by Nōnen Títi
Remko had to go home after that, but he left Aryan with enough to keep his mind occupied for the night. With nothing better to do than lie on his back, he did as Remko had asked and tried to recall when these devils had gotten to him. When he did fall asleep, no dreams bothered him. While waiting for Remko to return the next day, he struggled to wash with the bowl of water Kala had brought for him. The good thing about the clinic was that he didn’t need to worry about coming across any wine. He was given water and food, though he felt better when he didn’t eat.
“I was afraid something had happened to you when we were trying to put out the fire. We even had a search party check the site,” Frantag told him a little later. He even said they had good reason to believe that Frimon was guilty, but no proof.
Aryan left it that way. Frimon was gone. It was solved for now, for everyone… except for Roilan, who, according to Frantag, had locked himself inside his home.
“You didn’t tell him what I confessed to you?” Aryan asked Remko, when reporting on the visit.
“Why should I?”
“Because then they’d punish me and everybody would be happier.”
“What makes you think punishing others makes people happy?”
Aryan couldn’t answer that. He told Remko what had kept him busy most of the night – things he would have not dared admit to himself just days ago.
During the next three kor he remained imprisoned, though the sandbag came off and he was allowed to exercise a little. Still, most days he had nothing better to do than think, until it nearly drove him insane. His own body was his prison. He looked forward to Remko’s shifts so much that the other nurses started teasing him about the schedule when he asked them.
Remko was teaching him to wake himself up from a dream as soon as he felt the first bit of fear. “Just tell yourself it isn’t real.” At first Aryan laughed at the idea, but he rehearsed the words every night before going to sleep anyway and one night it worked. He woke up suddenly without any physical symptoms and with a clear memory of the dream.
It was harder with what Remko called the “daytime demon”. The only way to find out what triggered it would be to have a panic attack – the word alone! In the hospital he was safe from those.
That changed when Irma announced he was allowed to leave, though the splint was staying on. With a stick and Remko’s help, Aryan hobbled home. It was dangerous business on the irregular surface of the town streets. Exhausted, he lowered himself into his chair and rested his leg on the chest. Somebody had cleaned the place up while he was away.
The sound and then the sight of the belt in Remko’s hand made his heart skip a beat. He could only stare at it as Remko walked closer and then held it out to him. The moment it was within reach, he could breathe again.
“Take it,” Remko said.
Aryan took it. “What a lousy trick.”
“I don’t think the belt is your trigger. Part of it, maybe,” Remko said, unmoved. “Nevertheless, you may as well practice with it. Disabling is a skill you need to learn. Unless, of course, you intend to run from your fears again.”
Aryan answered his grin with a glare, still ticked off.
“Having fears is not being a coward.”
“You sound like Benjamar,” Aryan grumbled.
“That’s a compliment if I’ve ever heard one,” Remko replied, after which Aryan told him about the challenge.
“Maybe that’s a good thing, a long term goal. To be able to go to Benjamar and prove that you’ve kept your side of the challenge. Honour is a strong motivator.”
Aryan considered that. To be able to walk into the new village a proud man and face Benjamar and Maike…
“I didn’t say pride, I said honour,” Remko corrected him. “A treyak is about living up to your inner ethic, regardless of other people’s values. Remember, Aryan, Benjamar is not your father. If he sets you a challenge, it’s because he wants you to succeed at it. He would never use his power to get you down and then say ‘you asked for it’.”
The darkness came out of nowhere, paralysed his body and caused convulsions in his stomach. Aryan squeezed his hands around the item he was holding, trying to catch his breath.
“Think no! Don’t let it in. Say ‘no’, out loud. Say it!”
Aryan couldn’t say anything, but the breathlessness subsided when Remko pulled away the cup he’d used to stop him hyperventilating. He shook his head at the nurse. It hadn’t worked. He hadn’t even realized what was happening until it was over.
“I told you it takes practice. Anyhow, now you know at least one of your triggers,” Remko said cheerfully. “I’ll come by every day. Don’t take wine. If you need to, send for me.”
Having feared being alone again, Aryan was pleased to find he that enjoyed the silence. True to his word, Remko came twice a day, bringing food and water and going along on short walks. Aryan had no desire for wine. Only a few times did he feel like a drink, but he told himself that Maike would be waiting.
Remko taught him a word to use for when the demon took a hold of him. “See it as a magical word that summons Kelot. Her name will be your switch.” The word “kelot” belonged to the old language and Remko said that it meant “woman”, so Aryan pictured Maike when he repeated the word. One time, when Remko surprised him once more with a scare, using the word almost worked.
“Don’t congratulate yourself yet,” Remko said. “Wait until you’ve been faced with a real fear while having a cup of wine within reach and conquered it without taking a sip.”
It was true that it became more difficult when he was around more people. Aryan had to tell Haslag three times to not offer him any, nor oblige if Aryan would ask for it anywhere in the future.
Unable to help with any of the work in town, he just watched. The cattle-farmers moved over the hills and left empty homes, which caused a whole series of townspeople to move house, while the two seakabins – one made of prefab and the other of reeds – kept returning to move settlers to the new village.
Four kor after he’d left the clinic, Irma removed the splint, but walking was still a strenuous exercise. The seventh Kun DJar station turned into the eighth. One hundred fifty days left and it would be a year since they’d reached orbit: a Kun DJar year, but four years DJar time – unless you counted hours, in which case it was only two.
Twice since Frimon left there had been a technical disaster, both times caused by the fog. One of the landers just exploded and two of the windmills fell over. People started asking if Frimon had been involved at all.
“I always wondered why it didn’t destroy the landers much sooner,” Aryan said.
“Maybe it was hoping we’d still leave,” Remko answered.
Aryan walked every day. He came across the fog once. Like in the crater, it sat and watched him but never attacked. He met Roilan a few times. Defeated and withdrawn, Roilan left most of the organization up to Frantag, who tried to lift everyone’s spirits with a speech. He warned the people not to expect too much; DJar had taken generations to reach the level of progress they had enjoyed. A new power shop would be built eventually, one step at the time.
The same went for Aryan’s body. The exercise did him good. From just watching, he began helping out a little. A large group of men had made a start at clearing a road. They had come as far as the cattle-village and were now aiming for the new settlement. Aryan followed them and wondered, would his leg make it all the way across the continent? No people, no wine, and most of all, no temptation. He had to keep declining the offers made him in return for helping out: He didn’t want it. He wanted Maike back and only the road was sober. Would he be brave enough?
“Brave,” Remko said. “Brave is doing yes when your heart says yes, but your muscles say no and your stomach says no and the idea alone makes you shiver, but you do it anyway. There is no other brave.”
For as long as they were still building the first shelter, Aryan returned to town each day. He no longer longed for SJilai. Where Roilan look
ed at restoring the generators, Aryan looked at the road.