by James Hunt
"Ohhhh! That's why he asked!" Trent's tone had completely changed as some grand revelation occurred that escaped Garen. He turned towards the grand chapel and dragged Garen by the arm. "I missed my lessons, and I need to let off some steam".
"Sorry, my son." Garen argued in his mock pious voice. "Helrith sent me to fetch you." Trent growled, loudly. "Wow. That was pretty impressive. Can you grow fur too?" The young man stopped and threw his hands up in frustration. "Clear your mind my friend. It is too soon in this play for the Hero to be so vexed." Garen patted him on the shoulder. "Just let us know when it gets to the steamy parts, yes? Well, only those of us that are allowed to watch or listen in on the steamy parts. Hmm, that would make a good stealth training exercise... peeping in on you." Garen waggled his eyebrows.
"I can't believe you!" Trent muttered. "Is everyone in on this?"
"Only your dearest friends - those that enjoy watching you writhe around in embarrassment." Garen grinned. "The rest... ehh, they'd rather the Zek was dead and the body dumped in the woods. I think Lawson is part of that camp."
"Wonderful, they'll be staring daggers at my back."
"Pish! You think too lowly of us. Now the wretches, they might be a bit envious. I mean you did steal away their Deadly Rat. Hmm..." Garen suddenly turned rather serious. "I wonder if they'll try something now that they know she's been caught." Trent looked down both hallways to make sure it was still empty.
"Are we allowed to kill stewards?" He asked in complete honesty.
"Of course!" Garen said taken aback. "Why do you think The Father saves them from the gallows and brings them here?"
"I thought he was being merciful, actually." Trent said. There was a mixture of glee and horror in his eyes. "That man truly scares me sometimes."
"You don't know the half of it." Garen winked. "But off with you now my son, don't keep the Master of Lard waiting." Trent shook his head and left. As he crossed the doorway he turned and gave Garen a salute. His mentor did know just how to cheer him up.
Garen straightened his hood and followed at his leisure. The Chapel was empty this late in the evening. As soon as he watched Trent leave out of the main doors he took a seat on one of the pews and knelt with his hands together in prayer. Not long after the meditative silence was interrupted by the soft shuffling of old feet. The Father never seemed to use any doors, he just seemed to appear, Garen remarked in his head. The Father made his way down the same pew and came to sit next to his student.
"Speaking of wretches," The Father said. "Someone is stealing potatoes."
"Potatoes?" Garen faked being shocked. "Of all the nerve."
"They're making booze, and selling it when they go to market." The Father ignored his pupil's mocking attitude.
"Some Friars make wine, we make spirits." Garen argued. "But what are they doing with the profits?"
"Numerous... sinful... activities." The Father said bitterly.
"I see." Garen's mirth disappeared. "I'll take care of it. Should it look accidental?"
"They'll just set up shop again." The Father mulled the problem around for a moment, his withered jaw moved back and forth as if he was grinding teeth he still had. "Make it look like the Deadly Rat did it." The Father snorted. "If she's telling Trent the truth, we need to know. I also want to see how she handles herself defending against retaliation."
"I'll take care of it tonight. Any worth saving?"
"None." The Father muttered. "Monks getting their jollies at whorehouses is bad for business."
"Hmmm. What do Monks, a whorehouse, and a Zek have in common?" Garen mused.
"What?" The Father griped.
"I'll let you know when I figure out the punch line." Garen said with a sly look in his eye. The Father leaned back, crossed his arms, and raised both his bushy white eyebrows in surprise.
"Oh? This should be good." He grumbled. Garen merely bowed respectfully and made his way out of the Chapel.
*****
Nightfall came, and a soft knock interrupted her staring out the window. The dark skinned elf didn't respond; she just sat in the darkness. But when the door creaked open and candlelight flooded the room she brought a hand up to protect her eyes from the light.
"Who is there?" she demanded.
"It's me. It's Trent." Trent said as he entered. "How are you feeling?" he sat the candle down on the table along with a tray with some tiny lidded pots and a teapot on it. "I made you something."
"What is it?" She asked and came to sit on the bed in front of him. She certainly didn't mind the cramped conditions, nor shy away from him.
"Tea." Trent replied. "There is a bit of a ritual to it that one of the other monks taught me, I would like to try it for you. It's a blessing for when two people meet for the first time. It is supposed to make their fates prosperous. Also, our herbalist said you should drink this particular tea because it should help your memory."
"Will it hurt?" She asked in earnest.
"Wha-at? No, its just tea, you drink it." Trent balked.
"No, I mean the ritual. I remember that some rituals were painful." She said.
"You do?"
"I don't remember much, but the word ritual, to me, brings feelings of violence and blood, and the suffering of others."
"Yeesh. It's not that kind of ritual." Trent brought the tray down to the bedside next to her. "Just sit back and watch. The ritual is just in the preparing of the tea, that's all, then you take a drink, then I take a drink." She scooted back on the bed to make room.
Trent started by taking the lid off of the white ceramic container marked with green tick marks in a sunburst. His movement was very evenly paced and deliberate, there was no hurry in his actions, but neither was their undue waiting. From the container he took a small sprig of green needles and picked off each green spine. These fell neatly into the large cup and once the sprig was clean it was placed reverently on the tray. The lid was replaced on this small clay pot and another was pulled free from a similar container marked with pink swirls. From it small flower blossoms were picked up one by one and dropped into the cup. Once done, the lid was replaced and the two containers were moved to the side. There was a large pot at the back of the tray from which wisps of steam escaped through the gaps in the lid. Hot water was slowly poured from it into the cup with the blossoms and sprigs. The petals swirled around and floated up, but the sprig trimmings stayed at the bottom. Trent stopped and let the brew swirl around for a moment. His eyes were focused on it with utmost attention, and he made no eye contact with his charge. The Hekarim was more interested in him than the swirling cup; her eyes never left his face in the dim light.
Trent picked up a tiny tapered copper rod the size of a finger and, holding it between his thumb and forefinger, gingerly used it to mash up the sprig trimmings at the bottom of the brew. The water quickly turned a muddy green. He mashed, and pressed, and scraped the bottom of the cup until the green color turned a muted yellow. That was the sign he was looking for; he stopped and replaced the copper rod where he had picked it up. Next came the sprig twig from earlier, this he used to stir the entire mixture violently. The beautiful tiny petals that had floated about were mashed against the walls of the cup and turned to pulp. Then they finally floated down to the bottom with the rest, but the water cleared almost instantly, and took on an amber hue. Finished, Trent slowly scraped the twig against the side of the cup, ensuring most of the tea stayed inside. With both hands he picked up the cup and presented it to the elf girl.
"Drink in good health," Trent chanted, "and may your days be filled with prosperity." He waited patiently until she finally reached up and took the cup in her hands. "Sip from the top, the pulp at the bottom is unpleasant, but it won't hurt you." And she did, drinking deeply as she stared at him. This time he met her eyes, but in them she saw only quiet observance. But even in candlelight they were fierce and piercing. His face was where she had to look to read him, the relaxed but firm jaw, the expressionless lips, if this had been a trap he had no
fear of it going wrong.
The liquid was pleasantly warm, and it soothed her throat as it flowed down, bringing with it a hint of mint that tingled afterward. When she had finished she handed him the cup back almost as reverently. He took it graciously and took the same long sip from the top that she had. When he had finished, however, he placed it on the tray and moved the whole thing over to the desk. The basket from earlier was still there and it was completely empty.
"I'm glad to see you ate well." He commented and folded the towel back up. "I forgot your rolls, I'm sorry. I'll bring twice as many for breakfast tomorrow."
"Just no apples, I don't like them." She muttered. "Their insides are hard, and the seeds too."
"You don't eat that part," Trent chuckled lightly, "just the outside, the good part." He picked up the tea cup and carefully poured the top liquid back into the water pot. The mush at the bottom he scraped out with the copper bar into a wad on the tray. With the cup now empty, he transferred the liquid back into the cup and handed it to her. "Here, finish the rest of this, it should help."
"Suddenly, I don't trust this." She scowled at the cup. "For some reason I trust you, but this feels like you're trying to poison me. One of those image feelings again..."
"I can understand that," Trent sighed and sat in the chair across from her. He noticed a faint blush in her cheeks, which, in order to show in her dark skin in this dim light, wasn't really so faint at all. Concerned, he pressed a hand to her forehead, and then he felt her cheek. "Hmm, you seem a little hot. How do your eyes feel?"
"Fine," She said a bit evasively. "But my cheeks are very warm."
"Let me know if you feel worse," Trent said. "If you hadn't noticed, you're not human like the rest of us. It may be this simple medicine might affect you differently. But our healer said it shouldn't."
"You sound like you don't trust what he gave you." She replied and stared coldly at the cup. There was a tone in her voice, distant, guarded, it was a curious change from her anxiety earlier.
"I trust he believes that what he gave you will do what he said it would," Trent crossed his arms and regarded her. The blush had spread to the tips of her elongated ears as they poked through the curtain of white and blue hair that fell around her head.
"I'm very hot," she sighed. "Do you have anything lighter to wear than this heavy thing?"
"No," Trent shrugged. "How is your memory? Any more bits and pieces come to you while I was gone?"
"Maybe I don't want to remember," The Mischevious said softly. "I have so many bad feelings, the pitcher earlier triggered something... the tea now... Its like bad things happened to me once. I don't think I want to know what they were." Trent locked his jaw and looked away at the window in thought. He'd seen his share of war and battle and the scars that men carry with them afterwards. He'd seen what torture does to those that survive it, and he even sometimes wished he hadn't seen any of it at all. This was becoming a hard game to play. The Father wanted information out of her, but Trent wondered if they should just let a sleeping demon lie.
His broodings had caused a silence. It was the ruffling of her robe as she pulled it over her head that brought him out of it. Trent fought back the urge to enforce modesty on her; this was her room after all. Before he could figure out how to respond to it, she had it off and tossed to the floor. There she sat in her bed with the blanket over her legs, and her upper body bare to the night air. Nudity didn't seem to bother her, so Trent decided he would play along.
"I should retire, you could use some rest," Trent picked up the tray and turned to leave. She caught one of his arms and held on.
"Please stay, with me, here." She offered. She didn't look at him however, and he could only stare at the top of her head. The dark brown spot in her hair that was the dried blood from her wound held his attention. Guilt suddenly washed over him. There was no reason he should feel like this about her, if she had come to train she should have been prepared. It wasn't his fault, why should he have to nurse her like this. This wasn't fair of The Father, and suddenly he resented this assignment. "Please?" she asked again "I'm just a little... unnerved. You're the only thing I know is real right now. I'm afraid that if I go to sleep I might not remember you or this, or worse I might think I'm somewhere else."
Trent sighed. "I suppose it can't be helped, I'll stay tonight." He sat the tray back down. "But I will be getting up very early, so don't be alarmed if you wake up and I'm gone."
"I understand," she said and finally looked up at him. Since she wasn't bothered with nudity, he took a gamble and pulled his own robe off over his head. His elf charge moved over on the small bed up against the wall and made room for him. Not so much as a faint gasp of surprise at his nakedness from her, and that eased his nervousness. Even though they were of a same height, he was easily twice her size in muscle. The bed creaked loudly when he lay down next to her. Trent blew out the candle and set it on the floor, then scooted it under the bed.
There in the darkness he laid down next to this Hekarim woman -- a deadly creature lurking behind the innocence of amnesia. Suddenly the fear of her remembering everything while he slept crept up his spine. He really shouldn't be here, and if he didn't leave he wouldn't get much sleep.
Her small frame curled up next to him and her head lay gently on his chest. She was so comfortable there he just couldn't leave now. Her heat pressed against him felt good too, her skin was smooth and warm, and her fingers started to absently caress his chest as she tried to fall asleep.
In a fight, he could hold his own. But in this type of battle, he admitted to himself, he was at her mercy. Ruse or not, if he didn't play along it would make things unsettling, and quite possibly rouse her anger again. Keeping her comfortable and placated was the best option to keeping that rage and unnatural fighting ability inside her locked up.
Sometimes he wondered if he had just forgotten how to be a normal person and enjoy simple things like companionship... 'Only a soldier can survive war', one of his teachers once said. 'But after the war a soldier cannot survive'. Suddenly a great weight felt like it flew off of his shoulders. He understood now, this was indeed more training. He needed to learn to let go... to turn off the combat readiness and resume normal tasks. With that thought he closed his eyes and let himself fall asleep.
*****
His morning routine had changed completely because of his ward. His studies and practice lessons had been suspended. Instead, he was taking her to see the scholars and the teachers here at the Monastery. There was one that spoke Hekarim who was very interested in having a "good conversation" as he put it. Trent knew his Zek wasn't up to par, but he listened in nonetheless. What words in her language he didn't know he deciphered through the course of their conversation. She was very forthcoming with any information she did know about her home, but for the most part the teacher just asked her about civil things.
Once or twice he caught vile glances from some of the stewards that passed them in the halls. This was the first time she was walking freely and boldly among them; he had to be on guard for anything from the stewards. Garen's words from yesterday came to mind, and he secretly thought of breaking one or two necks to teach the others not to glare.
They paid a visit to Helrith’s room after lunch, and he gave her a physical examination. Her scalp was healing, as were the bruises on her skin from her fight. She didn't seem to mind it in the least. But when she drank more of the herbal tea Helrith had given her, Trent saw a growing agitation in her face. Her brow scowled, and he saw in the afternoon sunlight the immediate deep flush that came to her skin. Helrith noticed it too, but he seemed to have expected it. He pretended not to notice even, but Trent noticed the slight twinge of the cheek that was a contained smirk that came once her skin reddened.
Dinner was served in her room, and he made sure to bring extra rolls. She scarfed them down with glee, and ate the meat and potatoes begrudgingly afterwards. They spent the evenings talking, and she shared more of the images that came to her
of her home. She would describe the buildings in great detail to him, as if it was the first time she was seeing them. When they finished their talk, Trent went to leave, but she convinced him to stay again with her as she slept. In the morning he awoke first and left to the chapel to speak with The Father, and then off to fulfill his duties.
The next few days repeated their routines. On the fourth day since her accident, she spied the other Huanguard training in the courtyard and watched them with mixed emotions - eager anticipation and fear. Despite his own yearnings to get back into some physical workouts, he knew the danger of getting her worked up. For now, it would be best to keep her away from any fighting until she regained knowledge of herself and control over whatever was lurking underneath.
Helrith examined her once a day and asked how she was feeling. Her mood improved day by day, but not her memories. The herbalist didn't seem too concerned about it, but he always drew a small amount of blood from her for testing. Trent found that odd, and so did The Father when he reported it.