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The Healers' Road

Page 22

by S E Robertson


  He hauled himself to a sitting position and took the bowl. “Thank you.”

  “Think nothing of it.” Agna settled in and munched contentedly.

  Keifon set aside the bowl and spoon when he’d finished and sipped a few cups of water. “I’d like to try to get out to the baths this evening. I’ll feel better, I think.”

  “All right. Anything I can do for you, I will.”

  “Mmn. Thanks. Just... be patient with me.”

  Agna looked away. “Of course.” She scrambled to her feet to gather their dishes. By the time she returned, he had gotten up and gathered his cloak and a change of clothes. “Are you sure...” Agna’s mind stuck and skipped a line. She certainly wouldn’t offer to help him with this. “...Be safe. I’ll be here.”

  “Thanks.”

  She changed into her winter nightgown and read while he was gone. She worried all the while. It wasn’t as though the camp were dangerous, normally, and at this hour the bathhouse offered hot water. She worried about him walking out in the cold, and navigating when he seemed so unsteady. But he returned, shivering but otherwise unharmed, sometime later. He’d changed into some of his looser everyday clothes and thick wool socks. He seemed grateful to crawl back into bed.

  “I don’t think I’ve seen you sleep this much on the entire trip, combined,” Agna remarked, intending for it to be a joke. Keifon laughed weakly. “And don’t apologize,” she added, as he drew a breath. “I’m glad. You need to take care of yourself.”

  “Hm. ...I’ve been thinking. I could do a little better. With that. I try to sleep, I mean, but... getting enough to eat, and things like that. And getting exercise.”

  Agna nodded. He had seemed healthier in the summer, when he’d been able to take walks and play ball with the others. “We need to be kinder to ourselves.” Hurriedly, she went on, “In Nessiny we have a saying, ‘the sick doctor heals no one.’ It means that if you intend to help other people, you need to stay strong yourself. Sacrificing yourself only goes so far, in the long run.”

  “Hm.”

  “So. We can promise to do that.”

  “Yeah.”

  She hugged her knees. She could keep reading, or she could sleep. And that meant thinking about logistics. She didn’t want to take her extra blanket back. She wasn’t sure she could ask him whether he wanted her to stay close again. She wasn’t sure how to say it, or how to cope with his answer.

  “If you don’t want to – you know, it’s all right. You can go back to your side.”

  She focused on him; he wasn’t looking at her, turned over toward the wall of the tent. “No, that’s...hm.” It would be a lie to say she hadn’t been thinking about that. But it sounded awful to say that she had been worried about repeating last night’s sleeping arrangements. She wasn’t afraid of catching the fever. She was afraid of the strange, light feeling in the bottom of her stomach when he had calmed at her words or her touch. She had no name for it. “It...” she began, and had no way to finish.

  “...it felt good,” he murmured, and Agna’s head spun with the sudden rush of relief. Why? she demanded of herself. Why do you feel like that? What’s wrong with you? Because it had been good, in an unnerving sort of way, and she thought it had been her imagination?

  She had been quiet too long. Keifon went on. “I liked... I liked having you close. I don’t mean that in an untoward way.”

  “I know it’s not like that,” Agna said, finding the easy thing, the safe thing, among all of the dangers. “That would be revolting.” He didn’t answer. “—For you! I meant for you.” She was shaking, and hated herself for it. “Obviously.”

  Keifon turned to face the middle of the tent, his hand half-curled by his chin. He did not look her in the eye. “Please don’t make it ugly. It was – it was good. Please let it be good.”

  Agna blinked back a sudden blur. It was truer than anything she’d said in this labyrinth of a conversation. It had been good. It had been trusting. He needed her, and she wanted to help. Was it that simple? But it wasn’t. That was the terrifying part. She wouldn’t do the same for any merchant in the camp who fell ill. They would get her clinical expertise, but she wouldn’t sit with them through the night. She would do that for – for Nelle, and for Keifon. The parallel struck her in the throat. Nelle called her a friend. Would Keifon do the same? Agna realized that she would call Keifon her friend now. It had been that way for months.

  What’s wrong with me? She shoved the heels of her hands against her eyes to dash the tears away. “...I’m sorry. You’re right. It was good.”

  He nodded, and shifted to lie on his back. “Thank you. For being there.”

  You’ve thanked me more in these two days than the rest of this trip combined, too. They were both still. And then she blew out the lantern.

  She unrolled her bedroll an arm’s length away, with the medicine and water glasses and lantern nearby. On a sudden impulse, she leaned over and smoothed his hair. She wasn’t checking his temperature this time. It was only a moment of contact, to let him know that everything was all right. She escaped to her own pillow.

  “Good night.”

  “Mmn. Good night. ...I just... I wanted to explain.” He turned over in the dark to face her. “I’m sorry I’m so... strange about the cold.” He fell quiet, marshaling something. “I...had a bad winter, a few years ago. After Eri. Before Kazi. I’d lost the ranch, and I was out on the street for a while. I thought I was going to die. Or lose something to frostbite. I almost did, a few times. I was playing the nanbur for money, so I was worried about my fingers.” He laughed mirthlessly. “I still think about it a lot, during the winter. So I’m sorry if I’m strange about it.”

  “It’s all right,” Agna said, and rushed on, panicking. “I mean, that you’re worried. It’s all right to be worried. Not what happened to you, that’s awful.” Her mind whirled through all of this, but failed to piece it together with the other scraps she knew. It was beyond anything she had ever faced. “I’m glad you’re out of that situation now.”

  “Yeah. The Church picked me up. Or I would have frozen to death.”

  Agna found his hands folded together in the space between their bedrolls and covered them with her own. Keifon lifted their hands to his burning forehead.

  “I’m so glad you didn’t,” she tried to say, but her voice failed her, thinning out to a whisper. “You’re safe now. I won’t let it happen again.”

  Keifon pressed his flushed cheek against the back of her hand. His breath hitched, and for one terrible second Agna thought she would cry herself. But his voice was clear when he spoke. “And I won’t let it happen to you.”

  “I know. Sleep, now.”

  “Yes.”

  They slept through the second night in fragments. Agna dreamed of dark winter nights full of terrible and strange things. She dreamed of a warm place and kind words, and the sweet inner fire of knowing that she was cared for and safe. When she woke, Keifon lay half off his bedroll, head pillowed on his arm, his fingers tangled in her sleeve. Agna’s pulse hammered in her throat, but her panic was superseded by a coughing fit.

  Keifon stirred and sat up, alarmed. “No...”

  “It’s all right.” She groped for a cup of water. “I don’t think I’m running a fever.”

  “I didn’t at first, either,” Keifon fretted. He touched her forehead, brushing her hair away. “I can’t tell. I’m too warm, I guess.”

  “Well. I asked the guards if someone could help us pack up. They’re sending Zil this morning. So all we have to do is get dressed and ride.”

  Keifon squirmed out of his blankets and began to fold them. “Ah. Good. Good thinking.”

  Agna watched him critically. “How are you feeling?”

  He shrugged. “I can’t get warm. Not as bad, but not well.”

  “Well, stay wrapped up. We just have to get you to the wagon, and you can rest till we reach the next camp.”

  He finished his stack of blankets, keeping the thickest one
aside, and rolled up his bedroll. “You need to rest, too.”

  Agna shoved her bedroll into her trunk. “I will. If you can help me pack, we can make this work.”

  The two of them got their possessions in order, dressed in the warmest clothes they could find, and made last-minute errands. Zil, the young guardsman, appeared amid the camp-breaking chaos and hauled Agna’s trunk to the passenger wagon. Agna and Keifon dismantled the tent, and Zil returned in time to help them pack it up. They bundled themselves in their cloaks and coats and blankets, and hobbled toward their destination. Zil met them on their way; Agna thanked him and pressed another coin into his hand. She didn’t have the energy to fight his polite protests. He fled when she began coughing.

  The few travelers riding on the wagon gave the pair a wide berth. Keifon propped himself on the bench, wrapped in a blanket. Agna considered this, then slid to the far edge of the bench. “Come on.”

  “Hm?”

  She patted her knee, as though summoning a cat, and darted a sidewise look in time to see Keifon blush. But he folded up on the bench, pulling the blanket over himself and pillowing his head on her lap. Agna considered propping her arm on the back of the bench, and experimentally rested her hand on his shoulder instead. He sighed, and she felt him relax. Perhaps it hadn’t been the worst idea in the world, after all.

  ***

  Agna woke from a half-doze, coughing. Keifon sat up. “No... no, no. I’m so sorry. I didn’t want you to get sick, too.”

  “Can’t be helped.” She looked around; it was midday, at least, and the snow had stopped. “I guess if we’re both sick, we’ll just have to help each other.”

  “Mmn.” He cleared his throat, fumbled the flask out of its laces on the side of his backpack, and took a drink. “Did you want to lie down for a while?”

  “I guess that would be good,” Agna admitted. The movement of the wagon made her dizzy. Keifon shifted in his seat, bundling up, and let her lie on the bench with her blanket over her and her head in his lap. It did feel good to lie down, and to feel his hand on her arm. She felt safe. Protected. She could let him handle this for a while.

  Keifon: Teamwork

  The guard that Agna had hired reappeared when the caravan touched down. Keifon stumbled down the aisle of the wagon to help Zil with the tent, to haul the ropes with shaking arms, to stifle his own cough and try to stay upright. Agna had taken such good care of him. He had to come through for her now, even if he wasn’t quite ready for it.

  By the time the tent was constructed and Zil vanished, Keifon had run out of energy. He had intended to get some food, and refill their water barrel. He had intended to get a stake and a board to make a sign explaining the closed clinic. He had intended to get Agna anything that she needed. But when Agna rolled out her bedroll and collapsed, fully dressed, Keifon surrendered and did the same.

  He woke out of a distressing, nonsensical dream – trying to post the sign for the clinic and feeling it slip through his hands, over and over. There was someone outside the tent. He fumbled at the ties and stuck his head out, squinting against the sunset. Nelle, the herbalist, turned away from their larder chest and gave him a guilty smile. “Hey, you.”

  Keifon’s head reeled, and he inched out of the tent and pulled his body into a sitting position. The ground was too far away. Nelle held out something toward him. He took it, and the next thing she offered, and stared at them. A dark medicine bottle. A cup of water. He drank the water first, then a slug of the medicine; it was sweet and thick, coating his throat. Nelle took the bottle and cup and stowed them in the chest.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Nnn. Not good.”

  “How’s she?”

  “She’s starting to come down with it too. I’m coming out of it, though. I can take care of her.”

  “Good.” She closed the lid of the larder chest. “Brought you some things. Shouldn’t have to cook them. Bread and such. If you need anything else, yell. All right?”

  “Mmn. – Maybe another blanket or two. For her.”

  Nelle flashed him a wicked little grin. “For either of you, all right? Be right back.”

  Keifon curled up where he sat, huddled into his cloak, conserving his energy. He wondered whether Edann had noticed that he was sick. He wouldn’t show up anyway; he liked to pretend that Keifon meant nothing to him. Or perhaps he wasn’t pretending. Keifon was too tired to think about it.

  Nelle brought three woolen blankets, and Keifon swayed to his feet to accept them. “Thank you. You didn’t have to...”

  “Yeah, I did.” She stooped and lifted their water barrel. “Move a little.” Keifon shifted out of her way as she carried it into the tent. He reconsidered his notion of carrying their food inside. He could hardly hold himself upright. He heard Nelle’s voice inside, hushed and soothing. “Hey, city girl. It’s me. Keep sleeping.” Keifon smiled to himself. Nelle re-emerged and carried the larder chest inside as well.

  “All set. Take care of yourselves. We’ll need you soon. You’re not the only ones.”

  “I’m sorry. I... brought it back from one of our patients.”

  “Tch. Things happen. Rest up.” Nelle rounded the cold campfire, tracing her own tracks through the snow. Keifon fled to the relative warmth of the tent and forced his nerveless fingers to fasten the flaps tight.

  Keifon unfolded two of the blankets over Agna and the third over his own bedroll, then crawled under the covers and let his body go slack. Agna murmured in her half-sleep, turning over. Something pressed against his throat and around his heart, something thin-skinned and delicate like a newly hatched bird. It wasn’t right. It was too right. It fit into a void that wasn’t supposed to be there. He fell asleep, dreaming of snow and the bitter taste of herbs, and Agna and Nelle reaching out for his hands.

  ***

  Shivering in the early morning cold, Keifon took a long drink from the barrel. He directed his feet to the bottom of his boots, wrapped his cloak around his body, and tottered out to the privy and back. The camp had begun to stir, but everyone he passed gave him an inordinate amount of space. The cough wasn’t so bad today, and from what Agna had heard from the townspeople, his fever should break any day now. But to keep it from spreading, he would be better off sticking to the tent until he was completely well. He could take care of Agna and wait. The thought appealed to him as he trudged along the path to their tent in the gray dawn. He would enjoy the quiet for another day or so. He would have to make the rounds out there soon enough, and survey how far the fever had spread in the camp. He hoped that Nelle wouldn’t fall ill after coming to help them.

  Agna called from the tent as he reached out to the flap. “Wait a minute!”

  “All right.” He pulled his cloak closer around his shoulders. “What’s wrong?”

  “Just getting changed. – All right, come in.”

  Keifon ducked into the tent as Agna huddled under the covers. She had changed from her traveling clothes into her winter nightgown.

  “Thanks for the water,” she said as Keifon fastened the flaps.

  “Nelle brought it. And some more blankets, and food, and medicine. You should take some.” He fumbled in the chest and found the bottle of cough medicine. She grumbled when he helped her sit up, but she swallowed the medicine all the same and dove back under the covers.

  “Thanks.” Her voice was muffled by the layers of blankets. “You should change. More comfortable.”

  “Nn. Not making you go out.”

  “’m not gonna look. Do what you want.”

  Keifon was tempted by the thought of changing into fresh clothes. “Are you sure?”

  Agna pulled the blanket over her head. Keifon stripped off his traveling clothes, shoved his shivering body into clean pajamas, and crawled under his covers.

  She emerged. “See? Better.”

  “...Yeah.” He took a deep breath. “Hey. You’re sure you’re all right with this?”

  “Hm?”

  “I mean...” Keifo
n searched for the right words for so long that Agna’s breath deepened into sleep. He never found the right way to say it. I’m honored to get to take care of you. I know you hate being vulnerable, and when you trust me to see you like this, I…

  I feel like I matter to you.

  Keifon half-dreamed of the sun-warmed fields, sitting on a fence rail, sharing pilfered apples with his first and dearest friend. She laughed with him, and he trusted her with his life, and he would never see her again. Mya was gone, disappeared into the machinery of apprenticeships and inheritance. She had changed him. And he had kept changing after she had gone. But she would recognize him now, he thought. This part of him was still good.

  ***

  In the morning, Keifon fed Agna and himself with bread that Nelle had given them, spread with a paste that the Kaverans ate on their toast, made of crushed nuts mixed with spices. The texture was strange, but it sated their hunger. They drank cup after cup of water, took doses of Nelle’s medicine, and fell insensate. Somewhere between the second and third cycle of sleep and half-wakefulness, he realized that he was drenched in sweat, and that his space under the blankets no longer felt freezing cold. He struggled out from under the tangle of covers and felt the chilled air on his skin, but no longer inside his bones, trying to get out. The fever was passing through him.

  He burrowed under the covers, throwing one over onto Agna’s pile. Soon he would be able to move around, have a bath and a badly needed shave, make some hot tea, and cook something. If he could stay awake for more than a few minutes, he could light the brazier.

  It wasn’t a matter of indebtedness, even though Agna had taken care of him uncomplainingly for those first days. He wanted to do this – to watch over her and help her. It was another fragile thing, not ready for light and air. It had threaded deep into his marrow and soaked his dreams. He needed to do this, even though he wasn’t sure he deserved the honor. She was only his partner as defined by the Benevolent Union. This new closeness was an anomaly. They did what they had to because of the sickness. When they were both well, they would go back to the routine.

 

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