by Robin Hobb
“I wondered how much you recalled,” she said softly.
I don’t know what you are talking about. That was what I wanted to say, and yet I could not bring my lips to shape the words. That denial, I suddenly knew, was a legacy of the division that Tree Woman had inflicted on me. I did know exactly what she was talking about. I was still reconciling the pieces of myself. Sometimes I woke deep in mourning that I had killed my lover and mentor. At other times, I almost wished I could believe it was all fever dream and hallucination.
Epiny smiled sorrowfully at my silence. “Is it still so hard for you to admit it, Nevare?” she asked me. “Then I will not force it from you. I will only say that you saved not only yourself, but also Spink and me. It was when you acted that I suddenly perceived that some items were links between this world and that one. For you, it was your hair and your sabre. When you cut the bridge, you cut her off from our world, didn’t you? My task was different. Spink and I were already bound. I had to seize and hold fast to the link that bound us to this world. In our case, it was the imaginary whistle he wore in his mind. He held fast to it in that world, and when I came out of my trance, I was gripping the chain around my own neck. But Spink had come with me. I sat up from the floor and discovered, to my great delight, that both of you were breathing, though not well. The nurses were shocked. It was the second time they had declared you dead, you know. I think you had remained longer in the land of the dead than either of you could have survived in ordinary circumstances.” She leaned closer to add, “I think you did more than you intended. Prior to our return, several cadets in your ward also gasped in breath at almost the same time. I think your severing of the bridge sent the souls on it back to their bodies.”
“That’s preposterous!” And I truly did. But I smiled at her as I said so.
She did not reply for a moment. Then she leaned forward and before I could react, she gave the hair on top of my head a firm tug. “Not as preposterous as this!” she told me. “The scar was gone, Nevare, when you awoke. I noticed it immediately. What she took from you, you took it back. And now, when I look at you, I see no trace of her aura. Only that your own has grown much stronger. And yes, stranger.” She leaned back and looked at me so consideringly that I almost expected she would tell me how much I’d grown. “Definitely a strange aura. But then, you are a strange person and you definitely had a strange experience. Or we did.”
I gave in and asked her. “Does Spink remember any of that?”
She pursed her lips. “Not that he admits. I wonder about it. I wonder what any of the others on that bridge remember— Oh!” She thrust her hand back into her pocket. “I nearly forgot this. It is from Caulder. It came for you two days ago. I think perhaps he had a very strange dream that he wishes to discuss with you.” She smiled cattily as she handed it to me.
I took the envelope from her, noting that the seal on it was broken. “You already read it, didn’t you?”
“Of course. As it was from Caulder, I doubted that it could be extremely personal. And I had to read it, to be able to judge whether or not to pass it on to you. But I think you are as ready for it as you will ever be.”
The note inside was on rich and heavy paper, marred only by Caulder’s childish handwriting. “Please come to visit me at your earliest convenience. I have something for you.”
I tossed it down upon my bedding. “The only thing that I could possibly want from him is an apology, and I very much doubt that I shall get it.”
“I should have thought you would have said you wished him to tell his father the truth. If only Caulder would tell the truth, his father might still rescind your dishonourable discharge.”
I looked at her speechlessly. To hear those two words spoken aloud were akin to having them branded into me. That she knew and had spoken it aloud made the reality freshly horrible to me. When my shocked silence grew long, she confided calmly, “Well, I found the paper when I hung up your uniform jacket. Someone had to see to your things; some of the nurses they brought in to the infirmary during the worst of the crisis were thieves and worse. They stole anything they could carry off, including the blankets that covered the dead. It was horrible. So I gathered up your things to keep them safe and—”
“And naturally you went through my pockets.” I was offended.
“Yes. Naturally,” she retorted. “So that if there was anything of value, I could be sure to keep it safe. The only thing I found was that horrid discharge paper. So I burned it, of course.”
“You burned my discharge papers!”
“Of course.” She was so calm.
“Why?”
She shrugged one shoulder and did not meet my gaze. Then she turned back, looked me in the eye and said flatly, “I’m not a fool. I knew Colonel Stiet was very ill. I saw that those papers were dated the same day that the plague broke out. I judged that in the midst of all that, there was a chance he hadn’t recorded his tantrum anywhere else. And if he died, and there was no record of it, then I saw no reason for you to be burdened with it. So I burned it. No one else saw me do it. And as Spink had not mentioned it to me, I judged you had not told anyone else about it, either.”
She sat back in her chair and folded her hands in her lap. She looked pleased with herself. Then she gave a little sigh. “Unfortunately, he didn’t die. But we can hope that with all else that has happened, he won’t have time to trouble you.”
“I don’t know what to say,” I said at last.
“Then say nothing!” she advised me insistently. “Nothing at all. When you are well, go back to the Academy. Resume your life as if it had never happened. I really doubt that Stiet will take time to impart details like that to his successor. Ignore it. And if anyone is stupid and vicious enough to attempt to send you away from the Academy, you should fight it. Tooth and claw.”
I scarcely heard it. I was still mulling over what she had suggested. “Just ignore it? That seems… dishonest.”
“No, you dolt. Dishonest is a spoiled child lying about you and having you dishonourably discharged from the Academy.” She stood suddenly and then shocked me by leaning down to kiss me on the brow. “That is quite enough for one day. Think about what I’ve said, and then sleep on it. And for once, do what is sensible.”
She did not give me a chance to agree with her. She walked to the window, drew the curtains to put the room into darkness, and left me there. I didn’t sleep. I thought it over. I calculated my odds like a gambler. Sergeant Rufet had known, but he was dead. The doctor knew, but as he had not mentioned it, perhaps he had forgotten my words to him. Colonel Stiet knew, of course, as did Caulder. But would they linger at the Academy or would they swiftly depart and allow Colonel Rebin to move into the living quarters? I tempted myself with the notion that perhaps the colonel had been too distracted to note my discharge down into the daily log of the Academy. Perhaps with all that had happened, he would forget the incident of his son’s drunkenness.
Or perhaps not. I decided sternly that it was a foolish thing to hope for. I also decided I would be equally foolish not to attempt to ignore the discharge. What more, after all, could Colonel Stiet do to me than what he had already done? And so as the days passed and I grew stronger, I kept Epiny’s counsel and did not speak of the discharge to anyone.
Perhaps the slim hope I felt speeded my recovery. A day came when I could rise from my bed without assistance. The doctor began to allow me regular food instead of the bland soups I’d been subsisting on. My appetite returned with a vengeance, and to my nurse’s delight, I ate heartily every meal and put on flesh. I had lost muscle during my wasting illness, and of course that would have to be rebuilt by strenuous exercise. I was not yet up to it, but after another week had passed, I was able not only to stroll through my uncle’s gardens with Purissa but also to ride sedately with Epiny in the park. I did not even much mind that she assigned me her docile mare and rode Sirlofty.
My uncle’s home was not a happy place in those days. I did not take my meals w
ith the family, but ate alone in my rooms, glad that I had the excuse of my continuing convalescence. My uncle said little of the misery that Epiny had caused her family, but she spoke of it frankly with me, and at greater length than I enjoyed. I was sorry to have been the indirect cause of my uncle’s tribulations, and yet in a quiet corner of my soul, I rejoiced that at least Spink would have the joy of a wife who doted on him. I feared his life would offer him little else in the way of consolation.
The wedding was small and so subdued as to feel almost dreary. Spink’s older brother had made the journey to witness the ceremony, and also, as Epiny so crudely put it, “to pay for the bride”. I am sure his family had offered what it could but it was not a substantial amount and of influence they had even less to barter. I went and stood up with Spink’s brother and listened to the priest say the words that bound them to one another. Epiny’s dress was simple as was the lace veil she wore, and yet it still looked extravagant next to Spink in his even more ill-fitting uniform. Worse, I suspected it would be the last use he would ever have for it. It was the first time I’d seen him since the infirmary. He looked as if a good gust of wind could carry him off. His eyes were still shadowed and his cheeks sunken, yet he spoke clearly when he thanked Epiny’s parents for giving her, and still managed to look happier than I’d ever seen him before. So did Epiny, and despite my misgivings, I envied them both.
I had very little time alone with Spink. He wearied easily and Epiny was determined both to baby him and to have him to herself as much as possible. When I found one quiet moment, I gave him my personal good wishes, and then suddenly found myself saying, “It’s strange. Things matter so much, and then suddenly they don’t matter at all. On the day of our examinations, I agonized that you and Gord had found a way to cheat. It seemed of such great importance to me then, a life-or-death matter. Well, now I know what a life-or-death matter is. Does everything seem different to you since we came so close to dying?”
He gave me a soul-baring look. “Since we died and came back, you mean? Yes, my friend. Everything seems different to me. And things that bothered me a great deal then don’t matter to me at all anymore.” He gave a small snort of laughter. “But I will confess the truth to you. Yes. I did cheat. But Gord had nothing to do with it. I wrote “6x8 = 46” on the inside of my wrist.”
“But six times eight is forty-eight!” I exclaimed.
For a long instant, Spink just gaped at me. Then he burst into a hearty laugh, and that brought Epiny sweeping up to us to demand how I had managed to win that response from him. Very shortly after that, they left on their wedding trip, which was only to last two days before they journeyed east again with Spink’s brother. The little gathering dissolved almost as soon as the bride and groom departed, and I was happy to seek my room under the pretence of being wearied by all the excitement. My uncle excused me easily, and actually looked as if he wished he could go with me. He appeared bedraggled in that harried way of men whose wives are intensely unhappy with them. My aunt was dressed in a severe dress in a grey so dark it was almost black. She had not spoken one word to me and I was able to bow silently over her hand and escape.
In my bedchamber, I sat and stared out of the window until the day faded to night. Then, my decision made, I took paper and pen and wrote a careful but blunt letter to Carsina. I addressed the envelope plainly to her, care of her father. The next day I arose early, dressed meticulously in my uniform and left my uncle’s house.
The first thing I did was to post my letter. Then, having faced that particular demon, I rode Sirlofty to the Academy where I called at Colonel Stiet’s residence, desperately hoping to find that he and his family had already moved out.
But they were still there, and so I forced myself to do what I had promised myself I would do if I ever had the opportunity. I would confront Caulder with his foul lie. I presented the note he had sent me to the servant who answered the door. The man expressed polite surprise and told me that he would first have to seek permission from the boy’s mother. She had given orders that he was not to be allowed to do anything that might excite him in any way. His health was still far too delicate.
And so I was kept waiting for some little time in a finely appointed parlour. I looked at the expensive prints on the walls but did not sit in any of the grandly upholstered chairs. I recalled bitterly that in my cadet days under the colonel, I had never been judged worthy to be invited here. I would not sit on his fine cushions now.
I had expected that Caulder’s mother might come in to see who was visiting her boy. But it was the servant who came back, with the simple request from his mother that I not weary Caulder nor stay too long. I assured the man that I had no intention of making a lengthy visit, and then followed him upstairs to a sunny sitting room.
Caulder was already there. He was sitting on a lounge with a counterpane over his legs. He looked even worse than Spink. His arms were bony, so that his wrists and elbows looked unnaturally large. A table with a pitcher of water, a glass, and the other accoutrements of a sick room stood handy to him. His knees made mountains beneath the coverlet, and he had perched several lead soldiers on top of them. Yet he was not playing with them, but only staring at them fixedly. The servant knocked gently on the frame of the open door. Caulder started, and two soldiers fell to the floor with a clatter. “Beg pardon, young sir. You have a guest,” the man told him, crossing the room to gather up the toy soldiers and hand them back to Caulder. The boy took them absently and did not speak a word to me until the man left the room.
Caulder stared at me for a time, and then said hoarsely, “You don’t look like you’ve been sick at all.” There was wonder in his voice.
“Well, I was.” I stared at the boy who had done me such a monstrous injustice, who had roused such hatred in me, and felt only a great coldness inside me. I had feared I would lose my temper and shout at him. Now, looking at his wasted body and bloodshot eyes, I found that all I wanted was to be away from him. I spoke brusquely. “You wrote to me. You wanted to see me. You said you had something for me.”
“I did. I do.” The boy had managed to go paler. He turned to his bedside table and rummaged about in the mess there. “I took your rock. I’m sorry. Here it is. I want to give it back.” And with, that, he held it out to me.
I crossed the room in three strides. He almost cowered away from me as I took it out of his hand. “I know it was wrong to take it. I’d never seen one like it. I only meant to find out what it was from my uncle. He studies rocks and plants.”
I looked at the rough stone with its coarse veins of crystal and recalled too well how I had come by it. Did I really want anything that reminded me of that? A little shudder ran up my back at the thought of Tree Woman and her world. Well. I was done with that now. Epiny had said so, and although I did not want to believe her about anything else to do with her seances and spirits, I clung to that. Tree Woman’s shadow was no longer cast over me. I was free of her. I set the rock back on his table with a loud clack. “Keep it. I don’t want it anymore. Was that the only reason you wanted me to come?” My words came out more coldly than I’d intended. The memory of the tree woman was a chill one. I had loved her. I had hated her. I had killed her.
A tremor shook Caulder’s lower lip. For a terrifying moment, I thought he would crumple up and cry. Then he mastered himself, and said in a stiff, almost angry voice, “I sent you that message because my father said I must. I told him I had lied about who got me drunk. So he said I must write to you personally, and when you came, I must apologize. I do. I apologize, Nevare Burvelle.” He took a deep and ragged breath. As I was still reeling from that revelation, he shook me further when he added in a whisper. “And I told him the rest about Jaris and Odon. About them beating up that fat cadet, and Lieutenant Tiber. I apologize for that, too. But even though my father made me send you that note, that isn’t why I wanted you to come. There is something else I must say.”
He stared at me, and the silence grew uncomfortably long.
I think he was waiting for me to say something. At last he said in a hoarse whisper, “Thank you for sending me back across the bridge. If you hadn’t, I would have gone on to that place. I would have died.” He suddenly hugged his arms around himself and started to shiver so violently that I could see it. “I have tried to tell my father about it, but he just gets angry with me. But I know… That is—” He halted his words and looked desperately around the room, as if to reassure himself it was there. His shaking became more pronounced. “What is real? Is this place more real than that one? Can the whole world suddenly give way around you and then we are somewhere else? I think about that all the time now. I cannot sleep well at night. My father and the doctor drug me to make me close my eyes, but that is not the same as sleep, is it?”
“Caulder, calm yourself. You are safe.”
“Am I? Are you? Do you think she couldn’t just reach out and snatch either of us back if she wished it?” He began to weep noisily.
I stepped to the door of his room and looked out into the hall for help. No one was in sight. “Caulder is not feeling well!” I called out loudly. “Could someone please come and take care of him?” I went back to his bedside and set a hand to his shoulder, feeling nothing of warmth toward him, only alarm. “She is gone now, Caulder. Forever. Calm down. Someone will be here soon to take care of you.”
“No!” Caulder wailed. “No. They’ll drug me again. Nevare. Please. Don’t call them. I’m calm now. I’m calm.” He hugged himself even tighter, and held his breath in an effort to stop his sobs.
I heard a door open and close and then footfalls in the hall. They seemed to be coming very slowly. I scrabbled desperately for a way to distract him from his terror. I did not wish to be blamed for working an invalid into hysteria. Awkwardly I asked, “Where will you be going now? To a family estate?”
It was the wrong question. “My father is, and he’s taking my mother. But he’s sending me away. I’m no good now. He hates me. He says I quiver like a lapdog and see danger in dustballs. A soldier son who will never be a soldier. What use am I in the world?” He picked up the rock and set it down again. “He was furious that I stole this from you. He thinks he will punish me by sending me to my uncle. Uncle Car has written to say he will be glad to have me and will adopt me so that he has a son to follow him. He says the scholar son has no need of a strong back or great courage, only a good mind. I don’t think I even have that any more.”