“What’s...” Agna tasted the drink; it was blackberry juice, not wine. Keifon passed her one of the crocks. She settled it in her lap and pulled the lid off. It was full of one of Masa’s specialties, baked rice mixed with vegetables and spices. The food steamed against the air, and her stomach growled. Keifon took his share, made the signs of the gods over it, and fell quiet, smiling to himself. Agna started over. “What’s this all about?”
Keifon glanced at her and away, as if embarrassed. “Just a – a celebration.” She began to ask why, but he had gone on. “Thank you for this past year. I know it’s a week or two early, but… I wanted to mark the occasion.”
Agna pinched the corners of her eyes. She wanted to cry, and to punch him, and to hug him. What else was new? She drank some more of the juice, as if thirst would explain the rasp in her voice. “You’re welcome. It’s worth celebrating. Thank you.”
It was good to see him happy. She picked up her fork and savored the first forkful of rice, distracting herself. “This is good. We should get it more often.”
She couldn’t watch his reaction. She was too close to breaking, one way or the other. But she heard enough in his voice to understand. “Mm. We should.”
Agna: Balance
I’ve only been here once in my life, Agna insisted.
Vertal appeared against the distant line of the sea: church spires and houses and shops and a thicket of ships’ masts. Somewhere among them was the world headquarters of the Benevolent Union. The caravan would stay for five days, and the merchants would rush the docks, making deals with the importers and exporters in their warehouses and offices. They would trade cattle for silks, ores for wood, goods for money, money for goods, and promises for promises. Agna remembered passing through the docks, flouncing around the money-changers’ office, already impatient with everything Kavera had to offer. It had been a lifetime ago.
Ahead lay another year of this – the patrol station, Prisa, the mining country festival, Laketon, Wildern, and all of the villages and homesteads between them. Another turn of the seasons, through rain and heat and bitter cold. More time to learn, to write letters, to meet the people of this land she’d been sent to help, and to do what she could.
Beside her the Yanweian was calm, his arm cradling the lute case that sat on the bench between them. He caught her glance and smiled fractionally. Another year of this, too.
“So – would you be interested in dinner, after we’ve settled in? It’s a gift,” she added.
“Hm. All right.”
“Such enthusiasm. I said I’d buy you dinner, not break your arm.”
“I have a lot to do in town, that’s all,” he retorted, but he seemed to have understood that she was joking.
“So do I. We have five days, though. Surely that’s enough time to enjoy yourself a little.”
“Yes, it should be.”
“I can’t even imagine sleeping in a real bed again. Maybe I’ll just sleep for five days. Or, no – twelve hours of sleep and twelve hours soaking in the baths, five times over. They have hot water all the time. – What?”
He stifled his snickering and waved it off. “Nothing.”
“So, do you have any plans?”
“Hn. It’s time I had a checkup. And I would like to see the cathedrals, at least one or two of them.”
“I’m sure they’re lovely. I think I’ll find a bookstore. Wayron has been a lifesaver, and that history book that I got in Prisa is good, but I’d like to look anyway.”
“I see.” He was quiet. “If you do find something, could you tell me where? If you don’t mind.”
“I might. Or I might bring you along. If you don’t mind.”
“Oh. – Yes, that – thank you.”
She rushed on, thrown a little off balance by his flattered reaction. “You can keep me from buying so many books that we can’t lift them.”
Keifon smirked. “‘We’?”
“Yes, well.” She fidgeted with the strap on her trunk, curling it around her fingers. “I’m going to take care of my business with the Union first, if you want to visit your cathedrals.” Before she’d left Vertal the first time, she had been instructed to turn in her logbook for review so that the administrative agents could settle out her pay. She had barely listened, back then.
When the wagon stopped, Agna felt a strange dizziness, as though the ground had turned to water under her. For so long she had dreamed of returning to Vertal so that she could storm into the Benevolent Union base, demand justice, and claim her right to a more important mission. Now, it was melancholy to think of the caravan moving on without her. If she could have told herself then that she would stay on this assignment for a second year, she would never have believed it. Agna shook the thought off and gathered her luggage.
The home base of the Benevolent Union was still the largest building Agna had seen since setting foot in Kavera. In the entry lounge, the agents clustered around a pair of their fellows, engaged in a chess game.
“Names and affiliations?”
“Agna Despana, Church of the Divine Balance.”
“Keifon the Medic, Yanweian National Army.”
“Healers from the spring merchants’ caravan, correct?” Agna and Keifon chorused their affirmatives. They each accepted a key and their directions from the agent.
“May I turn in my records here?” Agna lifted her logbook.
The receptionist slid the drawer of keys shut and locked it. “You may.”
Agna tossed her book onto the receptionist’s counter, and Keifon did the same with his. The receptionist whisked them behind the counter. “Thank you. You’ll be contacted when the review is complete.”
“Thank you,” Keifon said. He picked up one end of Agna’s trunk, and together they carried it to the second floor.
They followed the directions and their key fobs to their assigned rooms, which were next to one another. Agna wheeled the trunk into her room and parked it at the foot of the bed, then popped back out into the hall. She leaned through the doorframe into Keifon’s room as he situated his belongings. “I think I’ll have a bath first. No laughing. Meet you back here in an hour?”
“All right. I’ll be here. I’m going to lie down for a bit.”
“Rest well.” She retrieved some clean clothes and her bath kit and ran down the stairs toward the baths. They would have tile floors, not wooden slats over mud. And real walls. It would be warm, even steamy. Agna sighed and looked over the paintings and framed parchment along the walls of the hallway. Illuminated commendations and proclamations jumbled next to engraved plaques and paintings of other bases, other projects, other teams of agents. The memory of Wildern’s base chilled her mood, and her gaze dropped to the red wool carpet, worn smooth by foot traffic.
In the baths, Agna basked in the steam as she washed, then soaked in the tile tub with her head pillowed on the edge. Her mind wandered back to the Wildern base. She could make a visit to a certain address in Vertal, during her free time. Maybe. But she had decided to stay for another year, and no one would convince her to change that course. The only thing that might change her mind was if the shrine at Laketon had an opening. But even then, Laris would be out of town for several months on his cattle drive. Agna knocked her head softly against the edge of the tub. She couldn’t win. All she could do was hold out, and hope that their paths merged again. The thought made her stomach jitter.
She had relived her meeting with Laris over and over and refined it in retrospect, thinking of a thousand things she should have said and done. She dreamed about turning up on his doorstep the next time the caravan passed Laketon. That imaginary meeting was rather… creative. Agna glanced around the bathhouse to make sure she was alone, embarrassed even in her solitude.
But it was more difficult to imagine living in Laketon. The priests and swordmaster at the Laketon shrine had seemed kind enough; she could almost imagine working for them as a healer. Still, as much as Laris loved his town, she wondered whether her lukewarm ac
ceptance of it would disappoint him. And she couldn’t wrap her mind around the concept of Laris in Murio. It simply didn’t work.
They had time to work it out, she reminded herself. They were young, and as the Church of the Divine Balance said, the world was full of promise.
***
“You know,” Agna mused, “I had a bookcase this size at home, in my room.” She marked out the height over their heads and as far as her arms would stretch from side to side against the polished oak shelf. “All for me. And...” She shrugged. “It was just there. And now it’s exciting to even think about going from seven to eight books in my collection.”
“Hm.” Keifon slid a book back onto the shelf. This one was thin, bound in fawn-colored cardboard. “In the barracks, my footlocker was half full of them. I had to keep my valise under my bed, because of that and the nanbur.” He smiled a little, remembering.
Agna pulled another book from the shelf. “In my head, I think I was only packing for the crossing to Vertal.”
“You didn’t know you’d be on the road,” he said, scanning along the titles, his fingertips brushing the spines.
“True, but I knew that I wouldn’t be home again for a long time.” She wasn’t seeing anything on the pages of the book in her hands. “Though it’s longer for you. I can’t complain.”
Keifon shrugged. “I sold everything that I couldn’t take. I only left people behind. And they all knew that I’d be away for a long time. That was... that was the point of it.”
Agna made a vague noise of understanding. He would plunge into melancholy if he kept talking about Kazi, even indirectly. She cleared her throat and shelved the unread book. “Well. It doesn’t seem so long to me now. I’m enjoying some of it.”
That got a small chuckle. “Some of it. Right.”
“I think I’ll stick with the history book that I got in Prisa,” she remarked. “I have a long way to go with it. I did want to look, though. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.” He put another book back and scanned along the shelves. Agna thought of offering to buy whatever he chose. That wouldn’t go over so well. Besides, he might take it as a sign of impatience, and she didn’t want to rush. The masses of paper and leather and cloth seemed to absorb all sound, and she was content to read through the titles and wait for Keifon to finish his search. They’d paused in a section full of politics and economics and sociological studies; behind them was poetry, epic on one end, lyric on the other.
Agna paged through one of the collections of lyric poetry as Keifon reached the end of the political section. Even these unfamiliar writers and their unfamiliar forms recalled her studies at the Academy, practicing for her final presentation in oratory. She remembered reading aloud as Esirel lay on her bunk, eyes closed, listening raptly.
She became aware of Keifon’s gaze on her and snapped the book shut. She slid it onto the shelf more roughly than it deserved.
“Do you like that kind of thing?”
She fidgeted, straightening her skirts. “I read a bit at the Academy for my literature classes, and for practice in oratory. I prefer fiction and history, but it’s all right sometimes.”
“Oratory, really.” It seemed to amuse him, not unkindly. He looked over the poetry shelf. “I’ve played for you. Will you read for me sometime?”
Agna almost tripped over her words. “I – that’s – I suppose I could. There’s no reason to, but...” He was smiling. Agna crossed her arms and leaned against the political bookcase. She wasn’t angry, merely embarrassed, and she couldn’t even define why that was so.
Keifon sidled off to a more distant section, and she let him go. Maybe they had adult books here. She didn’t want to embarrass him, after all. She wandered in another direction until she heard him settling with the bookseller. Keifon slipped sideways to block her view as she came up behind him. “Do you mind?”
“I just wondered whether you’d gotten something I might want to borrow.”
The bookseller finished wrapping his purchase in paper, and Keifon relaxed. “Hm,” he said – not an answer – and accepted the package, thanking the proprietor. It was not a very large package, probably a single book. He slipped it under his arm as they left the shop.
The book shop was part of a cozy shopping district; the receptionist at the base had recommended it for dinner as well as for book shopping. “I’m hungry,” Agna remarked. “The agent mentioned that place on the right, there, the Three Oaks. What do you think?”
“That’s fine. Whatever you like.”
“All right, then.” She headed for the tavern at the corner, irritated a little by his noncommittal response. At least he kept up with her.
The front wall of the Three Oaks was lined with windows, allowing a clear view from the street. At this hour it was quiet, half filled with diners and drinkers, who seemed to be absorbed in private conversations. Agna turned back to Keifon, who nodded. They went in together.
The host found them a little table in the corner, and brought drinks and a napkin-draped bowl as they decided what to order. Agna peeked under the napkin; it was full of salted crackers. In the taverns in Murio the usual offering had been pickled capers. She tasted one and insisted that Keifon do the same. He obeyed, not answering. He’d set his book on the table at his elbow.
“You’re ruining my good mood, you know,” she declared. “You owe me nothing for dinner, and I don’t want you acting as though you’ve done me some horrible wrong because of it.”
“Hm.”
Agna raised her menu between them and drank a little of the punch she’d ordered. Keifon had gotten water, and it seemed awkward to order wine or cider alone – so she had tried some house specialty, a concoction of fruit juice and herbs. It was too strong to drink along with dinner, but it was pleasant enough beforehand. It was almost enough distraction to make her stop thinking about favors, and about the book he’d bought.
The host returned. Agna decided on a rustic but promising baked dish on the menu, since it was difficult to bake anything sufficiently over the campfire. Keifon ordered a savory pie.
“What are you going to do tomorrow?” Keifon asked.
“Take my clothes to a laundry, I think. Have my sandals repaired.”
“Mm. Laundry for me, too.” He wiped off some condensation from his glass; it ran in runnels from his fingers to the tabletop. “Are you going to meet your friend?”
Nelle? Agna thought, and remembered. Rone. “Oh. – I… don’t know. I mean, I – wouldn’t want to bother him.”
Keifon’s brow creased. “Bother him? It sounds like you were close, back in school.”
“Yes, but – I don’t – look.” She closed and opened her hands on the tabletop. “I was stupid. He doesn’t need me following along behind him like a–” –lovesick, she bit that word off in time – “like a baby duckling.” She took a long drink to distract herself. Besides, I was here for a whole week when I got to Kavera, and he never came to see me, the back of her mind helpfully suggested.
Keifon laced his fingers together and sighed. “You’d know him better than I would. Of course. I just… I hope you do what’s right for you.”
Agna folded her arms. “I am,” she said uncertainly. And then she’d said it, out loud. It was enough of a reason not to double back. She was an adult now, and she was moving ahead into her own future, not following Rone anymore. She did not need to ask him for help. She could hold to her decisions.
Keifon lifted his glass. “To a successful year.”
Agna grabbed hers and clinked it against his. “And more to come.” That made him smile, which helped. “Cheers.”
***
Agna lay in the dark, on a real mattress – she wondered whether she could tell the difference between straw and feather mattresses anymore, because they all felt heavenly. There were clean sheets on it and a blanket over that, and a thick down pillow. It was a small room in the Benevolent Union’s base with a small window that didn’t let in much light, but sh
e could see the outlines of the room in the light that remained. It was all hers for the next five days.
Through the wall Keifon was getting ready for bed, or already asleep. She hoped that he would sleep well. It had been strange to say goodnight and close the door behind her. It was a relief, she thought; it was a luxury to have this much privacy, to change into her nightgown and stretch out on the bed and not have to worry about working around someone else’s comings and goings. Still, it would be nice to have someone to talk to as she did her laundry tomorrow.
She could hear his lute through the wall as she fell asleep. I’ll read for you, she thought. Sometime.
On the second day she did laundry and had her sandals repaired.
On the third day she toured three cathedrals with Keifon, and he toured two art museums with her.
On the fourth day she read the letters that had arrived from Laris and Lina. Laris missed her; he was looking forward to the trip downriver; he had re-read The Wanderer, borrowed from someone at work. He warned her that the mail riders wouldn’t be able to find him on the canal, but he would keep writing all the time. He missed her. He loved her.
Lina reported that she had taken a full-time job in the herbalist’s and moved into the apartment over the shop. Their cousin Violetta had goaded her on, and she and her boyfriend Marco had helped Lina move. Sometimes Lina was worried or lonely, and worried whether she’d made the wrong decision. She wondered whether Agna ever felt like that. Esi planned to visit next year. Lina hadn’t told her about the move.
Agna wrote back to them after lunch. She careened through the streets of Vertal, not appreciating their architecture, thinking about her next move. She sold her trunk and bought a backpack like Keifon’s.
That night, she wrote one more letter, to her father. She did not apologize or admit that the trip had been a mistake. She did not mention Lina’s news about moving. She asked for one more thing. It was hard to bring herself to write her request, but when she sealed up the letter, she did not regret it.
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