“Remembering our dear princeling has ruined my manners, I’m afraid. Aines Shora, captain of the Wildern base.” He made the Kaveran greeting wave with an elegant hand.
“Ag-Agna Despana. Healer of the Church of the Divine Balance. And the Benevolent Union. With the caravan.”
“Very good. And?” He turned to Keifon, who had gone so still that Agna had nearly forgotten about him.
Keifon’s voice was half-lost, not remotely his charming self from the clinic. “Keifon the Medic, from the Yanweian National Army.” He made his usual salute, a closed fist over his heart.
“Welcome to Wildern. A healer... hmm. Oh, yes! Are you one of Rone’s young protégés, by any chance? I do seem to recall...”
“Yes! – yes. Agna. The other one was Esirel Relaska. A swordmaster.” Her mind pieced this together: he did know Rone. Well enough for Rone to have spoken about his time at the Academy. Well enough for Rone to have mentioned her. And she had no idea why Rone had been here at all. She couldn’t ask this agent, either, not out of the blue. Not when Rone had decided – for what reason she couldn’t even fathom – not to tell her himself. And as always, she couldn’t ask Rone about it. This painting would talk more than he would.
The agent watched the painting more than he looked at her. “So you came to Kavera after all. We’re honored.”
Agna couldn’t tell, through the slow churn of something that began to bend toward anger, whether Agent Shora’s tone had been sarcastic or not. She could only say thank you and hope that it sounded polite. Some part of her was unnerved, some part of her was flattered, and some part of her wondered very hard about that look of dreamy nostalgia.
Agent Shora retreated as another agent hovered behind him. “A pleasure to meet you. Do give Rone my regards.” He turned, accepting the papers that his underling held out, and trotted up the staircase in his polished shoes.
Agna did not move for several breaths. An admirer, then, that Rone knew – trusted – well enough to talk about his friends and their aspirations. Not an admirer, then. Perhaps a friend. Perhaps not. I admit that he was my favorite...
This man was nothing like Bakari, Rone’s boyfriend from the Academy. Agna hadn’t known Bakari very well. She had stammered out perfunctory greetings when she had crossed his path on campus, intimidated by his upperclassman status, by his easy smile, and by his importance in Rone’s world. She wasn’t sure that he even remembered her name, though he had always recognized her and greeted her. He had seemed kind and intelligent. He was known around the campus for his dedication to his dual studies of theology and swordsmanship, and, before long, his mutual dedication to Rone. He had been worthy of Rone’s love. This agent, though... he might be famous in this backwater, and he was handsome enough, but something about him was staged.
That wasn’t like Rone at all.
Keifon waited in her peripheral vision. She couldn’t begin to explain this to him. She couldn’t even put it into words to herself. She was still chasing her old friend, though she had his mailing address on paper, tucked into her stationery box. He had never really been there, ever since he’d come to Kavera. She got letters back from an absent person.
She tried to speak, got nothing but rust, and tried again. “I’d like to go now.”
Keifon nodded. She trailed him through the main doors and out onto a busy street. He bought two paper cones of honey-coated nuts from a street vendor, handed one to her, and walked beside her as they licked their fingers and wandered another unfamiliar town.
The temperature dropped as evening came on. Agna breathed into her hands as she weaved through the market, picking out ingredients with Keifon – a small pumpkin to roast in the coals, a jar of honey, sacks of grain and flour, hard wedges of cheese wrapped in linen.
The prosaic reality of the sights and smells and textures focused her thoughts. She could imagine Rone here, shopping for dinner. That was what bothered her. He didn’t belong here; he belonged at the Academy, waving at her and Esirel across the quad, or facing off against that jackass Lunden in the tournament square. He didn’t seem to exist outside the Academy the way Esirel did. Esi came home with Agna on breaks, after all; she was in love with Lina; she existed outside and beyond the Academy. Agna wasn’t sure how Rone existed outside the Academy. But now she could picture it.
He was real. He was just a person, like these Wildernian shoppers, squeezing the gourds and weighing the cheese. And she had held him up as a shining example, and had followed him to Kavera for no other reason than to catch a little of his reflected light. He hadn’t come here for glory, she was sure of it. Agna knew perfectly well now that there was little glory to be had on the road. There were triumphs both small and large, daily challenges and irritations, and an endless stream of new faces and stories. She had not found glory.
She didn’t even want glory anymore.
She wanted to meet more of those people, and help them however she could. She wanted to go back to the campsite, let Keifon take his turn to cook, and draw something new. She wanted to push the limits of her healing skill, hone her Kaveran, and learn more about Kaveran art. She did not want to follow Rone’s lead.
Agna could trace her own path, find a new assignment or make the best of this one, and learn everything that Kavera could teach her. She had to make the decisions herself.
Keifon: House Calls
Once Agna bought proper winter clothes, things were easier. She had come to Kavera with nothing heavier than a cotton cloak, and after it had been stolen, she had never replaced it. When Keifon had asked about it, concerned that she might not have understood the climate in northern Kavera, she had muttered a vague answer and changed the subject.
Between the infrequent visits from patients, she counted out her earnings from the clinic, wrote page after page of figures and lists, and finally made the rounds of the caravan. Three times she reappeared at the clinic tent to ask him whether he wanted anything, and twice he said no; the third time he asked her for something hot to drink. It was easy enough to cover the clinic alone out here. Hardly anyone made the trek through the snow. The Benevolent Union’s notes explained that their predecessors had begun to make more house calls after the snow began, eventually forgoing the clinic tent.
The thought of venturing out there without the shelter of the clinic tent made his heart pound and his head swim. When Agna left, Keifon pulled his cloak around himself more tightly than was normal. It was irrational; he knew that. They would be attending to their patients in their own homes, not out in the cold. But venturing out on foot ran a little too close to a vein of old fear. It had been bricked over in the Army with order and structure and the relative comfort of the barracks, lying dormant until the image of setting out into the snow broke through the wall.
He would not freeze out there. He had shelter, Agna would not let him freeze, and he had the backing of the Yanweian National Army and the Benevolent Union. He was valued as an agent, as a medic, and even as an infantryman. He would not die forgotten in the snow.
Keifon spent much of the afternoon trying not to think about it. If his hands cramped from clenching, he did not think about that either.
At dinnertime Agna returned. She had bought a thick wool coat, fur-lined boots, mittens and a long scarlet scarf, and she beamed as she showed off her purchases. She had also brought the crock of broth from last night, which she had thawed and heated to steaming. Keifon padded the edges of his cloak over his hands and accepted the crock from her. The smell of the broth calmed his stomach, turning the uneasy flutters into growls of hunger.
“More surprises at the camp,” she announced as he sipped.
“Thank you for this. – You’ve been busy.”
“It’s difficult. There’s so much I could get and so little we can carry. But I think this will help.”
“I’m sure. You look better equipped.”
“It’s so nice.” She pulled the scarf up to warm her cold-flushed cheeks.
“I told you.”
Her breath steamed through the scarf. “Yes, yes. Anyway, I apologize in advance for the next time we have to move it all.”
Keifon took another sip. “It’s worthwhile. And I’ve been thinking... You’ve read the old healers’ notes, haven’t you? About making house calls?”
Agna took a seat on the other stool. “Yeah. I’m willing to try it. What do you think?”
“I think we should.” The broth warmed him from the inside out. Her relief was a little bit contagious, too. “People will expect it once the snow sets in.”
“I guess so. And it looks like the snow is here to stay.”
Keifon nodded and sniffed as the hot broth steamed his sinuses. “We might get another thaw, but not for long. It’s time. And if we’re going out into the towns, then we won’t have to carry this tent out, or any of this furniture. We can leave it on the wagon. So it might not be so bad.”
“I see your point.” She huffed her breath into her cupped hands. “I promise I won’t buy more things to make up the difference.”
Keifon smiled. “I’ll hold you to that.”
“Though if I got a covered wagon...”
He chuckled. “I’d fill mine with books.”
“I’d have one giant featherbed,” she sighed. “Though books would be good. And a fireplace.”
“Great combination. Paper, feathers, and fire in a tiny, moving wooden wagon. The cold has made you delirious.”
“Being warm for once has made me delirious,” Agna retorted. She stripped off her mittens and held them out to him. “Here.”
Keifon hesitated. His hands had been warmed by the heated ceramic, and she didn’t need to freeze for his sake. But he took the mittens, slipped them on, and left the overthinking for later. The fibers retained her body heat. He cupped his hands around the crock and hastened to drink the rest while it was warm. It was becoming easier to believe that they would be safe out there.
Agna smiled. “Can’t wait to show you.”
It would do very little good to try to get more details out of her. She was deriving too much pleasure from stringing him along. “The world isn’t exactly beating a path to our door right now. Why don’t we go back sooner rather than later?”
“You make a good point,” she mused. “We can plan tomorrow’s house calls.”
“Yes. So... it’s settled, then.”
They left the tent for last, letting it protect them from the outside air as they packed up the furniture. When it was all tied up and packed away in the passenger wagon, they trooped through the mud to the campsite. The fire still smoldered, from when Agna had stopped to reheat the broth, he supposed.
Keifon poked the ashes and began to feed in wood. Agna hovered behind him. He ignored her for now. It would be pleasant to find out what her little folly was, because she had learned better than to hold the expense over his head. As the wood began to catch and throw off raw waves of heat, Keifon reflected that she wouldn’t have much money on hand left after this anyway.
By the time the fire was self-sustaining, Agna had shed her boots at the tent door and sealed herself inside; the lit lantern cast her silhouette on the wall. Keifon left her to it and set some water on to boil. They had potatoes and cheese and onions, though it looked as though she had brought him all of the rest of the broth. Tucking Agna’s mittens under his belt, he sliced the potatoes and onions into the water and let it heat.
Having settled that matter, he ducked into the tent. Agna had taken off her new coat, and warmed her hands over a small, glowing brazier. She smiled up at him, half gleeful, half guilty.
“Oh.” Keifon remembered to fasten the tent flaps to keep the wind from blowing them open. “Um. That – that must have been expensive. Thank you.”
“Yeah, but we’ll be warm! Whenever we want! Feel it.”
“Mm.” He warmed his hands with her. “What does it burn? Charcoal?”
“Yeah. We’ll just have to remember to keep the vent open in the tent roof, and be careful not to tip it over.”
...and buy more charcoal, he thought. “Hm.” He remembered her mittens and handed them back. She tossed them onto a pile of clothes in the corner. “Well. I have dinner going out there. It’ll be a while.”
“Taxman’s Rounds?”
“Hn, or sevens. Either one.”
“Sevens is shorter. We can play something else after that.” She fetched the deck of cards from her trunk and began to shuffle.
Keifon took off his cloak and folded it along the bottom edge of the tent flap, where the draft came in. “I admit, I’m not in the mood for wagering today. Do you mind?” They only wagered for chores, bargaining over who would sweep the snow or build the fires, but even good-natured bickering did not appeal to him at the moment.
She shrugged. “That’s all right. I already owe you one for making dinner, anyway.”
“Well.” He waved at the brazier.
“You’re not in debt to me for that. I bought it for both of us.”
He watched her cut the cards until he came up with a reply. “Thank you.”
Agna shrugged and began to deal. “So, how do you like sevens, anyway? It was the popular game when I was in third or fourth year. I always missed it, later on. Everyone started playing this one called Cross the River instead.”
“I like it. It’s kind of like Shepherd, but you build your pack up instead of down, and you stop on seven and not one.”
“Where’d you play that one?” she asked, and in building his hand he forgot to think about the question.
“Oh, mostly in the barracks. Taxman’s Rounds was for when we had a lot of time. They would start drinking at the beginning of the game and forget who was winning somewhere along the way. I didn’t stay for a lot of that.” He laid down an eight and nine and reordered what was left in his hand. “Go ahead.”
She picked a card from his hand, laid down some cards, and reorganized her hand. She held her cards squarely in line with one another, like Dola had, during the unit’s games. He hadn’t thought of Dola in months, he realized. She’d had such an infectious laugh.
“Hey.”
“Hm? Oh.” He picked a card from her hand, decided that he couldn’t build on anything, and pulled from the deck. “Go ahead. I should check dinner.” He set down his hand. In the barracks anyone walking away from a hand of cards was asking to be sabotaged, but it would never be an issue in these games. He shoved his feet into his boots, pulled on his cloak and ventured out.
Some of the water had boiled off, and the vegetables had begun to soften. He stirred the pot, set their bowls by the fire to warm, and filled the teakettle. They were running low on water. One of them would have to venture over to the creek one more time before they broke camp. There wasn’t much untrampled snow to melt.
Agna was warming her hands when he returned. Her cards lay in a neat stack. “Fifteen minutes,” he reported, and spread his hands across from hers. The unfrozen memories ran too close to the surface. Cold that went on until the end of the world. Unwelcome light, unwelcome dark, emptiness inside him and out. That was a lifetime ago, he reminded himself. It was stupid to feel this way; he had survived, after all. But he had been marked by it. That winter was waiting in him.
He picked up his cards.
“Are you all right?” Agna watched him over her own cards.
Keifon shrugged it off. “I don’t like the cold. I’d rather not think about it.”
“If you say so.” She sorted out her cards and continued the game. Their conversation had lapsed into a neutral silence. Later they would talk about their strategies and the routes they would take through the villages. For now there was only the soft crackle of the brazier’s fire and the faint slap of cards as the snow muffled the footsteps and voices outside.
Agna: Caretaker
At first, the house calls proceeded without incident. In each village or town, Agna and Keifon found the local doctor or herbalist, if there was one, and offered their help. Most of the time, everything wa
s well under control. One doctor invited them along on her own rounds, to make quicker work of it; a few pointed them toward houses where the locals could unload their usual minor complaints on fresh ears. In villages without doctors of their own, Agna and Keifon trooped from house to house, asking whether anyone needed medical help or wanted a checkup. Keifon began to carry fewer bits of equipment in his case, and more medicines – painkillers and remedies for upset stomachs and concoctions for coughs. They carried on like this for a few weeks, through one village after another. And then Keifon began coughing two days after a visit to a patient with a high fever, and the next morning he woke shivering.
Agna scooted across the tent to lay her hand on his forehead, shivering in the cold herself. His skin was burning. She pushed him back onto his bedroll. “Oh, no. You’re staying here today.”
“You need help,” he mumbled, curling up on his side, coughing into his cupped hands. “I can’t – I can’t stay here.”
“Yes. You will.” Her mind raced, clearing away the last remnants of sleep. She could give him blankets and drinking water, and buy some broth from Masa. They were supposed to camp here for two more days, to sell to the town just over the hill. Two days might be enough for him to recover if he rested. But if he wasn’t better by the time they moved on, she could hire one of the guards to help her with the tent, and—
“Agna?”
“Hm?”
“You can’t – fix this, can you?”
“No... well. If you have any pain, I can help that. And I might be able to help your throat if it’s raw from coughing. But mostly you’ll just have to stay warm and get enough to drink and rest.”
“Mmn.” That set off another cough. “Don’t go out on rounds by yourself. All right?”
“I’ll be fine. I’ll get you some water and something to eat before I go. Here... ” Impulsively, Agna pulled her blankets from her bedroll and spread them over him. Keifon pulled them up and huddled in, whispering thanks.
“I’ll be back soon. Just rest.” She grabbed her clothes, her coat and her bath kit, and remembered to close the tent on her way out. She could handle this; she could come up with a plan that would let her do rounds and allow Keifon to rest. She would have to be resourceful and determined. Behind her worry, she hadn’t felt this alive in a long time.
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