by J M D Reid
It’s a warm day. Maybe it was just the heat. Her throat felt sore, in need of refreshment. I didn’t drink enough. I pushed myself too hard. That’s it. Just passed out from heatstroke. I’m fine. I made a full recovery.
She neared Patience Gate. Even as the sun set, traffic still streamed both ways. Those who worked outside the wall returned home, and those who worked inside left to do the same. A deep purple stretched across the sky. Compassion shone above her, the orange moon half-full. Behind her, Forgiveness would be rising near-full.
She had to hurry.
She paused at the gates. They were large, open maws leading out into danger. She hugged herself. What if I pass out again?
Avena pushed that thought down. She could still defend herself even without a weapon. Ōbhin had trained her. She just had to march out there and not be afraid. She’d never let fear hold her back. No way she would start now.
Despite her confidence, she couldn’t move. Her body had betrayed her, made her helpless once more. Flashes of all the horrid things that could have happened to her in the alley assaulted her mind. A sickly ooze bubbled through her veins. It spread throughout her body, congealing her blood and weighing down every bit of her.
She wanted to vomit. To scrub herself clean.
You’ve walked this way a hundred times! she told herself. You’re losing daylight. You have no money. What are you going to do? Stand here? Do you think this will be any safer after dark? Stop being useless!
People passed her, leaving the city without any concern. Her bodice constricted tight about her chest. Breathing grew more difficult. Spots danced on the edges of her vision. She felt on the verge of fainting as she struggled to control herself.
You didn’t need weapons before to walk from Kash to Dualayn’s household. Why now? Just take a step forward.
She glanced down at her dark-red skirts. The layers of petticoats she wore beneath gave her dress a bell-like shape. They fell to her ankles, a hint of the lacy underskirt peeking out. She lifted the fabric just enough to stare at her heeled shoes made of stiff, fuzzy suede. She just had to move one of them.
She hated this so much. Why did her body have to betray her and make her helpless?
With a grunt, she took a step.
She could do this. She had to.
Ōbhin will never let me rush into danger with him if I panic over this!
Another step.
She strained to do it. The yellow-painted gates leaned closer. This fearful rush built and built in her. Frustration washed through her. She hated this weakness. It wasn’t who she was. She’d leaped before bandits with only a dagger to defend her patient. She’d stepped up to face an angry mob to support her friends. Ōbhin!
She’d fought an entire gang of ruffians.
I had my binder then. My earthen gauntlet. Now I’m alone. I could pass out at any time.
Bitter gall burned her throat. She threw back her head, about to screech her frustration, when a loud voice called, “Avena!”
She lowered her head to spot Bran rushing forward. The youth had a huge grin on his face as he pushed between two laborers who cursed at him. He didn’t care. He stopped before her, his smile almost swallowing his face.
“We were so worried!” he said, pink touching his cheeks. “We practically ran hoping to find where you’d gone.”
“We?” she asked, already feeling safer just with his presence. He wore a linen shirt, open in the front to show off the chest hairs he was so proud of growing, and leather pants. He had a binder hanging from his belt.
“Fingers and Ōbhin.”
Her breath caught at Ōbhin’s name. He approached slowly, wearing his leather jerkin and pants, his hands wrapped in black. He stared at her, his face intense, his eyes flicked up and down her, scanning her. This breathless relief fluttered through her. She didn’t have to be afraid. If she fainted, they—Ōbhin—would protect her.
“Why were you out for so long?” he growled, his face suddenly full of anger.
For a moment, she wanted to march to him and throw his anger back into his face. Then the helpless fear curdled in her. She squirmed, embarrassed to admit what had happened. He stopped before her, scrutinizing her.
“You’re dirty,” he said. “Your dress is stained. Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine,” she said. “I just tri—”
“Where’s your satchel? Were you . . .?”
Her cheeks burned. He was seeing how weak she was. What if she was weak? What if she had been fooling herself? Had she truly fought all those ruffians by herself? Or had Ōbhin helped her? Her memories of that day were so fragmented.
Dualayn told me there would be . . . differences. What if I never was who I think I am? What if I’m not strong? She shuddered. What if I’m just a burden to Ōbhin? I want to stand with him but . . .
I can’t even walk through Kash without passing out and being robbed.
“I’m fine,” she said. “They didn’t do anything to me. Just . . . It’s okay. Can we go? I want to return home.”
“Of course,” Ōbhin said, his voice growing gentler. His eyes held pity she couldn’t stand.
She’d rather he would be angry with her, defiant. That he thought she was strong enough to withstand it. He’d reined in his temper when she’d revealed her weakness. Tears hovered at the edges. Emotion choked the back of her throat. She feared breaking down and crying right here, crushed by how wrong this day had gone.
All her plans to confront him had evaporated. Even if she had fought all those ruffians by herself, she couldn’t trust her body now not to faint at the wrong time.
Ōbhin offered his arm, the pity remaining in his eyes.
A little bit of fire kindled in her. She marched ahead towards the gate like she hadn’t been too terrified to approach it. The men fell in around her, Fingers on her right, silent but relaxed. She wanted to take his fatherly arm, but she didn’t.
She could be strong enough to walk with three men around her.
*
Pain stung through Ōbhin as he lowered his arm and caught up with her.
This is what you wanted, he reminded himself. To set her free.
He didn’t know how she could have been robbed. The thieves must have come on her fast, overpowered her before she could draw her binder. It could happen to anyone. Of course, she wouldn’t let it affect her. She marched back straight.
She didn’t need him. She was strong enough without him around. She would walk her own path, a bright one. One where he wouldn’t get her killed. That was good enough. Love wasn’t for him. He did foolish things for it.
Terrible things.
The sun descended as they passed through the Roida Slums, returning to the estate in silence.
Chapter Eleven
Sixth Day of Patience, 755 EU
Avena’s consciousness escaped her alien body again. She slumped into dreams.
She stood before a diamond. It was massive, as tall as she was, and shaped in such intricate ways. A bewildering array of facets that reflected broken mirrors of reality. A network of fine, gold wires ran from it, some embedded in the gem itself. A faint hum emanated from it, a light glowing in its heart.
She glanced at the man on her right. The lover from her dream, brown skin and blue eyes. He wore a shirt with shiny buttons, the fabric possessing a silky sheen, the stitching fine. It fit him well. He smiled at her, a gesture of reassurance.
He spoke to her in that musical tongue, his words a light tenor. He stood before a black gem. She had never seen its like. She knew of no black gem but obsidian, only this didn’t look melted and glassy like the few bits of the forbidden stone she’d seen. It had a smoky quality to it and hummed like the diamond but at a different note. He placed his hand on it.
She pressed her hand on the diamond. Smooth. Cool. Waiting.
There were others in the room. On her right glowed a massive ruby. A woman stood before it, blonde like a Roidanese, her skin as pale as Avena’s own. Then a sapph
ire, the woman standing by it half-obscured. All the gems were here arrayed in a circle, each humming and glowing, each with a person placing a hand on the faceted surface.
Avena glanced at her own hand. It was alien, not her own, but it felt right. Like she belonged in this body. The fingernails were painted a soft pink, their ends long and finely shaped. Her arms were bare to her elbow. She didn’t wear a dress but tight-fitting trousers of some stretchy material that hugged her thighs and rear. Her blouse had pleated ruffles following a V-cut neckline which showed off a generous swath of her bosom.
Pale-white hair spilled down her face.
She glanced around the room. The eight gems and their controllers, for want of a better term, were arrayed in the center of a room with walls and floors and ceilings of a waxy stone made of pure white. It was a substance unlike anything she’d seen before. The place had a sterility about it, a level of cleanliness Avena didn’t think was possible.
The room vibrated. The gems all hummed louder. Something resonated through her body, reaching into her bones.
Avena’s real eyes snapped open.
She awoke, back in her body. The alien feeling that had descended on her right before the dream swallowed her had passed. She blinked and realized she lay slumped on her side on the carriage bench. The clatter of wheels over cobblestones echoed as she sat up. Drool stained her left cheek.
Dualayn appeared enraptured with the Primer the White Lady had given to him. It must be his hundredth time he’d studied it. It held the guide to deciphering Old Tonal, the primordial language spoken before the Shattering.
He didn’t notice that I passed out?
She shivered, glad it had happened while she was in the carriage, safe from harm. They were returning from a visit to the hospital. They had three patients—a man and two women—who seemed beyond normal jewelchine healers to help. Dualayn would work on them in his lab. She glanced at the window and saw they were almost home.
She had passed out right after leaving.
The dream remained with her. The handsome man, the lover of the white-haired woman, burned in her memory. If it wasn’t for his blue eyes, she would call him a Qothian like Ōbhin. And the woman . . . The White Lady? Avena had never seen a young woman with white hair before, and she’d felt young in the dream, her body healthy. And who were those others? What was that room? Those jewels were huge and linked together. Why?
She shivered, focusing on the dream instead of her body betraying her again. Whatever fanciful delights her mind had conjured, no doubt gleaned from studying the primer and the Recorder with Dualayn for the last week, was better than dwelling on her weakness. She needed to accept that her mind hadn’t been fully healed.
Dualayn had still accomplished a miracle.
Living with the occasional fainting spell was better than death. It had just stolen away standing by Ōbhin’s side. She couldn’t trust herself in a fight not to faint and be a burden. He might get hurt trying to protect her unconscious form.
“Anything useful?” she asked as they turned off the road onto the driveway of his estate.
“Very,” he said. “I am intrigued by your earthen gauntlet. It’s a remarkable idea. I hadn’t thought of attaching them to the outside of the body. Imagine if we used other gems beside emeralds. Suits that could make someone immune to fire or maybe to breathe underwater. Imagine exploring the bottom of a river or the sea.”
She smiled. Research with Dualayn was where she could best serve. It wasn’t as exciting, wasn’t with Ōbhin at her side, but it was something to feed the emptiness inside of her.
Little morsels to keep despair at bay.
*
Ōbhin climbed off the carriage seat as it pulled up before the manor house. In the week since Avena’s mugging, she hadn’t tried to join the training once. Hadn’t come near him at all. She just drifted like a ghost around the yard when she wasn’t inside the lab becoming a second Dualayn.
The carriage door opened and a pale-faced Avena stepped out. She had a frailness about her, a tremble in her fingers as she took Miguil’s larger hand to help her step down. She held her dark-green skirt with her other hand, her twin tails of brown hair bobbing with her movement. A hollowness echoed in her eyes when they met Ōbhin’s.
Hers darted away.
“Let’s get the patients inside and see what we can do with them,” said Dualayn. “Avena, I’ll need your help with the initial exams. I think one of the women shall be easy to heal, but I have reservations about the man and the other woman.”
“Of course, Father,” Avena said, her voice soft, almost a whisper.
The fiery rose bristling with thorns who’d stood up against the bandits had been replaced by this wilting violet. She vanished inside the open doors of the house, leaving the hot sunlight behind. Ōbhin wiped sweat from his brow, disgusted at what he’d done.
“What’s wrong with her?” Miguil asked in a low voice. “I’ve never seen her like this.”
“I was too hard on her,” Ōbhin muttered, lashing himself. Trying to keep her safe only hurt her worse.
“I never thought anyone could leash her.” Miguil closed the carriage doors. “Feels wrong.”
“She’s not resonating with a healthy tone,” Ōbhin said, staring down at his sable gloves. I managed to destroy her in a different way.
*
Avena slipped out of the lab. Of the three, the younger of the two women was recovering. Avena needed help to get her into a guest bed and out of the lab. Dualayn planned to work hard on the other two. She could already see the manic delight in his eyes.
He had ideas. Tests. He would do all he could to heal them, working day and night, pushing himself to unhealthy levels. She should object, but this timidity weighed on her. She couldn’t trust herself any longer. She felt betrayed by her body. Her mind. It had her off-balance, withdrawn.
The emptiness hadn’t felt this close to her in years. It was swallowing her bit by bit. The more she worried about her fainting spells, the less strength she had to keep away that hollow void in her.
She hovered on the edge of becoming that silent girl again, too scared to be noticed. For two years after her mother murdered her sister and her father abandoned her, Avena hadn’t spoken. A patient woman named Daughter Heana had coaxed her out of this unfeeling void. She’d brought Colour to Avena’s world.
Every day it paled more and more.
Dualayn had worked a miracle to save her, and it wasn’t enough.
She should talk to someone, to Dualayn, to Ōbhin, but none of them had noticed anything was wrong with her. Dualayn had his patients, and Ōbhin saw her as useless, not worth his time. She’d lost him.
“Avena?”
The sound of her name drew her introspective attention. She looked up to see Fingers and Dajouth lounging in the servants’ dining hall off the kitchen. A row of well-maintained, if simple, tables with study chairs. They were eating noodles with chopsticks in a broth of pork and onions.
“The cook made something this late?” Avena asked in surprise.
“She thinks it’s supper,” said Dajouth.
“Oh, Avena, there you are,” said Kaylin. The fleshy woman wearing a sleeveless sleeping gown and a heavy apron over it strode out with a bowl of steaming broth with thin noodles. “I don’t know where everyone is. They should be sitting down for supper.”
“They’re busy with something important,” Avena said. The woman had been confused since her husband’s death two years ago. Dyain had been the butler before Pharon. The man had fallen and broken his neck. Grief had ruined the older woman’s mind. She dwelled in a shadowy version of the past.
“I bet that’s Dyain’s doing. That man’s always tryin’ to ruin my careful work.” She said it with a fond smile. Then she glanced at those two. “Kadayn and Bran, eat up. Now. I didn’t slave away for you to just push it around with your chopsticks.”
“Right away, ma’am,” Dajouth said. “The bounty of your kitchen is only matched by
the beauty of your face.”
Kaylin arched an eyebrow. “What would a boy know of beauty? If your mother heard you say those words, why, she’d wash your mouth out with soap.” Then she turned to Avena and blinked. “What are you doin’ here so late? Sneakin’ food out of my kitchen?”
Kaylin snatched the bowl back and marched back into the kitchen, muttering under her breath.
“She’s gotten worse,” said Fingers.
“Yeah. Who’s Kadayn?” Dajouth asked.
The older man snorted. “You think my mother named me Fingers?”
“It fits you,” Avena said. “Better than Fingers. If you two are not busy, I need a patient carried out of the laboratory.”
“I am always at your disposal, lovely Avena,” Dajouth said, rising with smooth grace. He swept her a bow.
Through the heavy dullness draped over her, a small giggle bubbled out of her. For a moment, she felt mirth at his flowery attempts at flirtation. The laugh died, swallowed by her malaise. Her face relaxed into uncaring.
“If you flirt with every woman you meet, they’ll all hate you,” Fingers said. “They talk, women do. You do something to one, and the rest will know in an hour. All judgin’ you.”
“How can they be mad if I pay them all compliments?” protested Dajouth as he rose, setting his wooden chopsticks across the bowl.
Avena grimaced at his poor manners.
She led them back through the house. She hadn’t remembered walking into the east wing. They passed white-plastered walls decorated with the occasional painting or bust. A runner of red carpet ran over the marble flooring to protect its finish. It was Homphrial marble, quarried from up north. Blue and red veins ran through the stone, giving it a unique, and expensive, look.
Fingers and Dajouth took up the stretcher with the woman. She slept thanks to a distillation of poppy. She would wake up in the morning recovered. Then she’d be on her way with a small purse of silver rays to aid her.
Avena supervised as they transferred the woman to the bed, not jostling her. She was young and clean now, the dirt washed from her face with patient care by Avena earlier. The woman had a mix of Lothonian and Tethyrian blood, her skin a light tan, her hair pure black. Her mixed heritage gave her a delicate cast to her high cheekbones.