled his eyes. He and Zasian approached the dais. When Zasian bowed deeply to the azer reclining upon the throne, Vhok did likewise. The cambion stole a quick glance around the room and noted with satisfaction that the other fire-dwarves looked on with approval. The pair stood upright again, and Vhok gave the priest a nod to take the lead.

"Greetings, Lord," Zasian began in an ingratiating tone. "We are but two lost travelers seeking safe passage through your territory. As your servant has so helpfully pointed out, we do come bearing gifts-gems, in fact. These we would be delighted to bestow upon you, if you would but consider aiding us in our quest."

Vhok watched Cripakolus's reaction. The azer lord sat upright and stared down at his two visitors with what Vhok could only interpret as greed.

He rubbed his hands together. "Gems, you say. I would see them," he said, folding his arms across his chest. "Produce them now."

Zasian nodded while Vhok bristled. "Very well, my lord," the priest said, still in his obsequious tone. "I have some right here." and he reached into his tunic.

"If he withdraws a weapon instead of gems," the azer lord said loudly, "slay him."

Zasian paused as the attending guards disengaged from their posts and moved closer, warhammers ready. They left no doubt that they would carry out their leader's command instantly. Vhok reached for his blade, but kept his hand hovering over the pommel of Burnblood without actually drawing it.

Very slowly, the priest removed another small pouch of gems. He held it up so that all within the room could see, then he carefully drew the drawstring open. He tipped the little sack over and revealed a handful of rubies as they spilled into his palm.

Cripakolus made a noise of delight and leaned forward for a better look. "Excellent," he said. "You will hand them to my seneschal," he commanded, and a servant stepped forward from behind the throne.

Zasian slipped the rubies back into their satchel and held the container out. "As I told your fearless commander here when I gave a sack to him, you would do well to transfer them to a more sturdy container. That pouch will go up in flames in but a few breaths."

The soldier who had initially engaged them on the mountainside and who had accepted the first sack of gems gave a hiss of displeasure.

Vhok glanced over and saw him glowering at Zasian. It made the cambion want to laugh. Skimming off the top, eh? he thought.

"You will hand over those gems at once, Lakataki," Cripakolus commanded. "All gifts are my property until otherwise distributed."

"Yes, your lordship," the azer replied. Reluctantly, he produced the copper urn into which he had slipped the pouch of amethysts and handed it to the seneschal.

"Thank you for these fine gemstones," the azer clan lord said. "You are indeed generous."

Zasian bowed again, and Vhok mimicked him with only slight delay.

"Do you have more?" Cripakolus asked.

The priest gave a bemused smile. "Perhaps," he said, "but I think we will hold onto those for the moment. Consider them as bargaining funds," he said. "We have need of your assistance, for which we would be willing to pay well."

"Perhaps there will be no bargaining," the clan lord replied. "Perhaps I will take you into custody and confiscate all your belongings, including the remaining gems, as property of the clan."

Vhok stiffened and began to reach for his sword again.

Are we going to have to fight our way out of here? he wondered. He didn't like their chances, unless they could somehow enlist allies from the caged creatures overhead.

"You could do that," Zasian said carefully, "but such an act would almost certainly cost you much more than the gems are worth. We will not go down easily, if at all," the priest warned. "You do not want that fight, when cooperation and generosity bring so much more."

Cripakolus stroked his beard of flame for a few moments, lost in thought. All around the chamber, the tension grew. The azer lord's loyal warriors tensed, expecting the command to capture or slay the two visitors. Vhok mentally sorted through his remaining magical options, as he was sure Zasian was also doing. The cambion had very little left, and even if they did manage to win their way out of the audience chamber, they had the whole rest of the underground citadel to contend with. It didn't look good.

Damn you, Zasian, the half-fiend stewed. Why did I let you talk me into this?

Vhok was on the verge of levitating to get out of the impending fight when the azer clan chief spoke. "Very well," he said. "You are shrewd bargainers. I accept your gifts and offer you aid." Vhok sighed in relief, until he heard the fiery dwarf's next words. "As further compensation for our assistance, you will do something for us first."

Vhok drew in a deep, irate breath. "And what might that be?" he asked, making no effort to hide his displeasure.

We don't have time for this! he thought dismally.

"Some of our brethren work as slaves for our hated enemy, the efreet. You will go to the mines where they toil, kill all the efreet, and rescue the azer."

The tavern girl leaned back and laughed. It was a merry sound, full of life and joy. The man upon whose lap she sat grinned from ear to ear, pleased that his joke had amused her so. Aliisza watched from a corner. She knew both of them, from her past. The alu felt the old jealousy rise up again, just as it had several years before. She turned and sought herself, the version of herself that had been in the tavern that night, disguised as a pretty young human woman.

There.

The half-fiend could see blazing green eyes, the sultry, pouting mouth. The memory of herself stared daggers at the tavern girl.

Aliisza remembered all too well.

The tavern girl, so pretty, so happy, was a favorite among the patrons. She always wore a smile, no matter how crowded or hectic the tavern might be. And she was renowned for her ability to work the knots out of a laborer's shoulders. Her fingers were strong, deft. They always knew right where to massage. They were her most prized gift.

Aliisza had hated the girl for her easy manner, her genuine happiness, and the way she let her good mood spread to the customers. Most of all, though, Aliisza hated that the man was so enamored of the other girl.

The alu had been flirting with the fellow most of the evening, looking for a little companionship, maybe a roll in the hay in the stables. But he only had eyes for the sweet girl on his lap.

The tavern girl hopped up and proceeded to knead his muscles, pressing her fingers in all the right places. The man closed his eyes and sighed as the girl laughed and talked to everyone nearby. It made the memory of Aliisza sick with envy.

Remembering what she had done, Aliisza wanted to turn away. She had never felt any shame or guilt over her revenge-and she never would-but she also had never learned the tavern girl's fate after that night.

She watched as the girl excused herself and slipped into the back. She watched as the memory of Aliisza, still disguised, followed her. Behind the tavern, in the yard, the memory of Aliisza caught the girl just as she was returning from the jakes. The woman never knew what was coming. A quick kick to the gut, an elbow against the back of the head, and she was down, sprawled in the mud.

Aliisza watched, fascinated, as her old memory of herself bent down with a dagger and took the girl's thumbs. Such a little thing, not a terrible injury. But the little trollop could no longer carry a tray of mugs, would never rub a knot out of sore muscles again. The ghostly image of herself laughed as she did it. She mashed the girl's face into the mud to muffle her screams as the pain brought her back to consciousness. And Aliisza slipped away, returning to her true form and flying off, taking the thumbs with her so they couldn't be magically restored. She never turned back once, even as the girl lay sobbing and writhing in the mud.

But the real Aliisza remained. She watched as a cluster of patrons came out of the tavern to see what had befallen the girl. She stood in the shadows, not wanting to be seen, even though she knew the memories would never notice her. She stared as the man with whom the girl had flirted appeared. When he saw what had befallen the girl, Aliisza expected him to turn away in disgust.

Who would want a crippled girl? she remembered thinking at the time.

But he didn't turn away. Instead, he wrapped her ruined hands in bandages, and he gathered her up in his arms and carried her. She buried her head against his shoulder, crying softly. He took her through the yard and to the street, and accompanied by several others, went to the temple.

A priest of Ilmater met them at the door. He took one look at the girl and summoned them all inside. The priest, in his nightclothes, prepared a spell right then, in the sanctuary of the temple, before the altar dedicated to the maimed god. He laid his hands upon the young woman's wounds, pressed his flesh against hers, and prayed.

Aliisza knew then what would happen. The hands were healed. The woman regained her thumbs, as new and as whole as before. When the ritual was complete, when she had what she had lost, she knelt down and began to pray alongside the priest. The man who had brought her to the temple dug a pouch of coins from his tunic and placed it in the offering bowl.

The girl turned to him and smiled but shook her head. She would not let the man pay her debt for her. And Aliisza could feel it. She saw how it ended. She could sense the girl's holy aura grow, surround her. She became a priestess of the faith, and those hands, those soothing hands, became healing hands. She devoted herself to aiding others, gave herself to the service of Ilmater.

The thought that Aliisza had driven the girl to take on a new life of good works rankled her. She forced the image out of her mind. It faded, and she was in the garden again. The nighttime breezes, ever present, made the wind chimes dance.

The alu sighed. Even though she still loathed the woman, there was something… compelling… in her tale. She didn't know what it was, but watching her overcome Aliisza's retribution made the half-fiend feel weak, ineffectual. It was not a feeling she was accustomed to, nor did she much care for it. She grimaced and turned away from the garden.

"They married, you know," came Tauran's voice from somewhere behind her.

Somehow, Aliisza knew the angel would be there that night, though she hadn't seen him in several days. She turned and looked at him. He was sitting in the shadows, upon one of the benches. She held her breath, waiting to hear what else he had to share with her. She sensed that he had come for something more than a mere chat.

"The man you coveted married her. He loved her before what you did, but when he saw her selfless act afterward, watched as she turned to a life of healing, he fell in love with her even more deeply."

"Silly, the both of them," Aliisza said, dismissing the vision with a wave of her hand. "And I thought my penance was supposed to be all about how my crimes harmed the poor and innocent. That hardly seems to fit the bill," she scoffed.

"It was given as an example of how compassion and honest caring overcome acts of selfishness and pettiness. You think you invariably wreak havoc in the things you do, but when all is said and done, the goodness of the world endures. The people recover, share, support one another. It is the way of living things to aid each other."

"Again, quite silly," Aliisza said crossly. She wished he would get to the point. She feared he was going to leave her again.

"On the contrary," the angel said, "quite satisfying. People treat each other with respect because they feel better about themselves. In its own way, it's equally selfish-why do anything unless you benefit from it? — but the payback is tenfold, because all enjoy it equally."

"I think not," Aliisza said. "I think people do it because they are afraid. They fear that if they do not pay homage to others, someone will come along and dominate them, take control of them. And by cowering from that fear, they become beholden to it, as surely as if someone did come and master them. People act like weak, mewling things because they are afraid of true power. They are afraid that someone else will take it from them and use it in their stead. And they can't bear the thought of losing that, so they pretend they don't want it."

Tauran sighed. "Do you really believe that?" he asked, his voice faint, perhaps defeated. "Truly?"

Aliisza smiled. He finally understands, she thought. He cannot change me. "I believe it as surely as I believe you keep me here not because you want me to know love and compassion, but because you are afraid of what I will take from you when I am free."

"Then I guess there's no real reason to tell you that you have a son," the deva said.

Aliisza felt a shiver pass through her. A son? I have a son!

"Can I see him?" she asked, eager. "Would you show him to me?" She pointed at the fountain.

Tauran stared at her for a long time before speaking. "No," he said at last. "Not yet."

Aliisza felt anger flush her cheeks. "Why not?" she demanded. She crossed the open space to where he sat, intent on confronting him, though she knew she could not physically affect him in any way. Neither of them were truly there, in that garden of illusion. "Why won't you show me my son?" she asked, her voice much softer, more pleading than she had intended.

"Because," the angel replied, "he is nothing more than a weak, mewling thing, something for you to use as a stepping stone to true power."

Aliisza opened her mouth to retort, but she had no words. What he said was true. She couldn't both love her son and see him as a means to an end. The two could not be reconciled.

Tauran stood. "I think you finally understand," he said. "You're right-I cannot change you. I never meant to try. You, and only you, can change yourself."

"I don't want to change!" she whispered fiercely. "What you show me is nothing but pain and sorrow and loneliness! How can people want that? They never deal from a position of strength! They never have the ability to take what they want! How can that be better than being strong, independent, powerful? How can succumbing to silly romantic notions be preferable to steeling yourself against all those who would take from you?"

"I will come to you again," the angel replied, "when I sense that you know the answer to that question yourself."

"Don't go," she said. It was the first time she had asked him to stay. "Don't leave me here."

He smiled softly then and reached out to stroke her hair, her cheek. It wasn't an amorous touch, not filled with the heat of passion and arousal. It was gentle and kind, a touch of compassion and love. "Exactly," he said.

Watching the angel vanish was the hardest thing Aliisza had ever done.