Words aren’t going to bridge this gulf. Instead, I simply begin to unwind the cloth wrapped around my head. She watches in silence, expecting perhaps a mirror image of her own mutations. I expose my forehead, followed by my nose and cheeks. I grimace when the cloth sticks to the blood crusted on the back of my head, but I persevere and soon hold the wrappings in my hands.
She opens her mouth and lets loose a soft and nearly inaudible “Oh.”
When my arms and legs are bare, I expect to see ugly, dark bruises mottling my flesh. Instead, a thin ointment covers my skin, something that smells of mint soaking through my wrappings. I twist my torso slightly, surprised. The pain has already lessened since I’ve awoken. I glance up to thank her, but the words die on my lips. Her gaze bears the heavy weight of betrayal, as if a friend has confessed to a crime. Although I am healthy and she is not, I’ve never felt less whole.
Juliet stands and bends to gather her things, shoving them hurriedly into her bag. That she refuses to look at me is worse than the accusatory glare.
“You appear to be feeling better, and you obviously don’t belong here. If you go to the gates perhaps our generous guards will grant you passage home.”
“Wait. I’m sorry,” I say. the words are woefully inadequate, and I know it. “Isn’t there any way I can thank you? Is there something I could do for you?”
She stops and I watch her frail shoulders rise and fall in a soft sigh.
“It would probably be better if you go.”
“Really, I would like to do something in return for…”
“Stop it,” she snaps sharply. She turns and advances on me, railing. “Just stop it. I see now why you looked so disgusted and horrified when you first saw me. I know I’m ugly, and I know that this… disease has ruined my life. I’m forced to deal with that every day, but I have no need for you to help me. I’m beyond help, so spare me your sympathy and get out.”
The last words nearly stick in her throat as she chokes off a sob. Her trembling finger points at the door. I’m frozen. After a moment, she drops to her knees and resumes shoveling things into her bag. I can’t tear my eyes away from her furious motions. Her hands shake so badly the clay jar she’s holding catches on the lip of the bag. The jar slips from her fingers, falling to the earthen floor and shattering.
The sound seems to break her, and she covers her face, her slender shoulders wracked by bitter, uncontrollable sobs. I find myself walking forward. Before I know it, my arm wraps around her shoulders. She stiffens and resists when I try to draw her to me, so I sit and will comfort through our tenuous physical connection. After a few moments, she relents to another gentle tug and allows herself to be pulled gently to my chest. She buries her face into my shoulder, her violent sobs wrack me to the core. My own tears silently fall down my cheeks.
“You won’t just leave?” she says in a small voice.
“I will if you really want me to.”
Disengaging herself from my arms, she silently walks outside and beckons for me to follow. We stand in the cool predawn light. A small part of me wonders if Reknor is worried, if he has any idea where I am, but I figure I’m learning more right where I am than he imagined when he sent me out for this stupid role. I’m not in a hurry, either. The spinning between my ears still haunts my steps, so walking the long distance back around the Abyss and home seems like a titanic feat of strength.
The sun’s rays trickle over the mountains on the far eastern horizon, the first innocent peek of an uncertain lover. Normally, the city blocks any sight of the mountains, but the half-cleared mansions of the Corpses and the wide berth the colony is given offers an unobstructed view. At first glance the leper’s dwellings look no better than a shanty town, a mixture of shacks and hovels spread chaotically over the small plot of land given over to their use. Looking closer, however, the small town bears a distinct order. A latrine trench lies close to the fence, perhaps a punishment for the guards who hem these people in. The light from the sun stings my eyes and sets my head to aching, but Juliet and I stand side by side until the sun finishes its inexorable march into the sky.
Eyeing her out of the corner of my eye, I try to imagine who she was. Her jaw is still strong, her posture erect and proper. Was she beautiful? How old is she? As her brilliant sapphire eye meets mine, my heart skips a beat. Juliet generates her own energy that has nothing to do with the sun. Her eye narrows as she regards me, and I raise my eyebrows.
“My lady?”
“First,” she says. “You’ll fix my roof.”
I gather up an armload of thatch from the neat stacked on the side of her simple dwelling and scramble onto the roof. From this vantage, the fence of the colony is clearly visible. A patrol of the Watch walks the fenceline, ensuring that none of the lepers manage to escape. As if any can climb the high and sharpened stakes.
“So you built this?” I ask with a gesture towards the house. Sturdy and comely, the little hut looks like it could weather storms.
“Yes. I was reasonably well educated before this happened, and that education included architecture.”
“How did you get to build your home so far from the others?” I ask, noticing that the others are packed in tight enough to foster disease, but Juliet has space.
“I was considered beautiful once. When I first came here, my face was intact. The leader of this small establishment took to me immediately, so I used him for as long as my beauty held,” she says in a soft tone. A wistful sorrow taints her voice. “He was a loving and generous man. I never gave him anything for his favor, just a few cunning smiles.”
I thought at first that she was bemoaning her lost beauty. But this? What kind of person gets dealt the worst of hands and still manages to feel sorry for others?
“Such a transient thing,” she says, doing her best to smile. Abruptly, her smile turns wicked. “Now, get to work.”
“Just what, my lady, are you going to do while I work?”
“Why direct, of course. I can’t have you fucking up my roof.”
I can only laugh helplessly and reach for the nearest bundle of thatch. I’m glad for her company as I do my best to patch the leaky holes in her roof. Her fastidious nature comes to the fore, and under her discerning eye I have to thatch and re-thatch the entire roof what feels like twice over.
As I work, we talk. Or rather, I listen. Juliet Perrea was once a bright and capable young medical student. She grew up a wealthy merchant’s daughter and spent her childhood surrounded by tutors. She devoured mathematics, architecture, astronomy, and read books on love, war, history, and economics. Her father supported all of her endeavors, because he was a proud, vain man. The brilliance of his young daughter was simply another trophy to hold up to his rivals. Before she turned fourteen, she was apprenticed to the greatest doctor in the kingdom. She even met the Lord General Kranos himself. A few years ago, the first sign of her disease appeared. Juliet tried her hardest to ignore the pain and faint decay. Before long her teacher recognized the signs. It was rumored that Kranos could cure even leprosy using the Healing Hand.
“He found me ‘interesting,’ but hardly worth the time and effort necessary to cure. Many people get leprosy, was he to heal them all?”
A potent and toxic bitterness poisons these words. To be so close to a cure, yet to be summarily sentenced to exile and certain death, slowly wasting away, disfigured and alone, all from being found… wanting. Her father, after receiving word of Kranos’ rejection, pretended she never existed.
“So they put me here,” she says as I climb down from the roof. “I’ve been using what medical knowledge I have to ease the pain, and eventually the passing, of my neighbors.”
“At least your skills have come to some use,” I say hopefully. “Since you decided to learn medicine to help people, I can’t imagine a set of people more in need of you.”
She perks up slightly and gives me what remains of her smile. Just hours previous, I would have recoiled at the horrible grimace that results from t
he attempt. But my lips tug into a returning grin.
“Thank you,” she says in complete earnest. “I needed that.”
I pat her hand, but she winces and recoils.
“I’m sorry, so sorry,” I say in instant contrition, stepping back in alarm. She waves my concern off with a casual motion.
“Be gentle, is all,” she says wryly. “I’m not as strong as I once was.”
She reaches out and tentatively grasps my hand, her grip feeble.
“How are you feeling?” she asks, reaching up to touch my head.
“I feel fine. No doubt thanks to you.”
“Good,” she replies, laughing. “You can work on my garden.”
As the sun reaches its zenith, I dig yet another hole, listening to Juliet talk. She regales me with stories of her childhood and tales of her experience in the High Court. Her mixture of wit and humor keep me laughing and amused despite the monotonous work. She tells me of her favorite things, of the music and the art that she cherishes.
“Caldero's art was the highlight of my fifteenth Spring,” Juliet says, obviously reminiscing. She says it like I should know who Caldero is, but I’ve never heard of the man. “He creates such fascinating images, so discordant, so despairing, and yet so... hopeful.”
I reach the end of the line, and she places the final seed. She glances up at the sun and gives a small start.
“I didn’t realize how long it’s been. I need to go make my rounds,” she says as she shuffles back to the little cottage.
“Do you want my help?” I ask, albeit reluctantly. I don’t want to part with Juliet, but I’m unsure of my ability to help treat her leprous patients without revealing both my inexperience and my distaste for blood. She takes one look at my face and laughs.
“I think you would be more of a hindrance than a help,” she says graciously. “It would be better if you head home. Someone has to be missing you...” she trails off leadingly. I shake my head solemnly.
“I’m woefully alone. I lay all day moping and …” She rolls her remaining eye and heads back into the house. “Can I come back?”
She stops with her back to me. She doesn’t say anything, the silence stretching like a coiled spring between us. Just as I resolve to ask again she speaks.
“Yes. You may.”
She closes the door behind her. Satisfied, I move to the latrine pit and leap it lightly. I walk along the fence in search of either a guard or the gates. A patrol of the Watch comes into view, and I lift my arm to hail them. Immediately, a crossbow levels at me. I stop in my tracks.
“Hold right there,” the man orders as the others look at me warily, hands on the hilts of their swords. I slowly, calmly raise my hands from my side and show they are empty.
“Sir,” I begin. “I was thrown into this colony yesterday while I was unconscious, and I’m here to assure you I am not infected with any sort of disease whatsoever. Is it possible to secure my release?”
“Back away from the fence,” the guard says, and his crossbow does not lower an inch.
“Sir, honestly, this is just a misunderstanding.”
“This is your final warning. Back away from the fence and cross over the trench to where you belong, or I’ll be forced to loose.”
I consider trying again, but I come to the quick conclusion that my life isn’t worth the trouble. The guard shoulders his crossbow, and the patrol resumes their march the second I’m back on the colony side.
“Sir, since you did not seem inclined to listen to me there, I would like to make a request of you from this side of the trench.”
I make sure to put the proper venom in my inflection to get my point across. The men set to keep watch on the unfortunates interred within the confines of the leper colony should not treat its inmates like animals. They ignore me, but the man with the crossbow’s jaw clenches slightly. I walk alongside them as they march, spewing a constant stream of sarcastic courtesy.
“As I have returned to my proper place, safely four paces farther away than I was before, I was wondering if you would stop a moment and answer my query.” They continue to walk, and I pace them. “In all truth, I’ve never met men quite so polite as you. You’re willing to join a poor man on his walk in the fresh air. I assure you I am more than capable of providing for my own safety.”
I blather on for more than a quarter of the length of the fence in my best imitation of a conversation with a stone. I’ve been talking for more than half an hour before the captain finally turns on me.
“What is it you want?” he shouts. His face is red, but I just give him my most winning smile.
“Sir,” I say in the same tone of the last half hour. “I was just wondering if you would answer a simple question.” The man glares at me for a few long moments.
“What in the Eternal’s forgotten name is your question?” he finally growls.
“How could I get a message sent out to someone in the city? I need to get word to Reknor the Historian, as I am wrongfully imprisoned, and I apparently need some form of corroboration in order to be released.”
“Why, I’ll take your message. Word to Reknor, eh? The Historian? Lives on Castleberry Street?”
“Yes, exactly.”
“Never heard of him,” the man says with a sneer.
He makes several loud comments about the tainted getting “uppity” as they stalk away, and I let them go. The retreating sun lengthens my shadow ahead as I begin the long walk back to Juliet’s house. I need to wait for nightfall if I’m going to sneak out of here, so I have time to kill. Her house is still empty, so I scramble onto the roof to watch the sun fall over the horizon.
Just as the sun disappears behind the western walls of Donir, Juliet reappears, her shuffling step achingly slow as she ascends the gentle slope to her cottage. She has to stop twice to rest in the attempt, and my heart goes out to her. This woman, so ill herself, has spent the last four hours tending to her fellow inmates when she can hardly walk herself. The strength that act must take is beyond my understanding. She doesn’t see me on my perch, but her steps slow and halt just before the door. She doesn’t enter, but paces back to the edge of the slope, where she slowly, agonizingly, lowers herself to the ground. I study her frail frame for a few moments before I slip silently from my place on the roof.
“No luck?” her voice interrupts the stillness of the night and I jump.
“No luck,” I say. I can’t keep the bitterness out of my voice. We sit for a few moments before she glances towards me.
“It’s easy to pretend to be like me, but it isn’t so easy to be treated that way, is it?”
I turn and meet her gaze. This time, her gaze gives me nothing. No sparkle. No mirth. I swallow heavily.
“No,” I say softly. She cocks her head quizzically.
“No, it isn’t,” I say louder. “It was never my idea to pretend to be sick. My master made me. I’m supposed to learn something from the experience, I guess.”
“What it’s like to be treated as an animal, most like. To see how you’ve treated others before you can learn how to treat them properly.”
An angry rebuttal rises in me, but it dies on my lips. If, not a day ago, I’d seen Juliet on the streets, I would’ve shunned her as tainted and diseased along with every other person that crossed her path. For her part, she sits silently, staring off into the ever-deepening gloom. She gives me the benefit of time to come to my own conclusions.
Creator, I did recoil in fear and horror at the sight of a woman who, quite possibly, saved my life through her ministrations. I judged before I truly knew. Well then.
No longer.
“Thank you,” I say, smiling. “Regardless of what Reknor’s intentions were, I’m glad I met you. I think… I know you’ve taught me far more than I ever would have learned being kicked about and shunned on the streets.”
We sit in silence for a time, but eventually she shivers.
“I’m going to head out. You go inside and warm up. I’ve got things to
do, you know, on the other side,” I say with a bit of chagrin.
Juliet nods as if my words are predictable. Which I guess they are.
“Good luck, and be careful,” she says, reaching up and patting my wounded head gingerly. Her tone indicates she doesn’t expect to see me again.
I smirk inwardly. You won’t get away from me that easily.
“I’ll be back around to visit before too long,” I say, smiling.
***
“Well, boy, what trouble have you gotten yourself into? It looks like a bunch of crazy gorillas ran rampant on your face.”
Peering blearily up at him, I scowl at Reknor in the morning light.
“Leprosy, Reknor?” I say, shaking my head. “You brought this on, not me.”
I briefly recount my adventures, though I hold back any mention of Juliet, almost as if she’s a secret I’d rather keep.
“Good.”
“Good? That’s it?” I ask.
“What, do you want me to worry over you like a tiny child who’s skinned his knee? You handled yourself well. Perhaps you’re ready for more?”
He hands me a tiny parchment roll. Written in Reknor's flowing, beautiful calligraphy are the words “The Silent Philosopher.” In sparse detail, the order commands me to go to the listed address and be entirely silent. Should the opportunity arise to speak to someone, I’m to conduct my conversation in total silence. A hastily scrawled postscript advises me to start a fight. Without actually attacking anyone. I throw my pillow over my head and question Reknor's sanity for a long, solemn moment.
Arriving at the address, I wince. A sign for a coffee shop stares at me malevolently, and not just any coffee shop, but the Tavern of Fours. The most brilliant political and intellectual minds in the Kingdom of the Sea come here to argue and debate. The Tavern of Fours is the place to go to speak freely, openly, and strongly for or against any topic that crosses your mind. And I’m supposed to argue with these people without speaking.
Part of me wants to feel cowed, to hunker down and slink into the shop, but humility just won’t do in a place like the Tavern of Fours. I saunter in, full of arrogance and bravado. The sound of eager debate quiets slightly as I thrust open the door, but only slightly and only for a moment. Tables all over are filled with combatants and friends, smoking pipes and sipping various concoctions as they argue. Polished to a gleaming obsession, a circular wooden bar fills the center of the establishment. The proprietor, a thin, mousy man in an elegant if muted brown suit, nods at me as I enter.
The Crux of Eternity: Eternal Dream, Book 1 (The Eternal Dream Saga) Page 24
