Ghost and Guardian: Part One: Lord

by Sanan Kolva

  “Honestly, if someone doesn’t want to be here, then they shouldn’t stay,” Myra said. “I certainly agree with Lord Lucian on that.”

  Do I want to stay here? I don’t know—I don’t know enough to say. “At the moment, being somewhere where I can eat three meals a day and drink clean water is a strong draw.” Her mouth twitched in a wry smile. “Thinking of clean water, is there somewhere I can take a bath?”

  “Absolutely!” Myra assured her. “I’ll take you there first thing in the morning. It’s a little late tonight.”

  “Thank you,” Cylin told her sincerely.

  “Rest well, Cylin, and welcome to Forest Town,” Searel said.

  Cylin lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Do I stay or do I go? Lucian rescued me when he didn’t have to, and brought me here when he could have left me on my own. But he’s delusional enough to think that he’s an elf, and has actually convinced other people too.

  Still, they have clean water and fertile ground. They eat three meals a day. So far, everyone says Lucian is a good lord who mostly leaves people alone. How many places can say that?

  She rolled on her side. Having a bed is nice. Having access to a doctor is amazing. Is a delusional lord that big a deal? They all tend to be at least a little crazy, and the next one I meet might be worse, just like Devin said.

  She sighed. I can stay here a little while, at least. If things get too weird, I can always grab my stuff and leave then. Reaching over the edge of the bed, she touched the top of her bag, reassured that it was ready should she need to bolt.

  Morning began with breakfast, then Myra left her husband in charge of getting Leesa ready for the day and led Cylin down to the bath house. The building was set a little distance from the rest of the village. Steam flowed into the brisk morning air when Myra opened the door and entered. Two doorways led from the entry room, each with a symbol above the door.

  “The right side is for women, the left for men,” Myra explained, walking in the right doorway.

  Cylin heard the chatter of voices before they entered the dressing room. A handful of women ranging from her age to white-haired grandmothers stood in various stages of undress. Those coming from the bath wore towels wrapped around their bodies, those heading in didn’t bother covering up. When Cylin entered, she instantly became the center of attention. She tensed, unsure whether she’d be met with hostility or welcome.

  “You must be the young lady Lord Lucian found! Do come in! Myra, dear, it’s good to see you. I’m glad you brought your guest. What’s your name?”

  “Cylin,” she answered, trying to keep track of all the people talking to her.

  Myra shooed the other women back. “Let Cylin get a bath! Ione, do we still have any of that lavender oil? And a good scrub?”

  The other women rushed to accommodate, fetching soaps, oils, and towels. Cylin undressed and hung her clothes and bag on one of the hooks, though she was uneasy to let them out of her sight. She touched the gauze on her cheek. “Do you think this will be all right, Myra?”

  “It should be fine,” Myra assured her. “Later today, check in with Doctor Kinnel. He’ll want to make sure it doesn’t need special care.”

  Cylin followed her into the next room and climbed into the wide tub of steaming, warm water. The other women helped her wash her hair and scrub away layers of grit and grime from her skin. Cylin welcomed their help, and doubly welcomed their scented soaps and the oils they worked through her hair until it shone. By the end of the bath, she could barely get out of the tub, and allowed the other women to help her into the dressing room. They toweled her dry and helped her dress, then made sure she got safely back to Myra’s house. Once inside, Cylin stumbled to the guest room and lay down for a long, dreamless nap.

  When she woke, Cylin listened for sounds in the house. Wood creaked softly on occasion, but no steps thumped across the wooden floors, and no boards squeaked from the passage of feet. The house felt empty, though the scent of bread lingered from the morning. Dull aches ran through her body when she sat. She stretched to work them out.

  A sheet of parchment lay on the table beside her bed. Cylin picked it up, but the script didn’t match any of the letters her parents had taught her in her childhood. Next to the note, she found a hairbrush with a polished wood handle and stiff bristles. Cylin ran it through her damp hair until it was finally free of tangles and rat nests, though it felt like she pulled out half her hair in the process. Letting her hair hang loose, she ventured outside.

  The pleasantly warm air promised a comfortable summer day. Birds sang in the trees, and the scent of maples hung in the air, reminding her of the towering tree that had survived in the yard of her parents’ house. Cylin carefully walked across the platform, less certain of her footing without Myra’s confident presence beside her. She found one of the staircases that wrapped around the tree trunk and stepped onto the first step. It creaked underfoot, but didn’t shift or move like a step on the verge of giving way. She’d explored and scavenged enough buildings to feel the difference between a sturdy step and one that would snap the moment she put her weight on it. Pryor had always sent her down first, as the smallest and lightest of them.

  The open air to her right was unsettling, as was the long drop to the ground. Looking up as she walked, Cylin realized that the steps were not visibly bolted onto the trunk. They almost seemed to have grown out of the tree itself, though that was improbable.

  Once she reached ground, her gaze swept the village. If I need shelter, what’s closest? Unlike the barren plains, Forest Town offered a wealth of hiding places—trees, rocks, hollows, and of course the houses, if she had enough time to reach the branches. Pryor had often asked her the most efficient escape route when they entered a town or ruin. She, in turn, had always told him her second-best route, saving the first strictly for herself, in case he proved to be the one she had to escape.

  Didn’t help when he did come after me.

  One hand brushed the gauze on her cheek. Cylin found the infirmary. The walls were mostly wood, but cut stones outlined the doorway, and the door was painted a blue the color of the sky. Cylin knocked, and the doctor’s voice invited her inside.

  “Hello Doctor Kinnel,” she greeted.

  “Ah, Cylin, good. Come in, young lady. Here for a checkup?” He set aside an instrument he’d been polishing.

  “Myra said you would want to take a look at the cut,” she said.

  “Have a seat.” He waved her to one of the chairs, and Cylin sat. Doctor Kinnel carefully peeled back the gauze. “Do you have any other concerns? Anything out of the ordinary?”

  “I’ve been sleeping,” Cylin answered. “Lots more than usual—nearly every chance that I get, it seems. I took a bath this morning, and I could barely get back to the house before I fell asleep. And yesterday, the same thing. After lunch, I was nodding off.”

  He didn’t seem surprised. “How long has it been since you were last someplace where you felt safe, Cylin? Not anytime recently, I would wager.”

  “No,” she said, puzzled by the question. “Though I don’t know if I would say I feel that way here yet either.”

  “Your body feels differently. Your unconscious mind and your body are in agreement that Forest Town is far safer than anywhere you have been in a long time. You’ve been living in a constant state of fear and alertness, and doing so takes a toll on you. Given the chance to recover, your body is seizing the opportunity while it can. You will probably notice an increase in appetite as well.”

  Cylin laughed. “I’ve eaten three meals in one day. If that’s normal here, I won’t worry about my appetite as long as it can keep up!”

  “Ahh.” Doctor Kinnel swabbed cool cream over her cheek. “How many did you normally eat in a day, and how often did you get meat in your diet?”

  “One meal, sometimes two. We might get meat once a week. Otherwise it depended what we scavenged,” Cylin told him. She felt comfortable talking to this man, though she couldn’t say why. “
How is the cut looking?”

  “It’s healing,” Doctor Kinnel answered. “You will probably carry the scar, though.”

  Scars reminded her of the young man outside Lucian’s cave, Devin. “Can I ask what happened to Devin?” she asked. “I met him when I spoke to Lucian, and I saw his scar.”

  “Then I think you already know what happened to him,” Doctor Kinnel said mildly. Cylin flushed and opened her mouth, but he continued. “It’s not my place to say who tried to skin him, but I know Lord Lucian rescued the boy. Devin was perhaps twelve at the time. Lord Lucian brought him to me, both of them covered in Devin’s blood and Lord Lucian frantic to save him. I wasn’t sure I could. The cut ran from his scalp to the bottom of his ribs. Devin was still conscious, amazingly. He clung to Lord Lucian with all his might, and even while I fought to save his life, Devin held on to Lord Lucian’s hand.” Doctor Kinnel sat down beside Cylin. “If ever in my life I have seen a miracle, it was that Devin survived.”

  “Does he believe that Lucian is an elf?” Cylin asked.

  “With all his heart and soul,” the doctor said. “Once he recovered, he took on the duty of attendant and gatekeeper for Lord Lucian.”

  “Is Lucian insane?” Cylin asked. “Does he really think that he’s an elf?”

  If her blunt question offended him, his face gave no sign. “I don’t think that’s the correct question,” Doctor Kinnel told her.

  Cylin frowned, head cocked to one side. “Why not? What should I be asking?”

  “The real question is ‘does it matter?’”

  She stiffened. “Of course it matters!”

  “Regardless of what he might or might not be, what he might or might not think he is, Lord Lucian survives. Regardless of whether he caused this forest to grow, or found it already here, he is here, and he allowed the foundation of Forest Town. He protects the people here. He survives, he thrives, and he leads, and as long as the rest of us cling to his coattails and ride in his wake, we too will survive, even thrive and grow strong. Does this belief of an inhuman origin make him strong? Perhaps, and if it does, I will not seek to undermine that which keeps us safe.” His gaze fixed on Cylin. “Will you?”

  Cylin opened her mouth, searching for a response, but she found none. “I… don’t know.”

  “I won’t tell you what to believe, Cylin. That’s up to you. But those who choose to stay here do so because of Lord Lucian, not in spite of him.” Doctor Kinnel applied fresh gauze to her cut. “Now, get plenty of rest, and come see me if you have any questions or concerns, or notice any unusual reactions.”

  Cylin’s mind swam with questions as she returned to Myra’s house. Her cheek felt raw and tender after being cleaned, tended, and poked. Her mind was distracted from the discomfort, though, as she pondered Doctor Kinnel’s question. Did it matter whether Lucian was crazy? She thought it should, but she was less confident in that answer than she had been.

  At dinner, she listened to Myra, Searel, and Leesa tell her about their days, and asked questions as she thought of them. When asked about her own day, she talked about the bath, and how wonderful it felt to be clean. Like I finally washed away the touch of their hands on me. Like I finally washed away Pryor’s hold.

  “Tomorrow, I’d like to learn some of the jobs people do here,” Cylin said, diverting her thoughts and the conversation.

  “Of course!” Myra told her. “Anyone would be happy to have you shadow them.”

  “Thanks.” I don’t know whether I’m staying, but I’ll pull my weight while I’m here. I’m not going to be locked in debt to anyone again.

  She went to her room and lay down, but sleep didn’t come. In the darkness and quiet, questions tumbled over and over.

  Is this place really safe? Everything that people say just seems too good to be true. What’s the catch? What do they expect in return? Lucian claims to be an elf, but what does that mean? What sort of tribute do the people of Forest Town pay him? People are adamant that he doesn’t expect sex. And clearly the town has children, so the child-sacrifice stories probably don’t apply. Obviously people work, but they’d do that whether they’re here or somewhere else.

  She rolled over on the soft bed. This is so comfortable. I could have a bed, a place to live, enough food. I can stay here. Just for a little while. Appreciate the comforts at least until I find out what they really cost.

  Cylin followed a young woman up the slope, out of the shelter of the trees into a vast cleared stretch of fields. Myra had introduced her to Cylin as Aya, and she was just a few months over twenty years old. Aya kept a steady stream of talk as she walked, though most of the names flowed past Cylin without context. At least she didn’t expect much response from Cylin, happy simply having an audience to her enthusiastic monologues.

  “Have you worked on a farm before, Cylin? Lots of people haven’t, so don’t worry! This is straightforward work, just weeding and checking for signs of insects. And it smells better than tending the animals.”

  “A little,” Cylin murmured.

  “You have? Oh, even better! Come on, the tools are kept in these sheds. Just return them at the end of the day, so the next person can use them tomorrow.” Aya pointed to a row of three small sheds. “You can put your bag over here with the rest, if you want.”

  Cylin’s hand gripped one of her bag straps as if Aya might snatch it from her. “I’d rather keep it.”

  Aya shrugged. “Okay. If you change your mind later, that’s fine too. No one’s going to steal it, I promise.”

  But if I need to leave in a hurry, I might not have time to reach it. “Thanks. I’d still prefer to keep it.”

  Aya didn’t argue, at least. She introduced Cylin to a few other young women as they all set to work. The work proved monotonous, and conversation with others relieved some of the creeping boredom. Aya and her friends had lived in Forest Town between four to seven years. When she asked them about Lucian, most of the girls just shrugged.

  “Most of the time he’s just... there,” Aya said. “I mean, I know he’s incredibly good looking, but after a while it stops being so remarkable and becomes... Lord Lucian. I’ve never really talked to him, and haven’t had any problems serious enough to take to him. Still, I know I could if I needed to. He’ll listen to any problem someone brings to him, even if they’re just a child.”

  “Really?” Cylin asked. “That’s... pretty unusual.”

  “Is it?” another girl asked. “I thought lords were supposed to take care of their people and listen to them.”

  “Yeah, that’s... not usually how that works in other towns,” Cylin told her. “Most lords only care about helping when there’s something in it for them.” So what’s in it for Lucian?

  The girls collectively shivered. “Glad we don’t live somewhere like that!”

  Is that true? Or is he fooling you all?

  Days passed faster than Cylin realized, sliding into a full month. She learned the many different kinds of edible plants grown in Forest Town. She’d not imagined the varieties available—grains, vegetables, fruits, and more. She learned how to tend chickens, goats, and rabbits. She learned some of the basics of gathering fibrous plants to process for textiles, and a little about making thread and cloth. She learned a little about maintaining the water-powered generators that provided Forest Town with electricity. She even gained confidence navigating the swaying rope bridges without fearing she was about to fall off or tip them over.

  She also learned to shoot the pistol she’d stolen from Jael. No one questioned her right to own the weapon, and both men and women in Forest Town offered her lessons in its use. They even offered her ammunition when she expressed concern over wasting her limited supply on practice.

  “Don’t worry about it! Practice as much as you need. Just collect the spent brass and give it to Devin, or return it to Lord Lucian’s cave. He’ll take care of it,” promised Myra.

  “Take care of it?” Cylin repeated. “He has the tools to reload?”

 
“Seems that way,” Myra said. “No one really knows what all he has in the depths of his caves. Or if they do, they aren’t telling. I don’t think even Devin knows.”

  Lucian remained an enigma. He spent the majority of his time in his caves, but sometimes he walked through the village, speaking with people, and more importantly, listening to them. When he saw Cylin, he always asked how she was doing, if she was settling in well, if she needed anything. She always told him that she was fine, though sometimes she wondered what he would do if she said anything else.

  When she wasn’t working, Cylin wandered around the village or into the forest. She walked along the edge of Forest Town, appreciating her day off when Leesa dashed up to her. The girl carried something bundled in her shirt, cradled carefully.

  “Cylin! Mama’s busy. Will you come with me?”

  “Sure. Where to?” Cylin asked, taking the girl’s free hand.

  “Lord Lucian’s cave. I found a baby bird that got attacked by a fox. I chased off the fox but the bird is hurt. Lord Lucian can make it better!” Leesa tugged Cylin toward the path leading to Lucian’s cave.

  “A bird? Leesa, I don’t think that--,” Cylin began.

  “He can make it better!” Leesa insisted.

  Cylin opened her mouth to argue, but closed it. The girl’s faith in Lucian was absolute, and Cylin hesitated to shatter her illusions. Together they made their way up the path to the mouth of the cave. Cylin frowned as she looked around. “Where’s Devin? He’s usually here, isn’t he?”

  “I think he had an errand,” Leesa told her. “I saw him going to the fields. But it’s okay! We can still visit Lord Lucian!” Without hesitation, Leesa pushed aside the hide covering the doorway and called “Lord Lucian! Are you here?”

  The echoes had barely faded when Cylin heard footsteps on the stone and a gently chiding voice. “Leesa, you aren’t supposed to come here on your own.”