by Duncan Pile
“Thank you,” Everand said, losing a bit of his stiffness. He looked at Gaspi for a moment, uncertainty flowering in his eyes. Gaspi felt conflicted. On the one hand this was exactly what he wanted, and apologies usually went a long way with him, but Everand had also tried to steal his girlfriend.
“I suppose that’s all,” Everand said when Gaspi failed to respond. He looked like he was about to leave, but then the room was lit by a brilliant flash of green light. The tall boy stood transfixed, staring in amazement at Loreill, who had transformed into spirit form.
“Loreill!” Gaspi exclaimed, shocked that the elemental would cause himself the discomfort of transforming while out of his natural environment. The spirit ignored him and glided through the air towards Everand. Everand continued to stare at Loreill with wide eyes, caught somewhere between fear and wonder. Loreill drew within inches of Everand and stopped, looking intently into the tall boy’s eyes. Gaspi could feel Loreill’s pain through the bond, pain that was caused by the absence of greenery and soil, but he could also sense that the spirit thought this was important enough to endure that discomfort. Loreill held Everand’s gaze, examining him inside and out, and then finally he turned away and zipped to Gaspi’s side, where he transformed back into bodily form. Gaspi felt Loreill’s relief through the bond, but he could also clearly sense Loreill’s acceptance of Everand’s apology.
“Loreill believes you are sincere,” Gaspi said to Everand. “If it’s good enough for him, it’s good enough for me. We both accept your apology.”
“Thank you,” Everand responded, tearing his eyes from the elemental and meeting Gaspi’s gaze. “I thought about apologising to Emea and Lydia as well, but I thought you might prefer to pass on the message instead.”
“Yes that might be best,” Gaspi responded.
Everand nodded. “And to the other elementals as well,” he added, glancing once again at Loreill. Gaspi thought he could detect a note of wonder in the handsome boy’s face.
“I’ll do that,” Gaspi responded. When no-one said anything else for a few moments, the silence became awkward.
“Well that’s all I have to say,” Everand said, turning to leave.
“Thanks Everand,” Rimulth said as he reached out for the door handle. Everand nodded once more as he pulled the door open and stepped out. Gaspi picked up his chair and sat down on it once the door had closed. He let out a huge breath and absent-mindedly picked Loreill up, placing him in his lap.
“Well that was unexpected,” he said.
Rimulth sat back down on the bed, nodding thoughtfully. “You don’t seem pleased,” he said.
“I am, sort of,” Gaspi responded, frowning in thought. “It’s good that he apologised for how he treated the elementals.” He glanced down at Loreill as the spirit chittered approvingly. “But he also tried to take Emmy from me, and I didn’t hearing him say sorry about that.”
“Maybe he’s not sorry,” Rimulth said after a moment.
“Why wouldn’t he be sorry?” Gaspi asked defensively. “You think what he did was okay?”
“I don’t mean to offend you Gaspi, but where I come from, a woman is never truly off limits, even when she’s married,” Rimulth responded.
“You what?” Gaspi asked incredulously.
“There are different ways of looking at things,” Rimulth said with a shrug, trying to explain himself. “In my tribe, a woman is won; not once, but every day for the rest of her life. If a warrior successfully gains her interest, but then gets lazy and stops paying attention to her, another warrior might move in and try to win her for himself. It is done openly and honestly, and although it can be the cause of great friction, it also means that no-one is ever taken for granted. The strong relationships are not threatened, but if a relationship is poor, it will be tested in this way until it either improves or ends, and better pairings are formed instead.”
Gaspi frowned, thinking through the implications of what Rimulth was telling him. He didn’t think that Emmy would like to be thought of as a prize to be won, but he could see some wisdom in what the tribesman was saying too.
“So you’re saying that Everand might not even think he’s done anything wrong?”
“I don’t know,” Rimulth answered. “But consider this. He had the courage to apologise for calling the elementals demons, so if he thought he was in the wrong about Emmy, surely he’d apologise for that too.”
Gaspi’s frown deepened. He wrestled with the idea that Everand may not have done anything wrong in his own eyes, but he couldn’t come to terms with it in that moment.
“I’ll have a think about that,” he said, putting off considering the difficult concept for another time. Something else Rimulth had said had caught his attention. “So what was that other stuff you were saying to Everand about your village? It sounded like if someone physically harms you, and they come to apologise, you can harm them in response even if you accept their apology?”
“That’s right,” Rimulth answered.
“Give me an example,” Gaspi said eagerly.
“Sure,” Rimulth said, leaning forwards as he started to explain.
Forty-Four
Jonn sat at the Beranan woman’s bedside, waiting for her to wake up. He’d come here every day for the past few weeks, checking on the beautiful young woman he’d rescued from the back streets of the Thieves’ Quarter. She’d remained in what the healers called a “healing sleep” for that entire period, but the chief healer had told him that she’d woken for the first time that very morning. Apparently, she’d been awake just long enough to tell them her name – Adela - and had fallen back asleep. The chief healer expected that she’d awaken once more while Jonn was there.
He was as nervous as he could ever remember being. It was like a nest of snakes was squirming in the pit of his stomach. He was riddled with anxiety in anticipation of finally speaking with her after weeks of sitting at her bedside. He knew it was stupid to feel the way he did. She was too young for him, too beautiful for him, but in his dark state of mind he’d latched onto her as his only hope, and believing there could be some fated thing that lay between them had kept him from sinking back into the depths of despair.
“Adela,” he said gently, mouthing her name to himself. It was a beautiful name. He glanced once again at the perfection of her face and almost jumped out of his seat in shock when he saw two bright blue eyes staring back at him.
“Healer!” he called loudly, and a white-robed woman entered the room, bustling past him and bending down to get a good look at her patient. Adela barely glanced at her, her deep-blue eyes fixed on Jonn’s face.
“Hello Adela,” she said brightly. “Just lie still a moment while I check you over.” Adela continued to stare at him as the healer closed her eyes and held her palms out over her body, moving them slowly up and down and mumbling to herself the whole time. The healer’s eyes snapped open. “Good good,” she said. “I’ll check on you later today but I imagine that once you’ve drunk a restorative you’ll be out of here in no time.”
“Thank you,” Adela said in heavily accented common, her voice croaky from disuse. “Is this a hospital?” she asked, tearing her eyes away from Jonn and looking around at the white walls and floor.
“Better than that,” the healer said with a smile, taking a glass of water from Adela’s bedside and putting it in her hands. “All the healers here are magicians. You couldn’t get better care in all the known lands!”
Adela’s eyes widened as she sipped her water. “I’ve been healed with magic?” she asked.
“Yes you have,” the healer answered. She rested a hand on Jonn’s shoulder as she half-turned to leave. “This man is Jonn. He has been visiting you every day without fail. I’ll leave you to get acquainted.”
With that, the healer left the room, leaving them in a silence so deep and awkward that he was rendered utterly speechless. Adela was looking at him with such a conflicted expression that he had absolutely no idea what to say to her. He op
ened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out, his tongue so dry it stuck to the roof of his mouth.
“You saved me from those men,” she said, sparing him from further awkwardness. The water had eased the croakiness in her voice, revealing the light, lilting tone and rhythm of her speech.
“Yes…I did,” he said, finding his voice.
“I must thank you for that,” she said, but her eyes were filled with reservation, even fear. “Why did you save me?” she asked tersely. “To own me for yourself?”
“No!” he answered, shocked. “I saw those men take you from the tavern. It was obvious you were being taken against your will.”
“You didn’t have to get involved,” Adela responded. “You risked your life.”
Jonn shrugged. There was no way he could explain his behaviour.
“Why have you visited me every day?” she asked, the fear he had detected blossoming in her eyes. He was at a loss. How could he tell her the truth? That he was desperate and needed her?
“I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” he said, knowing his response was insufficient.
Adela shoved herself up on her pillows, shimmying backwards away from him. “I know men and I know what they want,” she said accusingly, drawing her blankets up around her neck and looking at him as if he had been one of the rapists rather than her rescuer. He spread his hands wide, taken aback by the strength of her reaction. He hadn’t quite known what to expect from her, but it certainly wasn’t this!
“You are in no danger from me,” he said sincerely. “I want nothing from you.” That last statement wasn’t strictly true, but he certainly wasn’t after what she thought he was.
“Then why are you here?” she asked edgily.
His face dropped. He didn’t have a good answer for that. “I don’t know,” he said at last, hanging his head.
“Please leave,” she said, tense as a coiled spring.
“But…”
“LEAVE!” she screamed, and he sprang up from his chair in shock and stumbled away from her. Not knowing what to say or do, he left the room, tortured by a sense of helplessness. Somehow he knew this girl was his lifeline, a line she was busy severing as fast as she could. With drooping shoulders, he walked out of the infirmary into a day as overcast and gloomy as he felt. Heading back to the barracks, he tried to fight off feelings of despair. He told himself not to be stupid. He’d been depressed before and found a way out. He didn’t need this girl to stave off the darkness.
When he reached his destination he found Talmo and asked him to spar. Talmo agreed and the two men went to the arena and began to fight in earnest. He tried to lose himself in sheer physical exertion, in the clang of metal on metal, but at the back of his mind the darkness waited. It waited for the first moment he stopped, when his mind was unprotected by noise and concentration. It would speak to him when he was alone, drawing him into bottomless introspection, and he’d end up at some back-street tavern trying to desensitise himself to its insistent pull.
Even as he fought he felt despair rise up in him, despair and panic. How was he going to hold it at bay when all he could feel was its encroaching shadow, eating at the shores of his sanity like an inexorable tide? When it washed over him it would suck him down to cold, fathomless depths and steal his breath. He was aware of the tension building in his shoulders, his blood running hot and sticky, slowing him down. A pressure began to build at his temples, like two hard thumbs pressing against the sides of his head.
Slam! He spun around as the heavy outer door to the arena crashed shut and a brown-robed messenger entered the room. Seeing the combatants in the middle of the arena floor, he headed straight for them.
“Are you Jonn,” he asked, choosing him over Talmo as the most likely recipient of his message.
“That’s right.”
“I have a message from the chief healer,” the messenger said, handing him a small, rolled up strip of parchment and departing as soon as it was out of his hands.
He unfurled it and read the neat script aloud. “Your presence is requested at the infirmary at your earliest convenience.” He looked on the back to see if there was anything more, but that was it.
“Talmo, I need to go,” he said to the tribesman.
“Then go,” Talmo said, and he left the arena, heading back up through the city without even stopping to wash. All the way up the hill his mind was buzzing with possibilities. Was the chief healer angry with him for upsetting Adela? Would he tell him to keep away? He increased his pace, pushing through the thronging crowds, his booted feet sounding percussively off the cobbles. Reaching the college gate, he rushed past the Gatekeepers, who knew him by sight, and passed through the broken archway into the college itself. When he reached the infirmary he went straight to the chief healer’s office and knocked loudly.
“Come in,” a voice called from within. He pushed the door open and stepped into the small, square office. The chief healer sat behind his desk, a sheaf of parchment in one hand and a pair of spectacles balanced on his strong nose.
“Jonn!” he said, standing up to shake his hand. He looked at him intently as he did so, concern in his hazel-flecked eyes. “Are you alright?” he asked.
“You sent for me,” Jonn said, ignoring the question.
“Er yes,” the chief healer said, discreetly passing over the issue of Jonn’s wellbeing. “Adela has asked to see you. She was quite upset, and given what she’s been through I hoped you would come sooner rather than later.”
“She asked to see me?” he repeated stupidly. A spark of hope was kindled in his breast.
“Yes. Is that strange?” the chief healer asked, peering at him under beetling brows.
“No. I’ll see her now,” Jonn answered.
“Do you want me to accompany you? If not, you know the way by now.”
“I’ll be fine on my own,” he responded, excusing himself. He left the office and paced to her room, his heart in his mouth. What could she want to say to him? Reason dictated that she wouldn’t have called him back just to repeat herself and tell him to leave again, but he couldn’t bring himself to believe she may have changed her mind; not until she said it to his face.
When he came to her open door, he paused for a moment before stepping in. Taking a deep, calming breath, he knocked on the door frame and leaned in.
“Hello?” a sleepy voice called from within, and he walked in to find Adela rubbing her eyes and pushing herself up on her pillows.
“Jonn,” she said. “Please, come in.”
He walked slowly towards her, stopping at the end of the bed, uncertain what she expected of him.
“Will you sit down?” she asked with exaggerated politeness, indicating the chair next to her bed.
“Of course,” he said, taking the chair. He thought she looked nervous. He wasn’t sure what to make of that, but nervous was definitely better than angry.
“I’m sorry for how I spoke to you,” she said carefully, meeting his gaze as best she could. “You saved me, and I’ve repaid you unkindly.”
He swallowed loudly, unsure what to say. The silence drew out awkwardly. It was Adela who broke the deadlock.
“I still don’t understand why you are here,” she said, “but I sense that you are not a bad man.” She paused before plunging into the next sentence, rushing through it as if it was difficult to say: “You can visit me as long as you understand I am not a prize to be won. You rescued me, and I’m grateful for that, but I owe you nothing more than gratitude. If you can’t agree to that then please leave and don’t come back.”
He felt a tremendous rush of relief. He had her permission to visit her, however reluctantly it was given.
“I can agree to that,” he said gratefully.
She looked at him steadily, wariness still evident in her expression, but he thought he could detect a hint of softness beneath it.
“Good,” she said, relaxing back onto her pillows and breathing a sigh of relief, as if she’d accomplished a diffic
ult thing. Silence reigned for long moments, but it wasn’t so awkward this time. He didn’t know what to ask her, anxious to avoid rocking their newly stabilised boat.
“I know nothing about my rescuer,” she said at last, her carefully composed expression enlivened by genuine curiosity. “Tell me about yourself Jonn.”
…
Adela was released from the infirmary the next day, and Jonn used his savings to rent a small room near the barracks. She struggled to accept his generosity but when he asked her where else she had to go, she didn’t have an answer. Faced with no other options, she grudgingly accepted his offer on the condition that he let her pay him back in time, and that she owed him nothing more than money. Jonn accepted those conditions readily enough, and she moved into her new lodgings.
Over the next week, he visited her whenever he wasn’t on duty. Initially she was reserved, saying little about herself and asking a lot about him. Her constant questioning made him uncomfortable, mostly because he was naturally reserved and didn’t like to spend much time talking about himself. There were always people willing to fill the gaps in a conversation, and he was usually happy to take a back seat, but Adela didn’t allow him that privilege, asking him about practically every detail of his life.
Initially he held back, saying only what was necessary, but after a few days of her digging he gave up and told her everything she wanted to know. He figured that she might need to know everything about him to feel safe in his company, which was exactly how he wanted her to feel. She shed a tear when he talked about how Rhetta had been taken from him, and the knowledge that he had never had another woman since that time seemed to melt much of her remaining frostiness. Slowly, she began to share little bits and pieces about herself in return, starting with safe and simple details and slowly letting him in.
She was from Beran, a frigid land on the Western coast of the continent of Grattelund. Jonn had rarely met anyone from outside the borders of Antropel, whose sweeping landscapes stretched from balmy coastal regions in the South to arid deserts in the central regions and icy mountain ranges in the far North. It was an enormous land, variously peopled and unconnected to any other except by long stretches of treacherous ocean. As a result, it was not unheard of to come across occasional visitors from far flung lands, but it was a rarity.