"I don't know, Jules. Ask your sister." He closed his eyes and groaned. He hadn't visited Sarai since Midwinter Day. They were almost a month into the new year.
I'm a bad brother, but that is something I will remedy today. No later. Resolved, he opened his eyes and regarded Helene fondly. "So. I guess I shouldn't tell Ghia about us, then."
"Tyvian, no! For all that it was nearly fifteen years ago -- she would not take it well."
Jules chuckled, with mirth this time, and leaned in to kiss her on the cheek. "Thank Goddess I have you, Helene," he said.
She returned his kiss warmly. "Aye. Otherwise you'd perish under Ghia's death glare. Now get me my daughter."
Jules leapt to attention and saluted with a smile. "Yes, Ma'am!" he said, and then marched from the room before Helene could swat him.
~
He didn't have to go far. He bumped into Ghia as she was carrying fresh linens back into the hospitalis.
"Chief Medic Jules," she said formally, and moved to go on.
He caught her arm gently but firmly, sighing inwardly at the cold shoulder. Well, at least I know what to do now. But it has to wait.
"Your mother's awake," he said quietly.
Instantly the stony mask she'd adopted melted away, and her face formed an expression of such hope and gratitude it made his breath catch in his throat. She moved to go, but stopped, looking at the linens. Without a word he took the sheets from her with one hand, shooing her away with the other.
"Thank you, Jules," was all she said before rushing away to Helene's room.
He smiled as he went to put the linens away. Her tone had been warm for the first time since his return. It was enough to make him feel better.
~
Deciding to change into something a bit nicer and less smelly than his current outfit to visit his sister, Jules headed to the barracks.
He was pulling a fresh shirt on over his head when he was hit in the chest with something hard and papery.
"Mail!" a voice called out. Jules pulled his shirt all the way down and saw a square of paper on the floor.
Eagerly he picked it up and saw his suspicions confirmed by Nathaniel's neat handwriting addressing it to him. He flipped the letter around and cracked the wax seal, eager to see what his brother had written. Opening it quickly, he started to read the letter.
And stopped at the end of the first paragraph. Then started again.
The third time he read the paragraph his heart skipped a few beats.
The fourth time he felt tears prick his eyes.
He didn't read it again. He didn't finish the letter. He folded it back up and began to pack a bag for an extended stay at the temple. Sarai would want the company, he told himself, though he knew it was because he needed to be with his sister right now.
Bag packed and letter safely inside the front flap, he swung the strap over his shoulder and went to find his bellica. He needed some time off.
Lares
Adjusting to life in Athering had been difficult, to say the least.
On the road, either between Harbourtown and Atherton or Atherton and Aeril, there had been no problem, for he rarely left Anala's side and the newcomer's 'strange behavior' did not need to be explained to the bellica's troops. All that was said was that Lares was Anala's Paxwoman and that "an insult towards 'im'd be tha same as one aginst me -- ye ken?" This statement had earned the instant loyalty of some of her fighting force. The rest were still wary, skittish of a stranger so close to their bellica. After all, who was to say she hadn't been bewitched into trusting Lares? He couldn't say he blamed them. He'd feel the same way.
After all, he was a fairly patient man. He could wait. Slowly he'd win the troops' trust, he knew. So he just continued doing his job, guarding Anala with his life, with the same grace and aplomb that dictated all his movements. Inwardly he roiled.
Upon their second return to Atherton. Anala had had to report to the Empreena much, much more, about events in both Aeril and Voco as there'd been no chance to report upon her return from Lares' home nation before she'd been deployed into action again, and Lares had, of course, followed his bellica. Even if he hadn't, his presence would still have been noted by the Empreena and it needed an explanation.
A story had been worked out, back on the road from Aeril, to explain the appearance of both Lares and Dagon. The two men were said to be 'childhood friends' of Anala who had both insisted on leaving Harbourtown and swearing themselves to her as Paxwoman and Honour Guard. It wasn't the best story. Lares was sure that the Empreena, at least, was aware of the truth but it was the best they could come up with. So long as Lares didn't slip up and reveal his true Vocan origins, it was hoped everything would be fine.
Adjusting to Athering's very different society? Difficult, even without much of a language barrier. Pretending to be from a town within Athering that had its own unique dialect, and whose members were very much different from the rest of Athering? Oh, God. Kill me.
So he had thought many times in the past few days. Vulcanus had not answered his plea, if indeed the deity could even hear him when he was so far away from Voco. So he'd had to make every attempt to appear as a native Harbourtowner. The accent was not an easy one to adopt -- and during his practice sessions he'd not gained much more praise than tentative, "Well at least you're trying!" smiles from Anala and Dagon. His solution to his inability to master the accent was to not speak. Anala herself spoke sparingly because of it; so no one would think that strange.
Mind you, changing roles from Lares the Fop to Lares the Taciturn Paxwoman was not unwelcome, truth be told.
The mannerisms were a much tougher problem to solve. After all, he could not stop moving altogether. While they weren't identifiable specifically as that of a Vocan, they were definitely not that of a Harbourtowner or indeed of a denizen of Athering's many towns. Atherton was diverse enough, as the nation's capital, to allow him to be seen as a non-Atherian, if ever he was caught alone in the city. He stood out like a...well, like a tree growing out of stone, I suppose. He mimicked Dagon as much as he could, but constantly thinking about that which was usually second nature -- his gestures or the way he walked--with minute details was incredibly exhausting and stressful. Alas, he no longer had his main stress relief: he'd had to stop smoking altogether and hide his cigarettes, because not only would such an un-Atherian behavior brand him a witch by the populace and get him hunted down by an angry mob, but the Empreena, who apparently knew quite a bit about Voco, would recognise the smoke for what it was. One drag would be all the proof she would need to name him a spy and throw him in the dungeons -- and have him executed.
So seven days of withdrawal it had been. He'd passed off the shakes and fever as flu. Uncomfortable, but preferable to death. He supposed. Not that what I want matters anyway -- I made a promise to guard Anala, and I can't very well do that if I'm dead.
He just thanked God -- or perhaps Goddess, since he wasn't so sure about religion since that experience on the ship from Voco -- that he knew how to fight with a sword, and so could fit into Atherian society in that respect at least. Retiring his pistols and cutlass had not been something he'd wanted to do. A sidearm definitely would give him an advantage in protecting Anala or any other of his new friends who fell into harm's way but, on the plus side, he had plenty of sparring partners now. Sparring partners who were also friends.
Had it not been for Jules, Dagon, and the majors, Lares might have had a breakdown by this point. He was forever indebted to them -- they had willingly provided a support system for him to turn to when things became too hard to deal with alone.
A need to repay that kindness was what prompted him to follow Jules now.
The bellicas and majors of the first and second regiments had retired to the mess hall for an early dinner. It was now far past the dinner hour, but the four remained, laughing and chatting and lingering over drinks, with Lares and Dagon in their standard positions behind Anala. The two bellicas leaned in close, across the tab
le from each other, talking in low tones while the majors had a rather raucous conversation beside them, complete with loud guffaws. Between the bursts of noise from Caelum and Aro, Lares caught brief snippets of Yarrow and Anala's conversation. Dangerous, to talk of rebellion right there in front of everyone. Perhaps they were attempting to hide in plain sight. He hoped it worked.
For himself, he cared naught for rebelling, though from what he saw Yarrow would be a better choice for the Sceptre. Not the best, perhaps, but there really was no one else. Besides, Anala was on her side, which meant Lares was on her side. What did it matter to his conscience what happened to Athering? He cared more about Voco. There was no solving that nation's problems for a while yet.
The conversation died when Jules appeared at the table and saluted.
"As you were, Medic," Yarrow said, getting up from the bench. "Report."
"CMO Jules requesting family leave, Bellica." Lares watched his friend carefully and saw the red-rimmed eyes and slight twitch in the cheek. What had happened?
Apparently Yarrow wondered the same thing, for she moved over next to Jules and asked him as much. Jules paused, staring straight ahead. The twitch in his cheek intensified for a moment before he spoke. "My father died, Bellica. Requesting time off to visit my sister and then escort her to Atton for the ceremony."
"Juno," Yarrow swore, and placed a hand on Jules' shoulder. "You have the time you need, friend. But may I request you stay in town until after the second? I know it is nine days away, but I would appreciate it."
Jules nodded. "Don't think Sarai will be able to leave that quickly anyway. She's High Priestess now," he said, in an afterthought designed to keep back tears.
"Is she?" Yarrow said, compassion in her eyes. "Convey to her my congratulations, will you?"
Jules nodded again. "Can do."
"Good. Dismissed, soldier."
Jules stood at attention and saluted, a gesture Yarrow returned. "Yes Ma'am," he said, and marched from the mess hall.
Lares leaned down beside Anala's ear. "Permission to go, Bellica?" he asked softly, his eyes still following Jules. Anala waved her hand and then Lares was off, following his friend into the hallway.
"Jules!" he called, for CMO was already all the way down the hall. The man stopped, but did not turn. Lares jogged to catch up with him.
"Friend," he said, placing a hand on Jules' shoulder, "you have my sympathies."
Jules nodded, a stilted motion, and kept his head faced forward. "Thank you," he said in a voice thick with unshed tears.
"Do you wish for company?" Lares asked, at a loss as to what else to say.
Jules shook his head quickly. "No, thank you...I need time right now. And to see my sister." Still he faced forward, still not looking at Lares.
The Vocan suppressed a sigh and put his arm around Jules' shoulders and squeezed. "Alright. If you need me, I'm here."
Briefly, so quick he may have imagined it, Jules' hand came up and grabbed Lares' for a moment, squeezed it once, and then was gone again. "Thank you, friend," he said softly, before walking down the hall.
Lares stood staring at the space Jules had left for some time afterwards.
Yarrow
Bellica Yarrow stood to the entrance of the North Wing of the castle with a feeling of dread. Every day, since their return from Aeril, Ghia had been bothering Yarrow with this, and every day Yarrow had found reason to put her cousin off. Not anymore, however, for Ghia had finally cornered the bellica and given her the death glare the healer was famous for -- and not even Yarrow could fight against that look.
So she stood, waiting for the healer to get off work and meet her here, wondering what under the heavens Ghia would want to show her in the North Wing. And, presumably, the closed-off tower that went with it -- there certainly wasn't anything else of interest in this end of the castle. Legend said the tower was haunted and, while she was loath to admit it, Yarrow was fairly superstitious when it came to ghosts and other night terrors. Who was to say they didn't exist? She'd certainly seen some strange things in her lifetime. She was not going to discount restless spirits. But aside from the tower's status with the dead, Yarrow wondered what business Ghia could possibly have there.
"Hello, cuz," came Ghia's voice from behind Yarrow, and the bellica tried not to jump. "Sorry to have kept you waiting. My mother awakened today."
Yarrow inclined her head graciously. "Not at all. I'm glad to hear Helene is doing better."
"Thank you," Ghia said, bobbing a small curtsy in Yarrow's direction. "I'll be sure to tell her you wish her well."
Yarrow grunted and gave a brief nod. "Are you going to tell me what's so goddessdamned important I had to come here?" she asked when Ghia said nothing else.
Ghia shrugged, a slight smile tugging at her features, and headed off down the hall, deeper into the North Wing. "Better, maybe, if I show you."
"And how can I trust you?" Yarrow said, though there was no force behind it and she found her feet were following Ghia regardless.
Ghia glanced at Yarrow over her shoulder. "You have a sword. I assume you know how to use it." Yarrow glared at her and Ghia laughed. "Though I admit surprise that you don't trust me yet. Jules does," she said, and stopped suddenly.
Yarrow rolled her shoulders to release the tension in her muscles. "Jules isn't that bright. And I'm just a paranoid old bellica."
"You're not old," Ghia said defensively, and Yarrow didn't argue. She wasn't, but she felt it some days. Nothing more was said, and the two women fell into a silence, neither strained nor comfortable.
When they reached the entrance to the tower Yarrow stopped. "Tower's closed off, Ghia, and for good reason."
Ghia turned around slowly and gave Yarrow a sardonic look. "Are you telling me you believe in ghosts?"
"Not sure how I feel about ghosts, to tell the truth, but never mind that. This tower's been closed off for three hundred years. Things are bound to be falling apart and dangerous. I forbid you to enter, heir of Atton." She gave Ghia her own death glare.
The girl just shrugged, turned, and disappeared into the tower.
"You have got to be fecking jesting me," Yarrow said, looking skywards, though she doubted any Goddess was listening to her bitching. "That look always works. On everyone. Tyvian, it made Caelum piss himself the first time I used it on him and on her it does nothing? Seriously?" She waited for a moment, but got no response. "Ah, You all never listen when I complain anyway. Come out of there right now, Healer!" she said a bit louder, but not too loud lest some piece of stone inside fall and crush the girl. Ghia did not re-emerge. Frustrated, Yarrow kicked the door viciously. It rattled on its hinges and she stood back and waited, but still Ghia remained in the tower. "Son of an adulterous mother-fecker," she muttered. "I mean it, Ghia. I'm not following you in there!"
She waited a full minute of Ghia not coming out of the door before kicking it one more time. "Bugger this for a lark," she said, giving up, and opened the door and strode in angrily.
~
"Sweet Juno, cuz," Yarrow said as she left the North Tower with Ghia, "you could have warned me there was a thousand-year-old -- "
"Older," Ghia cut her off.
"Two-thousand-year-old -- "
"Older still --"
"Really fecking old Magi living in the tower! I thought they were just a legend!"
"You mean to tell me you weren't listening when I told you about Rosa, in Harbourtown?" Ghia gave her a stern look.
Yarrow coughed and looked away. "Didn't believe you, to be honest," she said, glancing back at Ghia. The healer intensified the glare. "What? Being told there's an ancient talking tree in a closed-off tower is supposed to be believable?"
Ghia sighed and dropped the look, moving her eyes to stare down the hallway. "No. I hardly believe all this myself sometimes. I'm sure that any moment I'll wake up, even though it would be a cheap trick, to escape all this."
There was a brief pause before Yarrow spoke. "Bring me with you if you do,
cuz."
"Wouldn't that be akin to running from a fight?" Ghia asked, her tone lightly teasing.
Yarrow smiled sardonically at Ghia. "All good bellicas run. Didn't you know that?"
"Because I know so much about military...stuff," Ghia said, rolling her eyes at Yarrow. "How many times have you run, then?"
"There have been many times, in the course of my career, when retreating was the wisest course of action. I can't say I took the chance every time, because I'd be lying, and what's the point of lying to a Magi who will just read my mind anyway?" She punched Ghia lightly on the shoulder, who snorted and muttered something that sounded like, Part-Magi, actually, but Yarrow ignored her. "Let's just say I've done my fair share. I'm still alive, at any rate."
"Then it must have worked," Ghia said, shrugging.
"Though," the bellica said after a moment, something else coming to mind, "truth be told, there's a time that I ran and lived when I shouldn't have. Not lived a life worth it, anyway. After my survival course -- got mauled by a treecat. Was pretty sure I'd be a cripple for life, but the healers...they fixed me up pretty good. You know anything about that, Healer Ghia?" She pinned Ghia with an intense stare, but the girl looked straight ahead, refusing to meet her gaze.
"Not the cloudiest idea, Bellica Yarrow. My mother would know; you should ask her."
"Yeah," Yarrow said, scratching her chin thoughtfully, "I did. She said something about the most talented healer in the nation. I thought that was you, but if I'm wrong...."
Ghia's fist connected with Yarrow's shoulder then, rather more forcefully then Yarrow would have expected from the girl. "Shut up, cousin," the healer said. "My mother did not say that about me and yes -- I was the one. We're going to drop the subject now because we're no longer in a secluded area of the castle."
Bellica Page 49