The nanbur case by the foot of his cot reminded him of his strangeness last night, and the requests he’d made to keep himself from panicking. “Hey – I’m sorry about last night. I know it was weird. Thank you for humoring me.”
She executed a maneuver that was becoming intensely familiar: an oblique dip of her head, a sudden flurry of motion in her hands. “It wasn’t weird. And I offered in the first place. The important thing is that we’re here, and safe.”
“Yeah. We are.” Keifon stretched as he stood, rotating the stiffness from his joints. Yawning, he pulled some clothes from his pack, set them aside, and folded his blankets. Agna sat silently, not watching him. Perhaps his request had bothered her after all. Or she was worried about Laris, or regretted not having met her friend in Vertal. Keifon had to figure out how to ask without hurting her.
“Hey,” she said, as he headed for the door.
Keifon turned. “Hm?”
“I was thinking. About – last year, sort of, and your stomach, and how I never helped you. With that. I wondered whether I could, sometime. It wouldn’t take long.”
Last year, after the attack. That morning when he’d been unable to do anything but bind her torn shoulder and hate himself for wanting to help her more. She’d closed the knife wounds in his back and his neck and healed his split lip without even thinking about it. She had noticed that something was wrong with his stomach, and he had brushed her off, embarrassed by his weakness. She remembered that. And she wanted to help.
Agna’s nervous stammer was familiar now, too. “I mean, if you want to. I don’t mean to intrude—”
Keifon sank to the floor next to her and let go of the bundle of clothes. Agna’s monologue snapped off.
“You don’t have to,” he said, and regretted it. “That’s – that’s not what I want to say. I mean, thank you. I just don’t know if it would help. I don’t know whether it would just come back afterward. I’d hate for you to waste the effort. But thank you.”
“It’s not wasted effort,” she insisted. “If it starts hurting again, I’ll heal you. That’s all.”
That’s all. She assumed that she would be here, and that she would be willing to heal him. She thought nothing of it. It wasn’t that easy; nothing ever was. Even so, it meant something that she had offered. Even if his flawed and mistreated body undid the good she’d done for him, he wanted to accept her offer.
Keifon smiled, and the growing worry in Agna’s eyes melted. That was a reward in itself. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”
***
It didn’t take long, after all.
The healing process had taken just a few minutes last time, Keifon reasoned. It had only seemed longer. His dread and confusion and resentment had piled onto her simple act of kindness until it took on monumental proportions in his head.
They cleared out the tent. Agna sat on the floor and explained in her clinician’s tone that he might be more comfortable lying down. Keifon stretched out on his back, feeling not very comfortable at all. Agna explained that it would help to make clear contact with his skin, and when he indicated that he understood, she slipped her hands under his shirt. Her hands were warm, one under his ribs, one over. Keifon tried to control his breathing.
A trace of a smile quirked Agna’s mouth. “Relax.”
“I’m sorry.”
He watched her to distract himself from his nervousness. She focused her concentration; he’d seen that inward glaze hundreds of times as she’d treated their patients. She would go somewhere inside herself and then – He felt her energy connect to his, with a warm, humming sensation where their skin met. Agna’s smile widened. “See? Not so bad.”
He couldn’t bring himself to speak while she was connected to him like this. It was too – intimate, somehow. He could feel calm radiating from her, and suspected that she could already feel his nervousness, with her more attuned senses. He was suddenly too shy to put words to it.
As a reply, he made himself relax, willing himself not to resist. Agna seemed to sense it, and her energy flowed through him like warm honey through water. She shifted inward, bearing toward the bleeding wreck of his stomach. The warm glow wrapped around it and numbed all sensation except the faint warm tingling of the healing art. Keifon sighed, realizing how much he took the background pain for granted. It was so lovely not to hurt.
Agna glanced at him, gauging his reaction. Her hands repositioned slightly, and he felt subtle shifts in her energy as she worked through the damage, little by little. Keifon concentrated on breathing evenly, and found himself hovering near the edge of sleep. He wasn’t worried anymore; he wasn’t sure what he had been worried about. Agna would not hurt him, or shame him for having ignored his condition for so long.
“Not much longer,” Agna murmured. Keifon opened his eyes, and looked away from her sad little smile. “It’ll feel so much better, I promise you. I didn’t realize it was this bad. I’m so sorry.”
He shook his head minutely. Not her fault, of course. It had been this way since he was thirteen or fourteen; at his worst the ulcers had fought against his alcohol consumption, leaving him vomiting blood into the gutter on more than one occasion. In Kavera he’d ignored it, taking for granted that he was always going to hurt a little, that keeping his body fueled was always going to be a hassle. He had never even considered that Agna could take it away, even temporarily. But of course she could, and of course she would. That was the sort of thing she did.
The warm thrumming slowly rolled away like water on a beach, until it centered under Agna’s hands. Agna held onto the connection for a little while longer. The healing energy washed through him again, one more tidal flow before nightfall. Agna had referred to this as merely checking her progress, making sure that everything had been set to rights. It didn’t do justice to the sensation at all.
Finally Agna sat back, lifting her hands from his skin, and sighed deeply.
Keifon waited. Nothing hurt. He couldn’t even feel the queasy acid burn of his system waking up.
“There.” Agna got to her feet and offered him a hand. “Ready to go?”
Keifon looked up, formulating thanks that could never even the balance, and took her hand.
Keifon: The Feast of Darano
She came with him this time. That was what made all the difference.
As Agna finished her breakfast, Keifon dressed for the ceremony. He brushed off the jacket and trousers he’d hung up overnight and gave his boots a final polish. Memory and pride lay thick in his chest. The rest of his unit was out there, still a family tighter than blood. A single leaf had blown from the tree and whirled into another land alone.
He was pinning on the insignias when she called. “Can I come in yet?”
Maybe not entirely alone.
“Yes, come in.”
She lifted the flap over her head and stopped short. Keifon took an instinctive step backward, sensing her intimidation in the pit of his stomach. The uniform was unfamiliar to her. To her, he looked like a foreign aggressor, like a one-man invasion force. Was that it? She wouldn’t look at his face. She was – she was blushing, a little. ...Oh.
The realization twanged through his nerves. It didn’t mean anything, of course. Keifon was familiar with every thread of the Army’s uniform, and even he had to catch his breath when he saw some of his unit mates in full dress. It transformed them. It lent them dignity and authority. It brought out confidence and pride.
Keifon swallowed and smiled, motioning with a twitch of his fingers for her to look up. She finally did, shedding the moment of wordless awkwardness, as she tucked her hair behind her ear. A fleeting response to his smile came and went on her lips. “Hi.”
“Hey.”
“That’s, uh... you look, ah... pretty impressive.”
“Umn. ...Thank you. It’s just me, though.”
She laughed, half to herself. “Well. – I’m ready, I guess. I should see what Nelle’s doing. Have a good ceremony? Is that inappropriate? Blessed
Resurrection, I mean.” She sketched an abbreviated but accurate Daranite prayer gesture and a bow.
Keifon returned the prayer gesture, unable to find suitable words to reply. For Agna to salute him like that and to wish him well on a holiday that she didn’t even celebrate meant more to him than she realized. It meant that she respected his faith. She didn’t believe, and he had come to accept that – but it was enough, somehow, that she respected him.
He wanted her to be there when he was done with the ceremony. He wanted to share this day with her. But he couldn’t demand such a thing. She wouldn’t want to wait around for him. She would want to go out and enjoy the festival with Nelle.
As he imagined the scene, Agna spoke up. “I was thinking... I’ve never seen a Daranite ceremony. Would it be allowed for an outsider to watch?” Keifon stared at her, struck silent by the granting of a wish that he hadn’t allowed himself to have. Agna flapped her hands and blundered ahead. “I was just curious. If that’s sacrilegious, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any disrespect.”
“N-no, I... it’s... it’s allowed. If you’re sure. I...” He forced himself to swallow, to steady his voice. “Thank you. I would be honored.” Before he could stop himself, he had gone on. “Afterward, would you – did you want to take a look around the festival?”
“Oh – if it’s not too frivolous. I thought I might. I didn’t really have a good time last year.” She sighed, shaking off that track of thought. “Might be better this time.”
Keifon couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah. I think it might.” He squeezed the remaining sigil pin in his hand, remembering that he wasn’t quite ready. “I just need a minute. Actually – is this on straight?” He turned so that she could see the unit tab on his collar.
“Hmm, it looks like it is.”
“Thanks.” He unlatched the medic’s pin and attached it to the other side. “How about that?”
“Looks good.”
“Good.” He straightened his coat and took a deep breath.
Agna stood at attention. “Ready?”
“Yeah. – Thank you again.”
She shrugged, embarrassed. “I just... thought I should try to understand. The way you did.”
Keifon remembered that conversation with the shrine guard – the swordmaster – in Laketon. The swordmaster had simplified the precepts of his faith without judging Keifon’s own, and had answered Keifon’s defensive questions. It had been the first step.
He had thanked Agna over and over already. All he could do now was to go out with her into the morning light, feeling her confidence rise with his own as she walked beside him. An infantryman in full dress reds and a foreign healer in civilian clothes – they made a ridiculous pair. The merchants who watched them pass with smirks or whispered commentary weren’t unjustified. Still. It was more than that to Keifon. He believed that it meant more than that to Agna, too.
Agna led him to Nelle’s wagon first, to explain to the groggy herbalist that they would meet her later at the festival. Nelle seemed more than willing to catch up with them sometime that afternoon. They left her to her rest and walked toward the fairground.
It was early enough that the crowd was still thin; he had gotten a more timely start this year. Some of the festival booths were half-built. Keifon led the way through the fairground and beyond, into the town proper. The town wasn’t any larger than many of the others they served along the circuit, but the Daranite church took it as a point of pride to host the biggest Resurrection festival in this part of Kavera. It seemed that the holiday and the caravan had built on one another to create the fair as a whole. Villagers came from all over the eastern mining region to pay their respects and to do business. Keifon had gathered all of this last year, listening, not talking, and feeling miserable and betrayed. He had asked Edann to come with him to the festival, and Edann had laughed at him. He hadn’t asked this year.
It wasn’t the same as last year, Keifon reminded himself. The Nessinian woman walking next to him now was proof of that. She caught him looking over at her and smiled, a little puzzled. Keifon turned his eyes toward the church steeple. He hoped that she would understand even a little of the ceremony, and that it would not bore her or offend her pantheist sensibilities. He hoped that she would ask him about it later. There was still so much to say.
The priest at the door greeted him with folded hands. “Blessed Resurrection.”
“And to you.” Keifon made the Army’s salute in return. Agna bobbed her head. The priest waved them through into the interior.
The church dripped with flowers and banners in crimson and white, pinned with silver ornaments – the Daranite colors representing blood, holy raiment and steel. Every undraped surface blazed with candles. A few worshippers had found places on the benches. Keifon headed up the aisle, his boots ticking on the flagstones. He felt Agna trailing him, and a few of the Kaverans’ heads turned, but this was beyond them. This was between Keifon and the god who had claimed him.
He knelt at the altar and pulled the offering that he had prepared from the pouch at his belt – a handful of coins wrapped in white and red fabric. It landed on the others in the collection plate with a muted clink. Keifon folded his hands and prayed, with the words of the benediction in his mind and pure wordless gratitude in his heart. He had been given so much, every day, even when he did not understand or appreciate the gift. He had been given every day of his life, every breath he drew, by Darano’s grace. His life had been traded to Darano’s service in return, and even then he would never repay the gift. Every morning he saw, every patient that he could mend, every smile he traded with his new friend – every one of these was a drop in the river that led back to one moment: a priest in ceremonial armor under a heavy cloak, extending a hand to a man who would otherwise be dead.
It was more than that, even then. Keifon stood from the altar and led his companion to a seat on the benches to wait for the ceremony. He folded his hands and closed his eyes. The priests had saved his life, yes, and taught him how to live as he never had lived before. But that was just a transaction. A transaction could be summed up and repaid, expressed in numbers or words. He had come to know meaning through his studies of Darano’s word. He had come to know purpose, justice, and at long last, forgiveness. The studies of the other gods’ teachings had helped, of course. Each flowed into the other. But he was chosen by the crimson god, and Darano had led him to seek to understand more every day.
When he opened his eyes, Agna was reading the order of ceremonies on one of the slips of paper that had been distributed along the benches. She gave him a cautious, polite smile. Keifon relaxed his fingers and his posture, retaining the poise appropriate to the uniform. She half-watched him as though she wanted to ask him something.
Keifon cleared his throat. “What is it?”
She pursed her lips, plotting out her next thought. “I mean no disrespect. But I was wondering – you’re a medic. Why not Tufar? He’s the patron of medicine, isn’t he?”
“Mmn. Well... it’s complicated.”
“I guess it should be. I just wondered.”
Keifon composed his answer. “For one thing... I was a soldier before I was a medic. I specialized in medicine after I’d sworn my service to the Army.”
“I see.”
“And... the easiest answer is that the Daranite church saved me. I – there was a time when – when things were bad for me. So bad that I can’t... I don’t think I can tell you about them. Yet,” he added under his breath. She lifted a hand, as though to ask a question. He motioned for her to go on.
Agna pitched her voice so that no one could overhear, although the seats around them were empty. “Like you talked about in the winter? With... being out in the street.”
“Yeah. That time. There was more to it, too. But then. They... the priests found me, and took me out of there, and – I would have died, if they hadn’t. Frozen, or starved. I wouldn’t have made it to the spring. The Tufarians healed my body, where I needed it. The
Daranites did more than that.” He drew a shaky breath, clasping his hands together to draw strength from wherever he could find it. “They started to heal my soul. They gave me... purpose, and dignity. My humanity. I’d lost it. They showed me – showed me how to take it back.”
He felt her hand rest on his arm, lingering there to tell him what she couldn’t voice. He remembered what she’d said in the dark as the fever ravaged his body. She had said that she was glad he’d lived. He held those words cupped in his heart like an ember.
Keifon covered her hand with his own, all he could bring himself to do in acknowledgement, and after a little while she pulled away. “Thank you for your answer,” she murmured.
“Thank you for asking.”
They did not speak to one another again, but Keifon felt her presence near him through the ceremony, through the sermons and the prayers and the hymns. She might not fully understand, but she respected his need to come here. She was willing to ask questions and to seek to understand.
It would offend her if he told her about the murky hope swirling deep inside him – the half-formed thought that the gods had brought them together. She would not understand that he saw it as an honor. She would see it as denying her free will. She would talk about chance or the pantheist idea of the will of the universe.
Someday she might begin to understand, and he took comfort in that. The idea itself was terrifying sometimes. But it was the one thing that began to explain why he felt that her presence here with him was not only right, but needed. She was an unbeliever, she was a foreigner both to him and to the priests and worshippers in this church, but she belonged here.
When the service ended, Keifon and Agna left the church and lingered in the churchyard. Agna linked her hands behind her back. “Thank you for that.”
“Nn. Thank you for coming. It means a lot to me.” He looked away, realizing that Agna’s dark red dress harmonized with his uniform. Had she dressed to honor the festival, or was he reading too much into it? Keifon shoved off that thought and offered her a smile. “Ready to see the festival?”
The Healers' Road Page 27
