by JANRAE FRANK
It did not take long for his tousled head to appear, sticking out of a door with the end of his broom just above his head. She waved the note at him.
Zacham disappeared, and then reappeared without his broom. She gave him the note. "Take this to brother Arlethan," she told him.
"Okay," he said, grinning brightly, grateful to be off broom duty for a time. He took it and raced for the back stairs, which were closer to the converted warehouse serving as winter quarters.
Becca returned to her desk, sitting a little longer, staring at the pile of tally sticks before closing the ledger book with a sigh, finding it too hard to concentrate with Aejys lying upstairs in bad shape. Worrying about Aejys; worrying about Clemmerick; wishing Tagalong Smith, Aejys' partner and Becca's friendly nemesis, was there to back her up on various deals involving their holdings – but even more importantly to keep Cedarbird off her back. She needed to see how the renovations were going on the two adjacent warehouses that were being converted into winter quarters for their drivers and caravan guards, but what she really wanted was to be sitting upstairs with Aejys, making certain she was all right. Watching over her liege-lord would not make Aejys get better faster, but it would comfort Becca just to be there. So she headed upstairs.
* * * *
Zacham found Brother Arlethan in the little office he had in the warehouse. The withered old monk engendered mixed feelings in the boy. Most of the time it was all right, but some times he scared Zacham and the boy was never certain why; it was just a gut-feeling so he never brought it up to the adults, who would probably brush it off as a childish worry. Zacham hovered in the door with the note in his hands. Arlethan was alone, his nearly baldhead with just a thin fringe of hair around the base glinted redly in the lamplight. He stretched his claw-like, gnarled fingers toward Zacham and a chill ran down the boy's spine.
"You have something for me?"
Zacham nodded. "Note from Becca."
"Well come here, boy. Give it to me. I'm not going to eat you."
The cleric's voice had an oily kindness that made the boy uncomfortable; left him feeling like a mouse being coaxed from its hole by a large cat. Zacham swallowed and crossed the room, holding the note at arm's length before him.
Arlethan took it and Zacham retreated. "Stop. Wait. I may want to pen a reply for you to take back."
Zacham halted, but did not offer to come closer, and he watched Arlethan read the note. When the monk finished, he nodded at the door. Zacham spun, darting out.
Arlethan rose and took his cloak down from the rack near the door. He walked down stairs to the narrow alley that ran between the warehouse and the Cock and Boar, opening on the courtyard quad. As he neared the back door, he paused. He could hear a warning hum in his ears and taste the acridness of the ward before he encountered it. The shaman's wards were back: That meant he could not enter the building – it also meant that Josiah had returned. The shaman's wards were keyed to keep Arlethan from any building that Josiah was in at the moment. He cursed softly, and then turned back. If Josiah was back, then Aejys must be also. He would have to get Becca to come to him.
"Because my old bones ache, of course," he smiled then. For nearly twenty years the Kwaklahmyn shaman, Branch, had blocked him from reaching Josiah, but eventually his Waejontori master would contact him again and perhaps he would know how to get past them. It had never mattered much before; after all, Arlethan Dinger had burned the magic out of Josiah when he was a boy, eliminating him as a threat. But there were rumors that the magic had somehow come back. Dinger's primary task, set him nearly thirty years ago, had been primarily to destroy all the lifemages of the coast and secondarily to find and destroy the entire Abelard lineage. Josiah was the last of the Abelard blood.
* * * *
Molly sat in a comfortable chair beside Aejys' bed, working on her embroidery. She normally spent her days, mopping the upper floors, making beds, dusting and other general stuff. Molly wore black pants with a dark loose tunic brushing her knees, split fore and aft for ease of movement. Like nearly all of Aejys' household women, she had given up her dresses in favor of pants in imitation of Becca, who had adopted the Sharani style of clothing the previous summer.
Although Josh had also remained, Becca did not count the sot as capable of watching over Aejys and informed the servants of that. Josh spent that first day in the chair without moving from it. He dozed fitfully, stirring at every noise. Becca woke Aejys twice to get the medicines down her, but the ha'taren, paladin of Aroana the Compassionate Defender, seemed scarcely aware of them, her eyes unfocused. The healer returned late in the afternoon to splint her hands, and, although she roused at the pain, she did not become fully conscious. Taun feared that she might never do so, being in deep shock from her injuries.
Snow blew in from the north in the early afternoon, turning to a storm by nightfall. Becca, having given up on getting anything more done with the books, relieved Molly: The servants had been taking turns sitting with Aejys all day, rotating at roughly two-hour intervals, but Becca and Molly had taken the most shifts. Becca built up the fire some more. During the day the ovens kept the entire building heated, but in the early evening, with dinner done, the coals would be banked and it would be a matter of keeping the food warm for serving while the members of the household trooped through for their meals in the hours after closing. Then the upper floors would start to cool. She put an extra blanket over Aejys for the night.
"Josh," she said kindly, squeezing his shoulder. "Go down and get something to eat. You need it."
Josh shook his head. "Can't. I can't leave her." Tears rushed suddenly to his eyes, running down his battered face. "Should've done more ... should've been something more I could do." Can't think... Can't think. Sonden told him in Rowanslea that he was the reincarnation of Josiah Abelard, the Mage-Master. If that was so, then why couldn't he think of something to pull Aejys out of danger – he felt as helpless and impotent as he had the day he washed up on the sands near the blowholes after the archenwyrm sank his foster-father's ship, the only survivor. He hated feeling that way.
Becca looked down at him startled. Josh never had much to say to anyone. Usually he just sat and drank; wandered aimlessly along the beaches; or disappeared into one of his many mysterious bolt holes. She knew he talked to Clemmerick, for he and the big ogre hostler were friends, but he had never really opened up to any one else, especially her. Perhaps it was just that Clemmerick was thousands of leagues away, and Josh had no one to talk to... Maybe he had changed as result of things that happened on the journey. Becca could only speculate. "You want to talk about it?" Becca settled onto the window seat beside Josh's chair.
Josh nodded.
"You want a drink?" There was a well-stocked liquor cabinet in the adjoining parlor, Aejys' private stock, but the tavern master did not think the paladin would mind under the circumstances.
Josh surprised Becca by shaking his head, "No."
"Okay."
"I – I love her..."
"We all do, Josh," Becca smiled, placing her hand over Josh's.
"No." Josh shook his head. "Not like that... I'm in love with her, Becca. For years now."
Becca went silent, taken aback by Josh's admission. Finally she asked, "Does she know?"
Josh shook his head. "I'm not worthy. I know what I am. I'm a sot."
"You just refused a drink..." Becca pointed out.
"You're missing the point. I want a drink. I want it real bad. I don't like being sober ... all the nightmares start crowding in on me. My body hurts and burns, every waking moment. I take a drink and it all goes away. I stop feeling anything."
"You just refused a drink," Becca repeated.
"Listen to me." His voice filled with a gnawing wretchedness as if life itself chewed his heart out. "I'm going to stay sober as long as I can. But it won't last. It never does."
"Josh. I think Aejys would respect you just for trying... Maybe the healer could help."
"It's worse than
that, Becca. A lot worse. I was mage-born on a small island north of here. Raiders murdered everyone but me. Sometimes in my dreams I remember crying, begging my mother to hold me, to wake up, to move, and she doesn't. She can't... because she's dead. She fell across me. Her body hid me from the raiders."
"Oh, dear gods!" Becca slid nearer to Josh until she was sitting on the edge of the window seat, leaning close to him, both his hands gripped tightly in hers. "I'm so sorry. We never knew."
Josh's face screwed up as he fought down a wave of grief, old grief, but still hot and painful because he had held it in for so many years. When he finally mastered himself, he went on. "The mon who found me was a sailor. His ship put into the bay for water and supplies. That's who I'm talking about when I say 'my father'. When my magic started showing up it frightened him. Angered him. He meant to make a sailor out of me. When I was seven or eight – I don't know, I might have been younger – he took me to a back alley apostate priest. Had the magic burned out. It was like being blinded, half my senses cut off. And my body? My muscles started crawling under my skin, my bones hurt, my nerve endings burned. It never stopped. As I got older it just got worse."
"I'd like to beat the crap out of him!" Becca bristled.
Josh gave her a wan smile. "He's dead. The archenwyrm got him. I watched him slide down its throat. I'll never understand why I lived when everyone else perished. Never."
Becca nodded mutely, encouraging him.
"When Aejys dosed me with the holadil it restored the magic. But with the normal channels in my body seared closed, it had to make new channels. Maybe because I'd been drunk for so many years – I don't know – but the holadil bonded with the booze somehow. It's always going to be with me, but I can't use the magic without drinking – the more I drink, the stronger the magic comes out. Now I'm only mage-blind when I'm sober... To rescue Aejys I got very, very drunk."
The tears started again, his whole body shaking with sobs. Becca stood up, wrapped her arms around him, pressed his face into her shoulder, and held him for a long time while he wept out his despair. When his sobbing stopped, Becca stepped back, lifting his chin in her hands. "Go wash your face, then go downstairs and get something to eat. You want to be in good shape when Aejys wakes up."
Josh nodded agreement. As he passed the bed, a low moan caused him to pause. He looked back and saw that Aejys' eyes were open, staring at him. Her lips moved with words too soft to hear. The sot rushed to her side, bending to listen.
"Josh," Aejys said weakly, extending one ruined hand toward him. "You brought me back." Fear mixed with gratitude in her words, the weakness of her body left her emotions on the surface, stark and exposed and vulnerable in a way she had not been before. That vulnerability frightened her. She could not stop remembering: what it felt like to die; the days, which seemed like weeks, of systematic torture; the pain that never seemed to end. It terrified her and she could not get past it. She felt desperate to touch him and be touched by him; to have him chase away the terror and helplessness.
Josh moved the chair, which Becca and the servants used in watching over Aejys, closer to the bed. He tenderly took her splinted hand in his rough, weathered ones, trying not to hurt her. He brushed his lips against the torn skin. "Rest. You'll be all right. Becca wants me to go eat. But I'll be right back. I'll sit here. Close." Then he rose to go.
"Stay. Don't leave me..." Her weakness shamed her. She felt shattered and broken to the bottom of her heart and spirit. Josh's presence seemed to be the only thing separating her from madness, from screaming her lungs out at the hovering memories. Without him, she would feel exposed and the nightmares would fold themselves around her again like a smothering blanket.
Josh could not leave her: seeing those things written in her face affected him strongly. He hated seeing her reduced to this. He sank back into the chair.
Becca stepped into the parlor, returning with a small table that she placed beside Josh's chair. "I'll get some food sent up."
When Becca came back she found them both asleep. Josh's head lay right cheek down on the bed; arm extended, his and Aejys' fingertips just touching.
* * * *
"My pipe. Josh, where's my pipe?"
Aejys' voice woke him.
He stirred sluggishly, his back aching from sleeping in the chair. "Left it behind," he muttered.
Aejys thought about that, frown lines forming on her forehead, adding to the hideousness of her battered face: Her left eye was swollen shut, a long gash stretched beneath it to her jaw; a squarish wound on her right cheek marked where her sister's ring had caught her, ripping away a chunk of flesh down to the bone; dark bruises covered her skin.
"Get me a new one," she said.
"Josh can go get it," Becca said, bending over her, relieved to see her finally awake. She originally wanted to keep Josh inside out of sight to avoid speculation about the rest of the company, especially Aejys. However, Molly had overheard some customers talking at breakfast and reported that somehow the word had gotten out about Aejys and Josh being back: People were asking questions. Therefore, he might as well be seen. At some point Becca intended to find out which of their people had leaked the news. Whoever it was, even if it was one of the children, would get a tongue-lashing they would never forget.
"No," Aejys replied hoarsely, her voice rising barely above a whisper and even that enough to tire her. Without him the nightmares would close in again. "Send. Someone. Else."
"No. It isn't fair to keep him cooped up here. Josh has not left your side for two days. He needs to get some fresh air, to move around. It's not good for him to just sit here."
Aejys looked away, the small movement of her head brought enough pain to twist a groan up from her gut. She had no right to keep him tied there beside her. He had needs also. Although her stomach knotted up painfully at the thought of his absence, she forced herself to do the right thing and said: "So ... be ... it."
Becca pulled a handful of silver coins from her pocket. "Here," she said, pressing the coins into the sot's hands. "Get her a new pipe and some tobacco – an angel blend. If you see something you want for yourself, then get it. Hyacinths for the soul, you know." She had gotten the hyacinths phrase from the little book of poems she was learning to read from and liked it. Angel blends included herbs such as gahnjan, which produced a pleasant, relaxing high.
Josh's hand closed over the coins. "I ... this isn't a good idea. I need to be here. What if something happens?"
"Nonsense," Becca cut him off. "Taun will be here soon. Just go get the pipe and tobacco. And something for yourself."
Josh remained standing, looking at Becca, and hoping to change her mind, pleading with his eyes. Becca's hands on hips stance told him she would not be moved, so he sighed heavily and left. He did not have the energy to argue with her at length. Although his body was whole, his mind and spirit were exhausted.
The sot found the streets filled with people clearing away the snow, getting ready for business. Everybody stared at him, many whispering between themselves as his presence confirmed the latest spat of rumors. He felt intensely uncomfortable at first, walking along in his Kwaklahmyn style coat with a heavy wool cloak throw over for extra warmth. Several people stopped in their work to grin at Josh, telling him how glad they were to see him back in town. They always asked about Aejys, but Josh simply told them that it was not his place to say anything. By the time he started back from the tobacconist shop, Josh was feeling unburdened, his step was light and a smile flickered frequently across his face. He carried Aejys' pipe and tobacco tucked inside his jacket alongside the bag of cinnamon candy he liked best. Sucking on a piece of candy helped him not think about drinking as much.
He had awakened that morning craving a drink, his muscles crawling around just beneath his skin along with an aching emptiness in his belly for a fire that food could not quench. In spite of his best efforts, he could almost feel that hot rush through his veins and nerve-endings when the first drink would hit his sy
stem. Josh sucked viciously on the candy and walked faster. The harder he tried not to think about the whiskey, the more he thought about it. The burning spiral down into the bottle gripped him in its vortex as he struggled to shove the cravings aside, the need to hide himself from himself. He had deliberately left his pocket flask in his room to place temptation out of reach. The people watching him no longer felt as friendly. Josh shied away from further greetings, certain that they extended them only because of his relationship to Aejys.
He was the town drunk and would never be anything more to them. They were all watching for him to fall back into the bottle again. He began to notice the undercurrent to everything around him. Vorgensburg had held him in contempt for years, knowing what he was. It still lurked there beneath the polite facades they had given him that day. A sense of desolation rose up to tighten painfully around him. All the confidence he had begun to gain while traveling in the company of Eliahu, High Mage of Winter, and the earthmage Laurelyanne, vanished. They had treated him as an equal. But this was Vorgensburg. He was home again and the only thing here was disdain and rejection. Although Aejys' household was kind to him, he sometimes found it there also, laced with pity. Josh wanted a drink.
* * * *
Aejys hung naked in chains from scaffolding atop the highest tier of the altar of hecatomb in Dragonshead. She was dying– Margren had stabbed her repeatedly in the stomach and chest before drinking her blood and leaving. She remembered the blade: a baneblade covered in death runes – Margren had made certain Aejys knew the blade's nature before shoving it in the first time – the blade ensured that she would rise, undead.
Her limbs felt very cold, she was afraid to look at them, to see them turning blue with undeath – she could almost feel her flesh rotting. Death she did not fear; but undeath, her soul and awareness trapped in rotting flesh, terrified her. She fought the terror, holding fast to her hope that Tagalong, her childhood companion, would come and take her head and heart so that she would not rise.