“Yeah.” She stretched her shoulders as he began to wash his plate and silverware. “Not a bad price for the quality, if you ask me. It’ll be a pain to get out of here, is the only problem, but we’ll worry about that when we get there.”
“Hm. True. Thanks for finding them, at any rate.”
Her head had settled enough to risk standing up. “Well. Thanks for finding every other thing for the apartment.”
Keifon laughed, and set his plate in the rack to dry. “Not everything. Just a few things, here and there.” He turned, drying his hands on one of their new dish towels. “It was kind of fun, to be honest. I’ve gotten to know more of the city, roaming around after leads, looking for little shops in odd corners.”
“That’s good.” And she’d met a couple of people in town, she thought, but couldn’t say. She’d keep hinting that he should visit Wei Cabinetry, perhaps. Or wait for the Divine Balance to intervene, or his gods. If any of them existed. Of course, if they did, they might just as well decide to be perverse and whisk him out of her life that much faster. She hadn’t considered that.
“Whenever our schedules line up, we should go together.” He folded the towel and set it on the counter. “And I haven’t been to the library yet, either.”
“Oh, we have to go. Well, I have to meet with Jaeti again soon, now that we’re settled in a bit. But yes, let’s do that.” They hadn’t had a chance to ramble through the city together since their work shifts had begun. She found chances to talk to him like this, when they were both home, and it was a strange relief to spend more time apart. But it would be good to spend a day in one another’s company, and learn more about the city.
Keifon tilted his head toward the hallway. “You can go ahead if you’re tired. I’ll be up a couple more hours. Think I might write a letter to Nachi, now that we’re here.”
She smiled sleepily. “Send my best.”
“Thanks. I will.”
She headed for the door, for her soft new bed. It was cooler on the far side of the kitchen, away from the stove. “Good night, then. You’ll be all right sleeping?”
“Hmmn. As well as it has been, anyway. It’s not too bad, here.” He shifted his weight, leaning on the counter. “If I practice the nanbur a while, will it keep you up?”
Agna shook her head. “It’s nice.” The music didn’t make much difference to her, but it reminded her that he was there.
“All right. I think that might help me sleep, too.”
“Good.” She lifted a hand, and her wave turned into a cover for a yawn. His quiet chuckle followed her down the hallway.
Keifon: The Broken Chain
He was learning the path between the hospital and Agna’s house, and his feet took it even when he wasn’t thinking. Keifon’s mind had faded out to a dull, swimming hum, disconnected from the body that seemed held together by aches around a gnawing core of hunger. The door was open. He stepped into the entryway and bent to pull his shoes off before locking the door with Agna’s spare key.
Baking bread. Roasted poultry. Keifon leaned against the wall, resting his hands on his knees, too tired to figure out why he wanted to yell about the unlocked door, too hungry to think about anything but the smell of cooking rolling down from upstairs. Dinner. For them. When he got home. Back. When he got back. The ache in his stomach wasn’t all hunger, it seemed. It had been a long week, capped off with his first eighteen-hour double shift. But he’d made it through, and now he had a chance to breathe.
His shaking legs got him to the top of the stairs eventually. Agna stood at the stove, stirring something. He stuffed down a comment about the unlocked door. It was her house, and it wasn’t his place to question her decisions.
“Hey! Welcome home.” She set down her spoon and pulled out one of the new chairs for him. “Almost done.”
He sat and buried his face in his hands. She didn’t have to do this for him. She didn’t have to do any of it.
“Rough day?”
He didn’t look up. “Dr. Rushu took me on her rounds, and then sent me out with another doctor’s rounds. She can’t do much lifting anymore, Dr. Rushu, I mean, so there was a lot of lifting and pushing and carrying. For the first eight hours, and then another eight. But… I shouldn’t complain. Sorry.”
Agna made a soft, sympathetic noise in her throat that nearly undid him. “It’s all right, I don’t mind. I’m sorry they started you off like that. Maybe they’re kind of hazing the new guy. Trial by fire.”
“Mmph.” He didn’t hold it against her that she hadn’t been called upon to take a double shift. The schedule wasn’t her fault. But she had so much energy, stirring and gathering plates and pouring water, that he could hardly stand to watch her. Part of him wanted to fall asleep at the kitchen table, and not only because he was exhausted. It nagged at the back of his mind, the fact that he was content to sit here, even though the stove made the room too warm. More than content. The frustration and fatigue and the pains he couldn’t name melted away. Apart from wishing he had the energy to help, he could stay here for the rest of his life.
A little shock of fear interrupted his half-doze. Not the rest of his life. Temporary. Remember?
Agna ruffled his hair on her way across the room, and set a glass of water by his elbow. Keifon rubbed his eyes and resisted setting his head on the table. Instead he thanked her for the water and drank it. He could feel his muscles freezing into position, getting ready to scream if he moved again. He’d be sore tomorrow morning, but he had the day off. It would be his turn to clean more of the gallery and go to the market and cook dinner for them. Keifon wanted to curl up around that thought.
This apprenticeship had been more of a mental challenge than he’d expected, too. He had absorbed all he could about the workings of the hospital and about the doctors’ styles of interacting with the patients. He’d paid attention to the patients’ symptoms and complaints, and fielded endless questions about who he was and how he had come to Wildern. It was only the beginning of his education. It would get easier after this. And he had come home — not home, to Agna’s home — to a dear friend who thought nothing of taking care of him when he was exhausted. He’d started off well. Next week would be better. And each of the days after that would be more than he could ever wish for.
Talking to Dr. Rushu had led to one insight after another. She was never impatient with his questions, and never expected him to know everything she knew. They passed other apprentices, trailing other doctors, but she never seemed to care that he was so much older than they were. She had been glad to have an apprentice who wasn’t starting from the very beginning. She’d said as much. Apart from taking advantage of his youth and strength — she’d said that, too, half-jokingly — she treated him almost like an equal, a new colleague with whom she wanted to share all of her experience.
Not all of the warmth in his face was from the stove, indeed. He had been eager to soak up everything she could tell him, and to soak up her welcoming nature — all of those asides and bits of advice about the city and working at the hospital. He’d loved every bit of it. There was no end to his neediness, was there. He took from Dr. Rushu and he took from Agna. He was trying to give back to Keiva and Gaf and the others at the canal, but did that really make up for it? He had to restore the balance with the people who were helping him, somehow. He had to figure out what use he could be to them.
“The doctor invited me to a party,” he said, still propping his head up in his hands.
Agna set a trivet on the table and hefted one of the lidded pots onto it. “Yeah? That’s nice. A welcoming party?”
“Hm, no, it’s… it’s a regular thing. Like a club. A bunch of Yanweians who live in town here get together every few weeks to have dinner.”
“Oh, that sounds lovely. When is it?”
“I didn’t say I’d go.” He’d mumbled, and Agna raised his chin in her hand, eyeing him skeptically. He sat back, out of her reach. “Not yet. I think.”
“And why is th
at?”
He crossed his arms, frustrated with his inability to explain to her, and with her inability to understand. He wasn’t going to walk into a group of Dr. Rushu’s peers — respectable old-country folk — and announce “Hello, my name is nothing, and I don’t deserve to be here.” Agna wouldn’t get it. He was convinced, at the moment, that she never would. No matter how often he explained it to her, she refused to understand what his status meant.
“I should go and pack up.” His legs protested at standing again, but once he started down the hallway, his head began to clear a little.
He’d written to headquarters while they were in Vertal, as soon as they’d stepped off the caravan circuit. The reply that came yesterday had been the first mail he’d gotten at this address. It was short and professional, typeset and signed in ink. It did not seem as though such a concise letter should make his chest hurt this way.
Keifon the Medic, Yanweian National Army Detachment 343, Unit 279, is released with all honors into the service of the Benevolent Union for a term of no less than six years. This constitutes a cordial termination of all rights as a member of the Yanweian National Army, and of any privileges and responsibilities associated therewith. All Army property must be returned immediately, with the exception of insignia and marks of rank. These must be displayed in accordance with national laws.
Thank you for your service, and may the gods bless and keep you.
The medicines he’d been assigned had been used up and replaced long ago. He lined up the bottles and jars along the new wooden dresser, labels facing out, glinting in the lamplight. He remembered which tools had been assigned to him and which had been bought with his own money, later on. They made two shining silver ranks. A few were miniature versions of tools he’d seen used on the farm, but the Army had taught him how to use the rest. He’d brought them south with the knowledge they’d put into his head, and with them he’d built the next two years of his life.
The valise holding the medicine and tools was also Army property, and he set it on top of the dresser when it was empty, folding the canvas flat. The handles had worn into grooves where his fingers lay, and the bottom corners had begun to fray. They would have to patch it, or take it apart and rebuild it, if they meant to ever use it again. The combat knife tucked along the edge of his top dresser drawer was in perfect condition. He hoped he would never need such a thing in this new life.
When he’d unpacked, he’d laid out the uniform in the right half of one of the dresser drawers and stood the boots on the floor next to the dresser. Now Keifon fished out the pins that marked his rank and unit and specialty, tucked into a jacket pocket. He laid them out in front of the tools he would keep, and lifted the folded fabric from the drawer.
He’d worn it twice in the last two years, to the Resurrection festivals. There had been no other appropriate occasions since he’d come here. He had presented himself as a medic trained by the Army, but he’d worked as a civilian, as an agent of the Benevolent Union. Only on his god’s feast day had he fully reconnected with his origins. One of those days had been painful, and the other had been sublime. He hadn’t attended any other official banquets or meetings or weddings.
And there it was. Keifon backed away from the dresser and sat on the edge of his new bed, the uniform draped over his lap. He’d expected a link to the next phase of his life, now that the next phase of his life was becoming a reality. He’d been part of his clan, and then he’d been part of his marriage to Eri, part of the family they’d begun. And then both clan and marriage were gone, and he was no one. The Church of Darano had lifted him up and made him human again, and the Army had made him one of their own. Since then, when he saw a wedding day in his head — to anyone or no one — it was this deep red uniform he wore, passing from the Army’s family to whatever it was that he would build next.
He had begun to see the patterns in the Benevolents’ hospital. He’d made himself useful — his muscles ached now from it — and he’d begun to learn their ways. But he was still a visitor, still “Dr. Rushu’s apprentice.” He did not belong there yet. The chain had broken. He was no one again.
Agna knocked softly on his door. “Kei? Dinner’s ready.”
“In a bit,” he said, pushing the words through. “Sorry.”
“Can I come in?”
“Mmn. Yeah, go ahead.” There was no point in setting the uniform aside, or pretending that he hadn’t stopped to mourn over it.
She slipped through his door and closed it behind her. He couldn’t look at her for more than a sliding glance, or he would either cry on her shoulder or fall asleep in her lap. She’d taken off her cooking apron, though a linen towel was still slung over her shoulder. The heat of the kitchen seemed to cling to her skin as she sat on the edge of the bed next to him.
Her pale fingers stole up to skim over the fabric. “I’m sorry. I know it’s hard.”
She didn’t know, she couldn’t know, but at least she wanted to help. Keifon folded his arms across his chest, pinning the uniform against his body. Agna leaned on him, a gentle pressure from shoulder to hip. She let him stay silent for a while.
“Come and eat dinner,” she said. “You can tell me your stories about them. I want to hear about all of them.”
A few stories bloomed in his head without warning. They’d cobbled together that card tournament off the record, only to see it topple over into arguing about probability and rankings, which some of his unit mates seemed to enjoy more than playing cards. Fu had made those ridiculous and beautiful charts, parodying the official standings of run times and push-ups, with statistics on snoring frequency and volumes of beer drunk per night. And that sheep that Ren had chased through the barracks — they’d never found out who’d let it in. “I think I’ve told you some of them already. Probably twice.”
She nudged him, shoulder to shoulder. “Tell me again, then. Finish packing after.”
He loosened his grip and set the uniform aside. “All right.”
The smell of dinner made his mouth water all the way down the hall. Agna chattered about the low price of pheasant in this city and where she’d found the best flour. Keifon listened, remembered what he could, and helped her to dish out hot wedges of pheasant pie drenched in gravy.
As they sat across the table from one another, she left off her monologue about ingredients and waited for him to speak. At first, he only set into the pie — remembering that lunch had been eight hours ago, a fact that his stomach sternly recounted to him now. Agna took his compliments graciously. When they were finished, Agna put the kettle on the stove and wiped the table and counters while Keifon washed the dishes. Afterward, he sealed up the remaining half of the pie and carried it to the cellar.
He meandered through the gallery on the way back. The rooms were still silent and nearly empty, the display windows covered with muslin drapes instead of sun-bleached paper. Agna had strewn the former sales counter with notes and diagrams, and tacked a few more notes to the walls with flour paste, outlining where displays might begin and end. The bones of her project had begun to form. Someday this place would be filled with Wildern’s most prominent citizens, admiring her collections. They might outfit themselves in furs rather than Nessinian silks, but Agna would still shine among them. Keifon couldn’t see his place in it. Somewhere on the periphery, watching from a distance. He would cheer her on when she took the stage, and congratulate her when she stepped down at night’s end. He would have a role here, however vague it might seem now. Agna would not leave him behind.
“Mmm, cold pheasant pie for breakfast,” Agna said as he returned to the kitchen. She was standing at the window, fanning herself with a dish towel. “Or lunch, if you want. I forgot to ask, how is the food at the base?”
Keifon shrugged. “All right, I guess. It’s not very expensive. Open all day and night. So it’s good to have around.”
“True. I’d rather not make a habit of it, in the long run. It’s still an expense, and I doubt their food is as go
od as Masa’s was.”
He shared a smile with her. When they’d been too tired or busy, too hot or cold to cook over their campfire, they’d indulged in buying food from the Golden Caravan’s camp cook. They’d learned one another’s favorites, and bought lunch for one another to stave off bad days. When Agna had told him at the end of their first year that she wouldn’t go home to Nessiny yet, the only thing he could think to do was to go to Masa’s food cart and buy the best dinner he could afford. They’d shared it around their campfire, with blackberry juice in place of the wine he couldn’t drink.
Some of his memories were his own, though he could tell her about them; some of his memories had been built with her. The thought eased a little of the knot in his chest. The line through his life had not been broken. Agna walked along this part of the road with him, and she would stay with him until whatever came next. She wasn’t his family or his unit. He’d have to invent new words for what she was to him. But he wouldn’t be alone, as long as he had her.
“It’s cooler downstairs,” he said, distracting himself. “In the gallery rooms, I mean.”
“I’m sure. The stove was fired up too long, with this so-called heat wave going on. I was thinking about taking our tea into the front room. Even that’s going to be cooler than sitting next to the stove.”
“Mmn. There’s nothing to sit on, though.” The table and chairs were still their only communal furniture. They had an order in for a couch, but that wasn’t due for a few more weeks.
“Yeah, but we’re used to sitting on the ground, right? We have a real live floor this time. It’s positively luxurious.”
He could still laugh with her, too. “Right, all right. At least… hmm.” Since the kettle had some time to come to a boil, he set off for his room. The half-packed Army property gave him pause, but he set the uniform in his dresser drawer and stripped the blanket from the bed. Carrying the blanket and the lamp from his room, he padded down the hallway past Agna’s room. In the front room, the lamplight from the street flickered through the thin curtains, allowing him enough light to spread out the blanket on the polished floorboards. He was lighting the lamp when Agna brought the teapot and cups on a tray.
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