Rill followed Daniel's gaze. "Do they know when?"
Daniel shrugged. "Wish I could say. Like I said, it's all just whispers of hearsay, so I don't even know how much of it's true." He paused for a moment, closing his eyes and wincing, as though remembering some unpleasant thought. "But after what those things did to us that night, I'd believe 'em capable of pretty much anything."
Rill thought about the encounters he'd had with the krealites, about the bloody night when they'd attacked the Temple of the Conflagration, and about the group of monsters they'd trapped in a little room in the caverns of Otvia. The beasts attacked without mercy. They didn't seem to burn. They could vanish straight through the floor as though it weren't there. Daniel was right: they did seem capable of almost anything.
"I'll get to work on this list, then," he said. As Daniel turned and nodded a friendly smile, Rill looked back at the piece of paper. "What do you think," he said, "a couple of weeks to get it together?"
"Ha!" Daniel exclaimed, shaking his head in delight. "I'll tell you what, Rill," he clapped a hand on Rill's shoulder, "if you manage to get these together in two weeks, you'll have two letters of recommendation to present to the captain."
Rill smiled in appreciation, but gave the young engineer a curious look. "Why do this?" he asked. "I mean, you must run into people all the time who want to be in the Engineering Corps." He shrugged. "Why me?"
Daniel removed his hand, and adjusted his belt. "My friend, I don't run into nearly enough people who want to be in the corps." Satisfied with the fit of his belt, he brushed his fingers through his hair. "And of those, almost none of them could have figured out what was wrong with a broken hand pump without even opening it up." He gave a low chuckle. "Blast it, but most of them couldn't have figured it out with the thing's component parts arrayed out in front of them!"
He cocked an orange eyebrow at Rill. "It could be that you're been mucking me about and you've replaced a hundred pump valves before, but even if that's the case, I think the Royal Engineers could probably use you." He shrugged back at Rill. "Someone's got to keep the catapults running, and I'd much rather it be a smart man than one who doesn't know which end of a wrench to put to a nut.
"Now," he continued, "if you'll pardon me, I have other appointments this afternoon." He reached out and took Rill's hand again. "I have a feeling I'll be seeing you soon, Rill."
Rill shook the hand appreciatively, then watched the young, freckled engineer go. He looked down at the list in his hand with some bewilderment. He couldn't believe how much his life had changed in so short a time. Mere months ago, he'd been miserable: unable to fathom the mysteries of the Conflagration and unwilling to care about them. He'd thought of his leaving of the Temple as a humiliating admission of defeat, yet now here he was, learning that he wasn't nearly as stupid as everybody had assumed and finding the one thing he'd never realized had been missing in his life: purpose.
With a grin, he tucked the piece of paper into a pocket and strode off to Caymus's room so he could ask Be'Var about helping him with the forging of his new set of tools.
Once he'd passed through one of the small offices that served as buffers between the courtyard and the rest of Flamehearth, Rill rounded a corner and passed into the wide hallway that connected the building's rooms. He was so excited about what had just happened to him that he literally bounced a little with each step. He tried to think of the best way to ask Be'Var for his assistance. The old master had been a great deal more receptive to him ever since they'd crossed the Greatstones, but Rill still didn't quite feel like he knew how to talk to the man.
Just after he'd walked past the open doorway to the building's main entrance, however, a young voice interrupted his thoughts of the task at hand.
"Hey, you!" the voice called out.
Rill actually missed a step and had to recover from the beginnings of a fall, he was so surprised. Once he had righted himself again, he turned around and tilted his head, listening. The voice—a boy's voice—had to belong to one of the children that lived in the mission, but it had sounded just a little bit too old. It had come from the entrance hall. Slowly, Rill made his way to the open door he had just passed.
When he poked his head around the corner, he was met with a surprising sight: the boy who had been introduced to him as Sannet's brother a few weeks ago was sitting in one of the chairs, his elbows resting on his knees. His face was dirty and his shirt and trousers, obviously made of finer-than-average cloth, were covered in smudges and patches, as though he were some sort of vagabond. The boy's face, too, seemed just as dour as it had the last time Rill had seen him, and the glare in those eyes made him more than a little uncomfortable. He couldn't quite remember the boy's name, either. Reginald? Robert?
"It took you long enough," the boy said, slapping his hands on his knees and standing up. He was taller than Rill remembered him being. Maybe that had something to do with the fact that Caymus had been present the first time the two had met; everyone seemed small when Caymus was around. "I've been waiting here for an hour for someone to come." The face wasn't smiling. He wasn't making a joke.
Rill found himself a little annoyed by the attitude confronting him. Not only taller, the boy appeared slightly older than he'd seemed when Rill had last laid eyes on him. He'd thought the boy twelve or thirteen back then, and now he seemed two or three years older than that. Rill was willing to forgive a selfish attitude in a child, someone this boy's age should know better.
He also remembered the boy as having a chubbier-looking face. Maybe it was a loss of weight that made him look older? Not very much time had passed since then; he couldn't have lost that much weight, could he?
"Sorry," Rill said, finally. What in the flames was his name? "I can find the mission-keeper for you, if you like. Or were you here to see somebody in particular?"
Somehow, the petulant face managed to look even more annoyed with him. "I'm here for you, stupid!" he said. "And that other one. The big one. The one that gave my parents that dumb stone!"
Rill had a distinct recollection of having felt sorry for this boy when he'd seen him before. Any remaining sympathy he might have had, however, was evaporating with every word the little brat uttered. Stupid, indeed! He kept his composure though, despite his growing annoyance. "Well, you can talk to me, if you like," he said, "but Caymus—the big one—is out of the question. He's ill."
"Don't lie to me!" the boy said, though there was a slight pause before he said it, like he'd been momentarily confused by the information. Rill felt the muscles of his jaw beginning to tighten. "I've been watching this place, so I know my brother's not here. He's probably still at that stupid church. But you and that other one that's trying to ruin my life are definitely both here!" The boy's face was going a little bit red; his hands were clenched into fists. "I want to talk to him. Now!"
"I told you," Rill said. His voice was rising in pitch and intensity just the smallest amount. "He's not well."
"Liar!"
Rill couldn't believe what he was hearing. He was really getting angry, now. What was wrong with this boy? How could he possibly be related to Sannet, the calmest person Rill had ever known? "You don't believe me?" he said, raising his eyebrows as high as they could go. "Fine, we'll just go see him then, shall we?"
With that, Rill turned and marched out of the room, resuming his path toward his original destination. He half-hoped the little monster wouldn't follow him, but the sounds of footsteps following after suggested that he was half-hoping for too much. Rill sighed. As annoyed as he was with this little fool, he was even more annoyed with himself. He'd been in such a good mood less than two minutes ago; why was he letting this little twerp change that?
As he approached the open door to Caymus's room, Rill could hear a discussion of some sort taking place within. He considered the soundness of what he was doing and nearly stopped right there. Not only was he leading this child, who didn't seem to have a particularly favorable estimation of Caymus, into the roo
m where his friend's helpless body lay, he was probably going to interrupt something important while he was at it.
The first voice belonged to Be'Var. "But what I'm asking," he was saying, "is whether the word originally came from Kepren or the Falaar."
"I cannot say," came the second voice. Rill believed it was Aiella's. Who else would be in that room these days, after all?
Once Rill turned into the open door and stepped a couple of feet into the room, he took stock of the situation, trying to decide if it would be better to just turn around and lead his little tormentor right back out. His surprise at what he saw inside, however, momentarily made him forget his frustration.
All four of the room's regular occupants were present. Caymus, of course, lay on his back in the bed he'd occupied for so many weeks now. Somebody had placed a small table at the foot of the bed's frame and covered it with a handful of cushions, which was nice to see: Caymus really was far too large for the normal-sized piece of furniture, and his feet had been dangling off it all this time, so he looked a bit more comfortable now. His treatment appeared to be different today, too. Rill was used to seeing his friend submerged in blankets, but today he was stripped down to his smallclothes, with little, damp-looking towels laid out over his chest, abdomen, and legs.
Gwenna was there, also, standing on the opposite side of the bed. It was she who was applying the towels, first dipping them in a large, clay jug on a little side table, then wringing them out before placing them on his skin. She was just applying one to Caymus's left arm when Rill entered. When she glanced up at him, she gave a look that wasn't quite fierce enough to be a glare.
Rill noticed how red her eyes and cheeks were; she'd obviously been crying. He was reminded of the things he'd said to her, earlier. He wanted to offer that apology, but this didn't seem like the right time for it.
Also in the room were Be'Var and Aiella, the former in his red master's robes, the latter in her customary dress of blue, though this particular dress seemed a deeper shade than was usual. Both of them hovered over open books, as was usual for them these days. Rill still wasn't sure why it was that Be'Var had asked Aiella to help him with his research for the last couple of weeks, but since he had, the ambassador's daughter had become a frequent guest of Flamehearth Mission, constantly bringing books back and forth, and having long discussions with Be'Var about shaping, about the elemental wars, and about what it really meant to be a knight.
"Well, when was it written down?" Be'Var said. "What's the context in the one you've got there?"
The thing that had so surprised Rill, though, was the sheer number of tomes that currently filled the room. When he'd last stepped foot in this chamber, no more than two days ago, a single stack of books, about a foot tall, had stood in the far corner. Now, there were over two dozen such stacks, and not one was piled less than two feet high. The two researchers had even pushed a couple of stacks together to form a sort of makeshift table. It was this creation which they currently stood over, each looking down at a volume.
"What I am trying to say," Aiella said, pushing her hair back over her shoulder with one hand so she could look up at Be'Var, and holding her place in a small tome with the other, "is that there is no mention of any context here. I understand that your book mentions that shapers were prevalent in this region during a certain time of the war—"
"Corat," Be'Var interrupted, holding his own place in a much larger volume, "it says they were a lot of them around when they pushed an element called 'corat' out." The old man was looking back and forth between the books, obviously agitated.
"Yes," replied Aiella in that frustratingly calm way of hers, "but there is no mention of such a thing here. It tells of a shaper that lived among the Falaar, but it does not say when the shaper's time was, nor does it describe any major event that occurred during his lifetime."
"And the Falaar have been around a very long time," Be'Var exhaled. The old master stabbed his finger at the book. "Burn me, they've probably been living in that same place since the Old War."
Rill turned back to Gwenna, who had shifted her gaze to a point just behind Rill and to his right. Ah, yes. The brat. Rill considered introducing him to those in the room, but he had a much bigger concern at that moment.
"How is he?" he asked, in his gentlest voice.
Gwenna opened her mouth as though to answer, but no sound came out and she closed it again.
"He got hot today," said Be'Var, still looking down at the two books. He obviously didn't know he had just rescued Gwenna from having to speak to Rill. "About an hour ago. I've given up trying to figure out why." The old man looked up at that point and glanced quickly between Rill and his smaller companion, not making any particular sign of acknowledgment. He darted his eyes toward Caymus. "We're seeing if the dampened towels can't help cool him down a bit," he continued. "Not a great deal more we can do, besides that."
"You don't seem very worried about it," Rill said. He carefully emphasized the words so they came out as a question, rather than an accusation.
Be'Var shrugged. Rill noticed just how tired the old man looked, wondered how much sleep he'd been getting during his constant vigil. "He's lasted this long," he said, after a moment. "I'm coming to believe that whatever in blazes is going on in that body of his, the outcome's up to him, not us. Best we can do is try to make him comfortable and make some effort to stabilize his temperature when it gets too far from normal to ignore."
Rill considered the thought. He supposed Be'Var was right. After all, people who ended up in bed as long as Caymus had been there tended not to look as healthy as Caymus looked. His skin wasn't even pale from lack of sunlight. Whatever it was that was keeping his friend unconscious for so long, it wasn't any sort of disease or malady. Rill had decided awhile back that there was something happening to Caymus that they just couldn't see.
A thought struck him. "Does Milo know about it?" he asked.
"Come again?" Be'Var said, cocking an eyebrow at him.
"I mean," Rill explained, "I know pulling can only heat things up, but if anybody might have a way of cooling him down, it would probably be Milo." He shrugged. "A stiff breeze in the room, maybe?"
Be'Var looked away, toward the ceiling, then both tilted and nodded his head. "Yes," he said, "I suppose that's not the worst idea you've ever had."
"Who's your friend?" said Gwenna, finally. Rill turned to see her smiling and looking at the smaller figure who had, by now, stepped around him and entered the room.
Rill smiled, having just remembered the name he'd been searching for. "This," said Rill, extending a hand and managing to keep the sigh out of his voice, "is Roland. He's Sannet's little brother."
"Younger brother," said Roland, as much bile in his demeanor as ever. He stepped away from Rill and walked around the foot of the bed, keeping his eyes locked on Caymus's prone form as he circled. When he stopped, he was standing beside Gwenna, separated from her by the little table that held the water jug. "What's wrong with him?" he said, tilting his head up a little. He spoke the words as though he was accusing the sleeping form of something.
"We don't know, really," Gwenna replied, adjusting one of the squares of cloth on her patient's chest. Her voice held a distant sadness, as though a part of her had given up hope that he would ever wake up. In that moment, Rill realized something about her, that she probably felt as conflicted about her feelings for Caymus as Rill had expected her to feel, and that the one person she really needed to talk to about it wasn't able to speak. The revelation put a knot in Rill's stomach, and he felt worse than ever about what he'd said.
Her eyes were welling up again, so Rill took over the explanation. "It was some kind of poison," he said, "one we don't know how to treat. He's been like this for weeks now, and there's no way to know when he's going to wake up."
"If he's going to wake up," Gwenna said. Rill got the feeling she hadn't meant to say the words aloud.
"When," Rill corrected, a bit more forcefully than he'd intended.
He understood something about how Gwenna was feeling now, but he felt very strongly that it wasn't any reason to give up hope. Caymus, as broken as he might seem in that moment, was still one of the strongest, most resolute people Rill had ever met. The idea that he might not wake up from this long slumber wasn't something he could even imagine.
In the next moment, Rill found himself wondering if he had actually just seen a little smile flit across Roland's face. No, he must have imagined it. Sannet's little brother couldn't really be that callous, could he?
Rill didn't notice that Gwenna was actually shaking until Aiella moved to stand next to her and placed a steadying hand on her arm. She wasn't crying, didn't seem angry or sad, but she was obviously just barely hanging onto her composure. Aiella spoke quietly to her in a voice that Rill couldn't hear, and Gwenna whispered something back. Rill took a deep breath. He didn't like that he'd had anything to do with this.
"So, Rill," Be'Var said. The old man was stretching when Rill turned to face him. "You must have come in here for a reason."
Rill, glad for the change of subject, smiled a little and covered the three steps to the book-pile desk. "I wanted to ask for your help, actually," he said. "I need to make a few tools."
Be'Var froze, mid-stretch, and looked at him suspiciously. "Tools?" he said. "What kinds of tools, and what do you need them for?"
Rill grinned. He'd found himself starting to like Be'Var's gruff exterior lately, now that it wasn't actually in charge of his studies any more. "I just had a talk with a member of the Royal Engineers," he said. He hiked a thumb over his shoulder. "I helped him a bit with fixing the water pump in the courtyard and he said that if I could get a handful of tools together, he'd help me get in."
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