“Sure.”
They walked side by side through the fairground, and as they remarked to one another about the sights, Keifon felt the weight on him easing. It was important that he pay his respects, and he was deeply moved by what she’d done, even if she didn’t understand why. But he was ready to take some joy in the day and spend some time with his friend.
They browsed through stalls selling reed baskets and woven blankets, not intending to buy anything in particular, appreciating the local handiwork. They bought bottles of water and crepes filled with berries and salty goat’s milk cheese, a Resurrection tradition in this area – something about the colors, white and red. They sipped and munched as they walked. Agna’s mouth stained red, and she fretted half-seriously about Keifon’s uniform. He’d been careful, though, and hadn’t spilled a crumb.
At the games of chance and skill the barkers homed in on him, calling him out because of his uniform and because he was walking with a companion. Keifon waved them off, blushing nearly as crimson as his jacket when one made a comment about impressing one’s lady friend.
“That was rude,” Agna muttered as they hurried down the aisle to another booth. “You’d think they wouldn’t be so cruel, trying to get customers. Unless they wanted to make you angry, to prove them wrong.”
“I’m not angry, I’m just embarrassed. I don’t like being the center of attention.” Agna motioned at his clothes as if to explain an obvious point, and he squirmed. “Yes, but... it’s different. I dressed up today in honor of the holiday. I’m not doing it to get attention.”
She had gotten off the topic of their apparent appearance to outsiders, at least. He gravitated toward another booth, and she turned her attention to that.
At the next games booth, Agna stepped in front of him and tossed down the copper coins to play. The barker glanced over her shoulder at Keifon and his look of horror, but did not goad him into joining. Agna threw her allotted handful of darts at the target, and clipped the edge of one target, sending the dart bouncing into the straw. She bought another round of chances, and the last dart hung trembling at the edge of the target. She threw her hands in the air, cheering.
“Very good,” he said as they walked away in triumph.
“Someday I’ll get better,” she sighed.
In the middle of the fairground a band began to tune up, and Keifon drifted toward it. He was curious about the instrumentation in the mountain country and the songs they played for the Resurrection, but given the jovial atmosphere in the crowd, it seemed that they would play summer festival songs. Agna took her place beside him, and as the sun swung overhead she retreated to the pool of shade under a tree. Keifon followed, realizing that he was beginning to sweat under his wool. For a while he lost himself in the harmonics and the buoyant mood and the blend of percussion that seemed to be unique to this area. He nearly forgot the holiday and his formality and everything else but the pleasure of a sweet summer day with good music and good company. When the band took a break, he apologized to Agna for keeping them there.
“No need,” she insisted. “I know it’s something that interests you. I don’t mind.”
“We can move on now, though. What would you like to see?”
She bought just one thing, in the end – a bookmark woven in a fine pattern of bright colors. She bought one for each of them and shoved one in a pocket of his jacket, shushing his protests. It was a souvenir, she insisted. He acquiesced and carried it in his pocket.
They looped past one of the beer gardens, and Agna spotted Nelle, surrounded by revelers. The herbalist raised her glass, beaming. Agna waved. Keifon realized that she didn’t intend to stop, and waved as well. “You can sit with Nelle if you want to. I wouldn’t mind changing. It’s getting warm.”
“Eh, it’s all right. She’s having fun. I’d rather...” She trailed off, and cleared her throat. “Ready for a break? I do love a nap on a hot afternoon. Am I getting old, for saying that?”
Keifon laughed. They returned to the campsite, which was lazy and quiet, half-emptied into the fairground. The sky had clouded over, pressing the heavy air against the ground. Keifon unbuttoned his jacket and unpinned the sigils on his collar, grateful for the cooler air against his soaked undershirt.
“What does that one mean?”
He paused, embarrassed that she was still in the tent. Modesty had never been an issue in the Army, and he had fallen into old habits. “Um.” He looked down at the pin in his hand. “Oh – this is for my unit. And this is for my specialty.”
“And the one you usually wear is for the Army in general.”
“Right.” He slipped them into his pocket, trading them for the bookmark. Unsure what to do with it, he held it as he stripped out of his jacket and pulled off his boots. Agna grew restless and came up with a garbled excuse to leave the tent. She closed the tent flaps after her. Keifon stood in solitude, letting the day wash through him. It wasn’t over yet, but it had been good so far.
He changed into lighter clothes and slipped the bookmark into his logbook, where he would see it when they reopened the clinic. When Agna returned, she stretched out on her cot and dozed off. Keifon waited until she was fully asleep and found his new book in his backpack. He stretched out near the open tent flaps to read by daylight.
Agna had thought that he’d bought something private, something salacious, in the shop in Vertal. It was not remotely salacious, but he had kept it private for as long as he could.
Immigration Patterns in Kavera. Chapter Three. Yanweian settlement in Northern Kavera.
He had read about the original settlement of Kavera in antiquity. He had read about the Nessinian political refugees who came in waves whenever Nessiny’s leaders shifted their loyalties. And now, as the faint breeze stirred over his face, he read about the ranchers who came south to establish homesteads around Laketon. They had mingled across the border for hundreds of years. The native Laketoners were used to Yanweians in their midst. They all knew how to say hello and goodbye, please and thank you, in Keifon’s native language, and many were passingly fluent. A few of them even intermarried, like the Nessinian shrine guard, with his in-laws in Lendu. Keifon was not the only one of his countrymen in this land. He was not the only one who thought about the possibility of staying.
He paused at the end of the chapter to rest his neck. Agna slept. She was going back home, he reminded himself. As lovely as today had been, he had to remember that their time together was finite. They could work together and make the best of their arrangement here, but that was all.
Not entirely all. Keifon rested his head on his crossed arms, over the open pages. He had to acknowledge what was happening. He’d been happier today, going to the fair with her, than he had been for a long time. He had been so proud to walk next to her, to wander aimlessly through the crowds and talk.
When the carnival barkers had called them out as lovers, it had stung. Not because he wanted it to be true, necessarily. He sorted through this, now that the moment had passed. He did not envy Agna and Laris because of their love for one another, specifically, but because they had found love at all. He was happy for her, even as he worried about their separation and the difficulty of carrying on a relationship at a distance. He wished he someone he could trust and care for the way that Agna and Laris cared for one another. Edann would not allow such sentimentality.
Keifon couldn’t approach the idea of caring for Agna that way. It was too bright, too loud, too heated; he cut wide around it. In the meantime, Keifon was sure that his growing love for her – he could name it that now – was different from Laris’s, and did not preclude it.
Keifon remembered someone else, from very long ago. When he’d been a rancher’s son, he’d ranged through the fields and climbed the neighbors’ fences with Mya, a girl from a few farms over, the daughter of vegetable farmers. They had shared all of the best fishing streams and hiding places. At his parents’ funeral, Mya had slipped through the crowd to hold his hand, standing resolutely be
side him. His brother had clung to him on the other side. The three of them, Kei and Mya and Jafi, had been alone, three children in a sea of Keifon’s distant relatives.
He hadn’t seen her again after the funeral. She’d gone away to her own apprenticeship, somewhere. By now she had to be married. He’d loved her, and being with her made him happy. That was all he knew.
Agna was not Mya; she would never climb a water tower or throw apples at his head. …Perhaps she would, at that. But he recognized this feeling.
Agna would not believe him if he told her that he loved her. She would find excuses. But he could share his fishing streams and his hiding places. He would stand by her when she needed him. She would understand that.
A sudden summer storm swept over the land, pelting the ground with rain. Raindrops pattered in through the open tent flaps, and Keifon put the book away. He leaned back against his backpack to watch and listen. The rain sluiced the mountains and the fields, and in the morning the campground and the fairground alike would be paved with sucking mud. But for now, the rain brought cool air and quiet relief. Agna slept through it, trusting him to keep watch.
Laris: Confessions
Dear Agna,
I am so sorry.
I didn’t want to do this to you, and I am so sorry.
I didn’t mean for anything to happen.
But it did.
I told Weira I had a sweetheart, she said that’s all right, and we haven’t done anything but talk. But in my heart I think – I haven’t stopped being in love with you, I promise you. You’re the most interesting person I think I’ve ever met, and I still want to crawl inside your head and live there. But I have to be honest with you. I’m in love with her too. When I’m with her, I’m just home. I don’t know how to even describe it to you.
I am so sorry. Weira and I had a long talk last night. I decided that I had to tell you. I guess the Lundrans would say that being in love doesn’t make me a scoundrel, but covering it up would. I don’t know, I’ve always been more of an Eytran if anything. But I knew that you have to have the truth.
I don’t know what you want to do. I would wait for you if this hadn’t happened. Now I don’t know what to do. I really don’t.
It looks like we’re going to be coming pretty close to the summer caravan between Deeproot Valley and Tirington. I’d love to see you, if you want to come. If not, I understand.
Love,
Laris.
***
Agna came.
She rode in the saddle of a tall chestnut, looking like a princess from another land in a dark purple dress, her hair windblown. Her eyes were puffy, and she stumbled a little as she dismounted. Laris’ heart pounded in his chest and in his throat. It was like a half-awake dream, seeing her here in the real world. She was lovely. All of the things she’d said, all of the things that he’d dreamed were caught up in his head. He couldn’t look at her without hearing her words in his mind.
She held onto the horse’s reins. Laris hugged her, and the reins tugged around behind him when she hugged him back. “I-I didn’t think you’d come. Because of what I said. You know.” It was still a little hard to say Weira’s name out loud. It was like an incantation, a magic spell.
“Yeah... well. I had to see you.” Agna pulled back and knotted the horse’s reins around a fence post. She patted its neck. She wasn’t carrying anything with her. She didn’t mean to stay long, Laris realized with a growing panic. He’d ruined it after all. Maybe he wouldn’t ever see her again.
Agna smoothed her hair and tucked it behind her ears. “How have you been? Otherwise. Sounds like the drive is going well.”
“Yeah. Yeah. It’s going great. I mean, I don’t know that I’d want to do this all the time. I’m homesick sometimes. But we’re getting to see the country.” He shut himself up. She was listening, but her eyes were drifting somewhere near his elbow. “I’m rambling. I’m sorry.”
“I’m glad you’re happy,” she said, and swallowed hard. “I’m happy for you. And Weira.”
A sharp little pain spiked in the back of his eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Agna. I never wanted to hurt you, never.”
“I know.” She sounded so tired. He held out his arms to hug her, and she sighed and let him. Something had gone, though. The lightning, the energy, was gone. He felt the same excitement, like he was the luckiest man in the world to have convinced this person to somehow pay attention to him. But she wasn’t there anymore. She hugged him like a distant relative. “I’m not mad at you, if you were wondering,” she said into his chest.
Laris laughed uneasily. “I guess I was, a little.”
“I... won’t say I’m not sad. I’ll miss you.” Her voice was just barely loud enough for him to hear. Laris’s throat began to close up. She couldn’t be saying this now, and he had known all along that she would. Both of these things were true at the same time, somehow. “I want you to be happy with Weira. So you can give her all of your attention, and be there for her. Because she can be there for you. ...Thank you for all of your letters.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Thank you for everything.”
She must have felt his stomach quivering, or heard his breath get uneven. She rubbed his back and shushed him, like a child, which made it worse. And then her own breath hitched in a little hiccup, and Laris lost it entirely. He couldn’t make her cry. She had come across the ocean and studied ancient arts and traveled around the world and talked to everyone in Kavera and read every book and some stupid farm boy couldn’t make her cry. But he had. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t how the world was supposed to work.
“Don’t cry,” Agna got out between her own gasping breaths. “Please don’t. It’s good. I’m glad you found someone who can be with you properly. I don’t think I was ever all right with you waiting for me.”
“I would have waited,” Laris insisted. “I wanted to. I just...”
“It’s all right. It was supposed to happen. Right? Don’t you believe that sort of thing?”
“I don’t know,” he said helplessly. “I don’t know. I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
She got control first, leaning her forehead against his chest. His tears dripped down his chin into her hair. He wiped his face on his sleeve, letting go for a second.
“You’re kind, and honest,” she was saying, her breathy voice winding deep into his body, “and strong, a-and – and adorable, and I want you to be happy.”
“I want you to,” he said, swallowing the last of the lump. “Be happy. I do.”
“I will. I think I will.” She hung onto his shirt for a second longer. Now, Laris thought. It wasn’t for the future; the future was far away, another unmapped country. It was for every letter he’d read until the pages got ragged at the edges, for every night he’d fallen asleep wondering where she was and whether she missed him. They had outlined what they wanted, filling in the spaces around it without quite saying it. I miss you. I wish you were here with me. I wish I could...
He kissed her like an animal scenting the first breeze of spring, ready to bolt. She gasped against his mouth, then leaned up on her toes. It was back, whatever it was; she wasn’t hugging him like a distant relation. She was there with him, one more time.
Laris didn’t bolt.
***
Agna got on her tall horse and rode down the road between Deeproot Valley and Tirington. Laris stood in the road and watched her go. Weira didn’t come, not yet. She would, soon enough. She would be there for him. But for a little while, he had to share his love and his grief with the fences and the water and the sky.
Part 3
Keifon: The Long Season
Keifon tried not to count each passing week against those that remained in the summer. The season between New Year’s and Lundrala was long, and normally it was taken up with foaling and training and listening to neighbors’ complaints about plowing and planting. Now, in what his life had become, it was taken up with worrying about Agna.
She was quiet. He couldn’t define it more than that, or name all of the symptoms of her grief. She didn’t let him catch her crying, though he saw her swollen eyes afterward. She didn’t talk about Laris, instead stopping herself and changing the subject, or getting up to leave. But he felt her tidal sadness under their feet, under their skin, all the time.
The air had been heavy and damp all week, and Keifon and Agna pinned up the clinic tent walls and waited for patients and breezes. It was Midsummer tomorrow – at least they called it that in Kavera. Back home it was just the beginning of summer, the longest day of the year. He remembered that odd conversation last summer about birthdays. Agna’s was on Midsummer, by her culture’s reckoning. Keifon could have kicked himself for forgetting it until now, though they had both been preoccupied.
He didn’t have any gifts for her, and any gift he gave would be useless against her pain. Money and flowers, she’d said, so long ago. That was what they gave for birthdays in her country. He had little enough money, though he wasn’t opposed to giving her what he could. Flowers were more difficult. They were available, and some were inexpensive. But too much of him was back home, and saw a gift of flowers as inappropriate for a birthday. Maybe Nelle would have some ideas; she knew a lot about plants.
Keifon cleared his throat. “It’s Midsummer tomorrow, isn’t it?”
Agna did not look up from her logbook, where she doodled in the margins. “Yes – I suppose it is.”
“Would you want to celebrate it at all? I don’t… I don’t have a gift. But we could do something. If you want to,” he added.
Agna bit her lip, thinking. “Well,” she said at last. “It’s your festival too.”
His birthday was over a month away, a point he didn’t correct. She remembered. If she chose to recast it as something she understood, he didn’t mind. Or maybe she wanted to deflect attention away from herself. Or maybe she wanted to share it with him, some incorrigible part of his mind suggested.
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