by R. T. Kaelin
To his right, he heard the clink of pottery followed by a soft sigh. He was not alone.
Through dry and crusty lips, he groaned, “Where am I?” His tongue felt it was stuck in mud.
He heard a sharp intake of breath, followed by the quiet rustling of clothes as someone hurried to his side. Now he smelled rosewater.
A woman whispered, “Jak?”
Her voice sounded familiar, but the fuzziness coating his thoughts prevented him from placing it.
“Gods, my head hurts,” he mumbled.
“Don’t move,” ordered the woman.
“Wasn’t planning on it,” croaked Jak.
The woman moved away immediately, her light footsteps hurrying past the foot of his bed. A door creaked open.
“Go get Chandrid, please. He’s awake.”
A man replied, murmuring, “Thank the Gods.” The relief in his voice was clear.
Heavy footsteps hastened away, echoing as if they were in a long, stone hallway. The sound of boot heels striking stone was loud enough that Jak winced with each one. It felt as if someone was tapping his temples with a small hammer. When the door shut with a soft thud, muffling the retreating steps, Jak relaxed, grateful for the quiet. Footsteps approached him again, different from the first set, softer and somewhat hesitant. Stopping beside his bed, a little girl spoke, her voice full of worry.
“Are you all better, Jak?”
This time, Jak instantly recognized to whom the voice belonged. “Not at the moment, Helene.” Hoping to put the little girl at ease, he added, “But I will be.”
The woman by the door moved to his side as well, stopping beside Helene and bringing with her a second waft of rosewater. The scent, along with Helene’s presence, helped Jak place who she was.
“Sabine?”
“Yes,” replied Sabine, her voice soft and reassuring. A hand rested atop his, through the blanket. “And you’re right, Jak. You’re going to be fine. Absolutely fine.” It sounded as if she were trying to convince herself, not him.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” he mumbled. Keeping his eyes closed, he turned his head to face them. The pounding in his head swelled. “It’s only a headache. A very bad headache.”
A quiet moment passed before Sabine asked, “Do you remember what happened to you?” She sounded concerned.
“Did a festival happen to me?” asked Jak, his dry lips turning up into a slight smile. “Too much wine?”
Sabine paused again before answering, “No, Jak. There was no festival.” The concern in her voice had grown, which in turn, worried him.
He tried to crack open his eyelids to look up at her, but only succeeded in opening his right eye. Something was keeping his left shut. The Moiléne sisters were by his side, staring at him. Wooden rafters lined the ceiling above them.
“What’s wrong with my eye?”
With panic swelling in his chest, he tried to extract his right hand from the blankets but Sabine gripped it, stopping him.
“Wait for Chandrid.”
He attempted to pull away, but Sabine clamped down harder.
“Please, Jak. Wait.”
Tossing back the covers from his other arm, he reached up to find a thick, soft cloth wrapped over his left eye, ear, and forehead. His heart rate increased, which only made the pounding in his head worse.
Running his hand along the path of the bandages, he asked, “What happened?”
“You will be fine, Jak,” insisted Sabine. “Chandrid says they are only temporary.” Her words were encouraging, but worry still colored her tone.
Looking back to Sabine, Jak demanded, “Tell me what—” His voice cracked and gave out. He choked softly, sending his head pounding anew. “Gods, I’m so thirsty.”
Helene spun around immediately and scurried from the bed to a small, round-topped table. She returned a moment later, carrying a small pottery cup.
“You can have my tea, Jak. It’s still hot. Sabine just made it.”
She lifted the cup to the edge of the bed and steadied it there, waiting for him to take it.
Jak smiled and murmured, “Thank you, dear. That’s very kind of you.” He went to move his right hand to take it, but Sabine was still holding it, her grip surprisingly tight. He tugged, but she would not let go. Glancing up, he asked, “Can I have my hand, please?”
Releasing him, she said, “Sorry.”
Extracting his arm from the blanket, Jak reached for the cup, but stopped short, grimacing as his entire right side began to throb. It felt as if had been punched in the ribs a few dozen times. Lying flat again, he whispered, “Yeah. So that hurts.”
“Here,” said Sabine. “Let me help you.”
She scooted around Helene, moved to the head of the bed, and assisted him in sitting up. With his back resting against the cold stone wall, he looked around the room, still not recognizing where he was.
A fire burned in a recessed hearth on his left. Straight across from him, past the foot of his bed, was an oak door. The dim gray light shining through the lone, small window in the room told Jak that it was either dusk or dawn. Two blue cushioned chairs sat next to the table a half-dozen paces to the right of the bed. A glass lamp, two pots, and an open book rested on the tabletop.
While he wanted to know what had happened to him, his parched throat demanded satisfaction first. Accepting the cup from Helene, Jak lifted it to his lips, took two quick sips, and swallowed. The hot and gloriously wet tea coated his scratchy throat.
Helene said, “I put a lot of honey in it.”
Jak could tell. It was thrice as sweet as he liked it, but he was not about to complain. Smiling at the little girl, he said, “It is very good. Perfect, in fact.”
Helene held his gaze but did not smile back. Jak found that odd. He rarely saw Helene without a grin on her face. Before he could spend more than a moment wondering at the cause for Helene’s melancholy mood, the door opened and Lady Vivienne swept inside, bringing a cold draft of air in with her from the hallway. The baroness moved straight to the foot of the bed and stopped, her gaze dancing over Sabine and Helene before settling on Jak. A courtly blue dress hung from her shoulders and a more-than-determined expression rested on her face.
Jak stared at the noblewoman, surprised and confused as to her presence. Sabine had sent for Chandrid, the hillwoman mage and resident healer of the enclave. Again, his wondering was cut short as the seven-foot-tall hillwoman entered next wearing plain brown robes, cinched at the waist with a turquoise belt. A leather bag hung from her shoulder, much like the one Broedi often carried, although the beads adorning her satchel were both greater in number and more colorful.
Gamin marched in behind Chandrid, also with a bandage wrapped around his head, although his looked smaller than Jak’s felt. The mage fixed Jak with a steady stare as he moved to stand beside the baroness.
Chandrid strode to Jak’s left, stopped beside the bed, and rumbled, “What do you think you are doing? You should be lying down.” She shifted her gaze to Sabine. “I told you not to let him move if he awoke. At least three times, if I recall.”
“I know,” said Sabine. “But he was thirsty.”
“I gave him my tea,” added Helene.
Eyeing the cup in Jak’s hand, Chandrid frowned and asked, “Only tea?”
“With honey,” replied Sabine and Helene simultaneously.
“Honey?” asked Chandrid, her frown deepening. “How much did he drink?” She did not sound pleased.
“Just a few sips,” answered Jak. “That’s all.”
“Fine,” rumbled the hillwoman. “But no more. Drink only water for now.” She reached out, took the cup from Jak’s hand, and handed it to Sabine. “Put that down and then help me get him lying down again.”
Sabine did as Chandrid asked without protest. As they helped lower him back to the bed, Jak’s head began to swim. Within moments, it felt as if the room was spinning. His stomach felt queasy.
“I do not feel good.”
“Let me gue
ss,” said Chandrid. “The room is moving?”
“Quite a lot,” muttered Jak.
“I can help that, but first I must ask your consent to treat you now that you are awake.”
Jak tried to focus on her face, but could not.
“Pardon?”
“It is the way of the aki-mahet. I must ask for permission.”
“Fine. You have my permission.”
“I have not asked properly.”
Jak muttered in exasperation, “Then ask. I’m going to get ill in a moment.”
The hillwoman placed her palms together, bowed slightly, and said, “I, Chandridkerit Mortanggard, former lakari of the Laksoo, ask your permission to tend to your wounds and ease your pain.”
“Please,” mumbled Jak. “Ease my pain.” He was sweating now.
Chandrid peered into the open air above the bed and, a few moments later, dropped her gaze to Jak. The room went blessedly still.
“Better?” asked Chandrid.
“Ever so much,” said Jak. “Thank you.” His head still pounded and his side still ached, but at least he was not going to get ill.
Chandrid nodded, lifted the satchel’s strap over her head, and placed the leather sack on the bed. As she opened the flap and began to rummage inside, Helene half-climbed onto the bed in an attempt to peer inside the satchel.
Looking up to Chandrid, Jak said, “Broedi never asked permission to help me when I got shot by an arrow.”
“He is not lakari.”
“And what is lakari?”
Chandrid halted her rummaging, paused a moment, and then said, “‘Caretaker’ is as close a word as there is in Argot.” She resumed rooting through her satchel.
Reaching up to poke at his bandages, he asked, “And I suppose you are taking care of this?”
Chandrid looked up, gently grasped his hand, and placed it back on the bed.
“Do not do that.”
“I won’t as long as someone tells me what happened,” said Jak. Glancing at Gamin, he asked, “Did you and I have a disagreement?”
The redheaded mage smiled slightly and shook his head.
“No, we did not.”
“Jak?” prompted Chandrid. “Tell me the last thing you remember before today. It will help me evaluate your injury.”
Jak studied the faces of the people standing around him. Lady Vivienne, who had yet to say a single word, was staring at him with bright and intensely curious eyes. Sabine’s blank gaze was directed to the bed, the lines in her forehead and around her eyes betraying a sense of worry. Helene had finished climbing atop the bed and now was lying next to his legs, her head turned toward Sabine alone. Gamin was peering at her, concern in his eyes. A strange sort of tension filled the room and Jak did not understand why.
Shaking his head, Jak said, “I don’t know. My memories are a bit muddied at the moment.”
“Please, Jak,” said Gamin. “Try. You might remember more than you think.”
Jak shrugged his shoulders and sighed.
“Alright. I’ll try.”
He closed his right eye and tried to draw forth the most recent memory he had before waking up here. Remembering the cold and the snow, he began to think aloud.
“Morning drills. I remember finishing morning drills, coming inside, and speaking with Commander Aiden in the hall afterwards.” He halted as most of that conversation came rushing back.
“What did you talk about?” asked Lady Vivienne.
Jak lied.
“I don’t remember.”
There was no need to share the contents of that exchange with everyone.
“What happened next?” prompted Chandrid.
“Well, the commander left and…” His brow—or at least half of it—drew together. “Ah! Sabine found me in the hall and we talked—” He stopped suddenly, remembering that they had spoken extensively of his siblings’ locations and wellbeing. He did not know if Gamin and Chandrid were aware of Kenders’ absence.
Misinterpreting his pause, Chandrid said, “Keep going. You are doing well. What did you and Sabine talk about?”
Sabine answered for him, saying, “Nothing of any importance.”
Opening his eye, Jak added, “Mostly we talked about the snow. Oh, and about heading into Claw for eveningmeal.” The story was plausible enough.
After a quiet moment, Lady Vivienne directed, “Please continue.”
Wondering why she even bothered with the ‘please,’ Jak shut his eye again and tried to remember past the meeting with Sabine. It was a struggle, though. Drawing forth his memories was like trying to snatch a leaf from midair during a raging thunderstorm.
“There was a boom. A large one. Large enough that the hall shook. Then…a second one. We rushed off…” Things were becoming clearer now. He pictured himself and Sabine running through the hall together. “We got to the courtyard door and—” He cut off as a quick series of images flashed though his mind.
Smoke billowing from a gaping hole in the walls.
Snow drifting down as he sprinted across the icy courtyard.
Blood pouring down Gamin’s face.
“We couldn’t find Helene…so I ran into the hall. The smoke was so thick…” He went quiet again, mentally tracing his path through the burning room as it collapsed around him.
Lady Vivienne urged, “Go on, please.”
Her tone prompted Jak to open his eye and lift his head. The baroness’ gaze was locked on him, cool and calculating. She was after something. What, he did not know. He shook off her penetrating gaze and dropped his head to the pillow, cautioning himself to be careful.
Bringing back to mind the burning room, he muttered, “There was a man on the ground.” Jak turned up his nose, remembering the stench of singed and smoking hair. “He was dead.”
Beside him, Helene shifted, reached out to slip an arm around his leg, and hugged him tight. Curious, Jak opened his eyes and stared down at her tiny form. The moment he laid eyes on her, another quick sequence of images flashed through his head, one right after another.
Helene’s crumbled body on the floor.
Her, cradled in his arms.
The perfect, untouched circle of stone on the ground.
He sat up a little more. Helene turned her head to look at him, her brown eyes as round as eveningmeal platters.
She knew.
“Jak?” asked Sabine quietly.
Turning his head, he found the raven-haired beauty staring at him, her eyes brimming with worry. He wondered if she knew. His heart thudded in his chest making his headache swell.
“Go on,” prompted Lady Vivienne. “What do you remember?”
Jak looked back to the baroness. Her anxious expression betrayed her. She had no idea what had happened in the mages hall. None. Gamin either, from the looks of it. Jak wavered a moment, wondering if he should share what he had seen. In less than a heartbeat, he decided to keep things to himself for now. He should talk with Sabine about this first. Alone.
“I…I turned around and saw Helene by a table. I rushed over and picked her up as the ceiling started to collapse. I started to run out and…and…” He trailed off and did his best to appear as if he was trying to think. After what he hoped was a good show, he shook head. “I’m sorry, but that’s all I can remember.”
“You can tell us nothing else?” asked Lady Vivienne. “Nothing about what you saw in the room?”
Jak lifted his head. The baroness stared at him expectantly.
“No, my Lady. I cannot.”
The lines on the baroness’ face lengthened as her expression grew even more suspicious.
“You are sure?”
In as even tone he could manage, he said, “Perhaps you might not have noticed, my Lady, but I seem to have had an accident.” He pointed back to the bandages on his head. “A rather significant bump on the head it would seem. So you will forgive me if I cannot seem to remember every detail.” He offered an apologetic smile that was absent any true regret. “I wish I co
uld be of more help.”
The baroness pressed her lips together and gave a tiny huff of a sigh. “Of course you do. I am grateful you are alive and recovering.” Her words contained as much warmth as his smile had conveyed remorse. “You were fortunate, young Jak. The Manes were fortunate. Things could have been much worse. The man you found? Marick? Somehow, he was the lone casualty.”
Jak instantly recognized the name as belonging to Helene’s teacher. He glanced down to the little girl by his side. She squeezed his leg a little tighter.
After a moment, Lady Vivienne sighed again and said, “If you happen to recall anything else, please let Gamin know immediately. He is leading the investigation.” She turned to eye the mage. “Which is proving to be a rather unsuccessful one. Five days have passed and it seems we still have little idea what truly happened.”
Jak’s eye widened.
“Five days?”
He started to sit up but was stopped as Chandrid laid a strong hand on his chest.
“Lay down, please.”
Struggling against her restraint, he exclaimed, “I’ve been asleep for five days?”
Adding her own appeal, Sabine pleaded, “Please, Jak. Lie still.”
Jak relaxed and dropped his head into his pillow, staring at the rafters overhead.
“Five days? How?”
When Chandrid seemed satisfied that he would not rise again, she released him and said, “To continue your tale where you cannot, you ran from the room as the wall came down. The Stone mages who were able attempted to hold back the rocks as they fell.” Her gaze shifted to his bandages. “One slipped past and struck your head.”
Jak shook his head, muttering, “I don’t remember that.” His claim was legitimate this time.
“That is not unusual,” rumbled Chandrid. “Some souls lose entire days or weeks after such a blow to the head. You are lucky. Ketus was with you, Jak.”
“Lucky?” huffed Jak. “Part of a castle fell on me.”
“Exactly,” said Gamin, his tone somber. “The castle fell on you and you are still alive. I’d consider that lucky, too.”
