On the fifth day, the caravan left town.
Agna: Postwar
Agna had learned the source of Fort Unity’s name. She knew the names of the generals in the battle that had been fought here. She had read the proclamation of peace. She had learned about the establishment of the road patrol that was quartered here.
She and Keifon set up the clinic tent together and divided the patients, most of whom were spouses and children of the patrol officers, based on the patients’ diagnoses and their own strengths. After business closed for the day, Keifon went shopping for dinner, as it was his turn to cook.
Agna stopped at the master of records’ wagon to pick up her mail. Four letters waited for her. She knew the handwriting on three of them. She rushed back to the tent and lit the lamp.
Laris was the easiest. Two of the letters were his. Agna slit them open and checked the dates.
First: Their little convoy had left Laketon to drive two hundred head of cattle alongside the canals to market at Vertal. Laris managed the center of the herd with a fellow rancher, Weira, the lender of The Wanderer. The other four ranchers were arrayed at the front and back of the pack, with dogs and horses to complete the team. Laris said that he would try to figure out whether their path would cross the Golden Caravan’s. He said he thought about her every night.
Second: He talked about camping in the open, listening to the sound of the water. He thought about her every night. He was getting to be good friends with the others on the team, learning more about the trade and the country. Tufari taught him about repairing boats, which they did for extra money along the route. Feldon, the eldest, taught him years of lore about cattle. Atme told stories around their campfire at night. Everyone kept Gawin, the boss’s son, in line.
The rest of the letter was about Weira.
Her family was half Yanweian. They didn’t have their own ranch. She loved working in the open; she loved the freedom. She and Laris read a lot of the same books.
He’d told her all about Agna. She said Agna sounded amazing. Laris said she was right.
Agna set the first two letters down. Her head swam. That was supposed to be the easy part. She missed Laris like a fist in the gut, but that was hardly anything new.
Two more.
She opened the unfamiliar one. Dear Agna, it began, and ended two pages later with Cordially, Marco Pirci.
The new contact, from her father’s agency. Agna set it down. Dessert. Probably. Face the other one first. Rone’s.
What he said was, I must have upset you, and I want to make it right.
What he said was, I’m sorry.
What he said was, I miss you.
What he did not say was, You’re an idiot and you messed up again. Agna supplied that part, and the rage that came with it, all by herself. She threw the letters aside, curled up on her new wood-framed cot, and soaked her new pillow with angry tears.
***
The tent flap rasped open and shut. Agna covered her head with her arm. Someone sat on the edge of her cot. Agna registered the scent of lilies and herbs. Nelle.
“Kei came and got me,” Nelle said softly. “What’s wrong?”
Agna sniffled and wiped her face enough to keep the liquids in check. “I’m stupid. That’s all.”
“Not gonna agree, and not gonna guess.”
Agna sighed. “I didn’t – in Vertal, I didn’t go and see my friend from back home. He’s upset. I’m an ass.”
“Upset?”
“Sad. Blames himself. Thinks he did something to offend me.”
“Did he?”
“Of course not. I just – didn’t want to keep on being a stupid little girl who followed him around everywhere.”
Nelle folded her arms. “You tell him that?”
“…No.”
Nelle waited.
“It was too embarrassing.”
“So instead…”
“Ugh. So instead I hurt his feelings and I didn’t get to see him, and now it’s going to be a whole year, or maybe – maybe forever.” Obviously forever, because she had tried to do the right thing and had ruined everything. And if she had gone after all, she would have proved that she hadn’t learned anything in five years. Every road was wrong.
Nelle gathered her in to sob on her shoulder. The second wave passed more easily. Agna dug out a handkerchief from her belt pouch. Nelle scuffed her feet on the floor and waited for Agna to compose herself.
“Water, hon?”
“Yeah. Thank you.”
Nelle slipped out of the tent. Through her sniffling and nose-blowing, Agna heard urgent voices, and then the clunk of the water barrel’s lid being replaced. As Nelle lifted the flap, Agna caught a glimpse of Keifon standing outside.
Nelle handed over the cup of water. Agna dipped a corner of her handkerchief to wipe her face, then drank the rest. She took a numbered series of deep breaths.
“Gonna be all right?”
“Yeah. Sorry, I just—”
Nelle held up a hand. “None of that. Now – wanna get away for a little bit? You and me.”
Agna collapsed onto the damp pillow. “I guess. Yeah, I guess it would be good for me.”
“Tavern in Unity, nice place, has dart boards. Quiet at this hour. Good food.”
Not made on a campfire, Agna thought. Her repertoire had begun to expand, but the thought was tempting. And she hadn’t gotten around to spending time with Nelle in Vertal, either. “All right.”
“Yeah! I’ll get some money – it’s on me. Just wait here.” Nelle dashed off, leaving the tent flaps swaying in her wake. Agna sat up and slowly opened her new backpack to find some clothes.
She had just pulled out a light summer dress when someone tapped on the flap. Agna sighed and rubbed her face. One guess. “Come in.”
Keifon stepped in, and Agna read his worry before he’d crossed the threshold.
“Is everything all right?”
She gestured, so-so. “I mean, nobody’s died. I —” She squeezed it down to the barest explanation with the fewest possible words. “Rone is hurt because I didn’t go to see him.”
“Mmn.” He seemed to decide against further commentary. “Do you want some dinner?”
“Thanks, but Nelle’s taking me out to town, I guess.”
“Oh. That’s good.” He lingered, gripping his elbows. “I’m-I’m here if you need anything.”
“Thanks.” She couldn’t force herself to smile for him, and he didn’t seem to mind. “I’m gonna get changed and head out. Just tell Nelle to wait for me, please.”
“Sure. Have a good time.” He tied off the door on his way out.
As she changed, Agna tried to think about shedding her old worry and stepping into a new, clear, well-adjusted, non-backwards mindset. It would have been easier if she’d had any clue what that might look like, or what the right answers were. Fresh clothes helped a little, though.
Before she left the tent, she spotted the letters, discarded next to her cot. She hadn’t read the agency contact’s letter yet. Impulsively, she scooped up all four letters and stowed them in an inside pocket, lying against her ribs.
***
Nelle ordered bread puffs filled with sausage and greens, and elderberry cordial. As they waited, Agna pulled out the unread letter.
“Hey.” Nelle slapped her hand on the paper, pinning it to the table.
“That’s a different one,” Agna protested.
“No trauma?”
“No trauma.” She yanked it out from under Nelle’s hand. “It’s from an agent in my father’s company. I asked him to get me in touch with somebody. Get me up to speed. Build some professional relationships in the art world. That sort of thing.”
Nelle nodded and folded her arms. Agna started from the beginning.
The contact, Marco Pirci, was not from her father’s agency, as it turned out. He was from her aunt Naire’s agency. Agna’s father had contacted him through Naire-ceisi to strike up a correspondence with Agna. Marco went on
to ask about her assignment and her interests in the art world. He professed an interest in folkloric and literary painting, and chatted for a while about his background: a very prestigious business school in Murio, and then an apprenticeship with Naire’s agency. From the timeline he presented, he had to be more or less the same age as Agna, Lina and Violetta.
The letter closed with hopes that they might start a fruitful and mutually beneficial conversation, and offered his mailing address in downtown Murio. Then, Cordially, Marco Pirci. Agna’s brain turned over that name as she refolded the letter. It was naggingly familiar, as though it had been the name of a character in a book she’d read.
“Well?”
“Well… normal.” She slid the letter back into her pocket. “He works for my aunt, not my father. Which is a little unexpected. But she does the same thing, so it’s not that important, really.”
“So that’s good?”
“Could be. I’ll get back in touch with the business.” She traced the grain of the tabletop with her fingertips. In another way, it could mark the end of her foray into healing. Maybe it was just a youthful distraction in the end.
“Cheers to that.” Nelle raised her glass, and Agna gamely clinked hers against it.
The arrival of the food was a welcome interruption. Agna and Nelle applied themselves to its demolition, and Nelle ordered a round of beer. As Agna minutely sipped at the bitter stuff, she re-read Laris’s letters. Surely she was being too suspicious about – things. She wanted Laris to live a free and happy life, with as many friends around him as he wanted. She would be hurt if Laris ever cast suspicion on her friendships with Nelle or Keifon, and Laris would never do that.
Was it a friendship, with Keifon? Agna followed the sidetrack. She supposed it was. Not as close as she’d been with Esirel. But as least as close as she was with Nelle, albeit in a different way. She trusted him, and they depended on one another. She enjoyed his company. The book shopping, cathedral touring, and art gallery crawling in Vertal had been lovely, even considering the other disastrous parts of the stop.
Nelle motioned for a passing steward to refill their mugs. At worst, then, she had lost one friend in Rone and gained another in Keifon. But she wanted both! Was she being selfish after all?
“Hey. Second warning.” Nelle patted Agna’s head, and Agna realized that she had slumped her chin down to her crossed arms on the tabletop. She pulled herself up.
Nelle finished her mug. “Darts?”
“I’ve never played darts.”
“Not an answer.”
“All right, all right.” She allowed Nelle to hustle her over to one of the boards at the back of the tavern. Nelle pulled several darts from the board and turned a handful over to Agna.
Agna listened to the rules twice. She was getting sleepy, frosted over with a red fuzz of irritability. Her first dart bounced flat off the wall. Nelle dove for it. “Forward, straight forward.” Then, “Less shoulder, more elbow.”
“I’ll give you more elbow,” Agna grumbled.
“So yeah, how about getting that aggression out? Darts tradition.”
Her next dart buried itself in the wall halfway between the target and the floor.
Nelle hesitated. “Better.”
It didn’t mean anything that Laris talked about this other girl like – like – thunk – like she was the greatest thing to grace the world.
It wasn’t the end of Rone-and-his-little-sisters. She would find the right things to say, damn it – thunk – and things would be all right.
They played round after lopsided round. Nelle stopped keeping score. Agna’s fatigue melted; her irritability galvanized into a strange righteous fury. She improved her throws hardly at all.
“I’m not jealous. I don’t get jealous. All right?”
“Uh-huh.”
“My best friend’s marrying my sister, and it’s great. See? And Bakari is the biggest sweetheart.”
“Who in all gods’ names is Bakari?”
“Rone’s boyfriend. Priest. Islander. Everybody loves them. ‘Cept jealous people. And I’m not.”
“Uh-huh.”
“People being happy is good. I mean, look at Keifon and Edann. Edann is a horse’s ass and everybody knows it, but Keifon’s happy, so it’s all right. Even if he probably isn’t over his Kazi and they should never have even started, it doesn’t matter, because they love each other and that’s good.”
“Uh…”
“If Edann can love anything that isn’t his own reflection, ‘cause I don’t know. Keifon loves him, though. You can see it.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And my sister is moving into some, I don’t know, hole in the wall, but she’s happy, so it’s all right. And Letta won’t let her get murdered. So it’s up to me to listen to our parents yelling about it for the rest of our lives like I have anything to do with it.”
The next mug Nelle handed her was full of water.
“I keep seeing Marco’s name in Lina’s handwriting. That’s what.”
“No idea what you’re talking about. Move over, it’s my turn.”
***
“What did I do wrong? Why does everyone hate me, Nelle?”
“Tides, babe. Star positions. And you’re kind of drunk.”
“I don’t drink.”
“Yeah, well. Fine for now.”
“You know, Keifon doesn’t either. Ever, ever. You think he had a family member drank too much? That’s what I think.”
“I think your boys are driving you crazy, city girl. Which is why a little drunk is all right.”
“They are. They are. All of them. I miss Esirel. And Lina. I miss you. We should do more things.”
“Sounds fine. Let’s do that. Like let’s play darts.”
“I’m terrible at darts.”
“Yep.”
Keifon: Counterpoint
Shaken by worry and driven to surround himself with company, Keifon took his nanbur to the bonfire and settled on a log bench. He warmed up and ran through some scales, then started in on “Rise, Children of the Land,” a quick, agitated melody that he hoped would absorb this churn of anxiety.
Nelle would take care of Agna. Agna would find a way to apologize or explain to her old friend, and everything would be fine. What bothered Keifon more was the despair that echoed in him. He could not bear to see her hurting. He’d been cowardly, running to Nelle instead of helping Agna himself, because he didn’t trust himself not to panic. He didn’t know what to make of this, or whether he should make anything of it at all. The answers would come in time, he told himself. He would pray on it tonight. Until then, he only wanted a corner of the crowd and something to occupy his hands.
The merchants arrived and took their accustomed spots in the circle. The day’s take was compared to others’ takes, to last week’s, and to the last ten years. Well-worn arguments broke out over the interpretation of the tidal rise and fall of the price of goods. The news from Fort Unity was repeated, dissected, and summarized. Expectations for the next stop at Quickwater Crossing were floated. A few glints of firelight caught the eyes that turned Keifon’s way. The attack. He held onto the notes, though they grew clipped.
The conversation turned back to Fort Unity. Keifon shifted into one of the Kaveran songs he’d learned, something about a valley. He hadn’t gotten the words down. He didn’t want to talk about much of anything right now, least of all Quickwater Crossing, so the more popular song choice stood as his thanks.
A familiar hand slipped over his shoulder and kneaded his neck. “God’s balls, you’re tense.”
“Don’t,” he muttered, even as a grateful shiver rose up his back. He meant the cursing, not the massage, and Edann knew that perfectly well. Edann bent over the log to plant his wine bottle and his book in front of the log, leaned against Keifon’s back and set both hands to the task. Keifon struggled to keep the melody for another half verse before giving up. A few facetious boos rose from the crowd.
Keifon managed to
lift a hand. “In a minute.” He set the nanbur safely at his feet and leaned into Edann’s touch.
“It’s not fair,” one of the others jibed. “Everyone gets to hear the music, not everyone gets a neck rub.”
“Not unless you’ve got dangly bits and a pulse,” someone chuckled.
“And be one of the third, I suppose.”
“I’d cross over to the fellows for a good neck rub.”
“Not so much since the medic domesticated him, though.”
“Oh yeah.”
Keifon felt Edann’s grip tighten in a manner unrelated to working the knots out of his muscles. “You get to watch,” Edann offered sarcastically, garnering a few snickers. He leaned into Keifon’s back a little more, and snugged his cheek against Keifon’s hair. The gesture was empty of any real affection. Keifon’s muscles tensed against Edann’s efforts.
Kazi had shown him off once. It had been early on, when Kazi had claimed that he couldn’t get attached. Keifon had heard him across the common room of the inn, proselytizing – helping the cause of the downtrodden – my friend there, he was unjustly thrown out of his family… Their first argument had raged half the night in the room they’d rented.
It wasn’t worth the effort to fight with Edann. Keifon’s energy was too sapped from worrying about Agna to dive into a trench of Edannspeak. Edann never argued straightforwardly; he never admitted mistakes; his world was hemmed in by elaborate fences and walls that shifted daily; he warped ideas into twisted remnants of themselves. Keifon let his showboating go on. It didn’t matter, in the end. Edann was himself, and nothing Keifon said or did could change that.
All the same, he was showing affection in public, which seemed like progress. After Edann had proved whatever point he intended to make to the crowd, he lounged on the log bench, taking up his book. He snugged his head in Keifon’s lap. Keifon felt his insides warming. This was what hooked him. Edann could ignore him for days and then give him a little affection, and Keifon would devour it as though he were starving.
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