Mwyr - Chapter Thirteen

[lady_mab]

The city of Gi’Han smelled completely different than Hullenscir. It smelled dirtier, closer together. More people, and buildings stretching up towards the sky. There were no walls to block people in. The city circled the palace, and ambled outward in crumbling waves. The prosperous city center, with the merchants and nobles, fading into the poorer districts. The workers tromping down unpaved roads and stalls clogging the narrow arteries. More people, less space. 

The final, straggling neighborhoods scattered themselves into the thin forests that surrounded the city. Narrow, wobbling trees providing poor wood for houses. Narrow, wobbling people scrambling to get by. 

Adder held his head high as he strode through the familiar streets. He breathed deep, and enjoyed the heavy odor of unwashed humans and trampled dirt. Rot piled around the nearest corner so everyone would ignore it. 

Gi’Han was home. It had been for the last five years. Perhaps even longer than that. When Raeq still stood, no matter how many districts he moved to, he could never settle down. There was nothing that called to him and asked him to stay. 

Yet in Gi’Han, he found a family. 

Adder raked a hand through his unruly hair, gave his fancy waistcoat a smart tug, and knocked on the uneven door hanging before him. 

It was thrown open in no time at all, and a small, gnarled man sporting peppered hair glared up at him. The frown flipped into a smile and he held out a hand. “Adder, my boy. Come in, come in.” 

He stepped over the threshold, having to duck to avoid hitting his head. “It is good to be home, Iohel. How are the others?” 

“Eluned is in the back. How was your trip to Hullenscir?” Iohel pulled a scarf from the rack by the door and used it to furiously dust off every inch of a wooden rocking chair. “I’m afraid that you’ll get your fancy new clothes dirty.” 

“Nonsense. The Church paid for these. I took them because I must.” He reached out and pulled the old man’s hands back. “Where is everyone else?” 

“About.” Iohel wavered, uncertain of what to do. “I will put out word if you wish to speak to them all.” 

“Please. It would be nice to see them.” Adder released a sigh and shrugged off his jacket. He studied the silk garment in the weak light filtering through the small window and thatched roof. “Do you think this would fit Garren? He was looking to find a new job closer to the palace, wasn’t he? A server in one of the noble houses.” 

Iohel regarded it with the expression of a man who had no idea how much such clothes were worth. Nothing beyond too much money and not among the years I’ve ever possessed. “Perhaps?” 

Adder smiled and tossed it over the back of the chair before dropping into it. His cream linen shirt stood out, harsh and crisp, in the dingy confines of the small room. His waistcoat alone cost as much as five or more of the houses in this area. 

And yet, the Church was willing to spend so much money on him. He had an important part to play, after all. 

“Are you hungry? Eluned was making dinner last I left her.” 

“Absolutely famished, old friend. But don’t worry yourself over it. I’ll go get it.” Slapping his hands to his knees, he pushed himself back to his feet and made his way through the cramped house. A low table sat in the corner, littered with melted candle stubs and a sheaf of papers. 

Across the dirt floor were the sleeping blankets for the rest of those who occupied the house. His bed, for what it was worth, had been folded up upon his departure and stored in the upper loft. Adder’s smile hovered around the corner of his lips as he trailed his fingers across the walls. The familiar bumps and whorls of wood greeted his skin. He much preferred these lodgings than the ones in Hullenscir. 

Those were all stone and uncomfortable angles. 

“Elu? Are you back here?” He poked his head into the stuffy kitchen. His eyes immediately picking out a hunched shape near the fireplace. 

The woman looked up, her face prematurely lined from toil. But the wrinkles around her mouth folded into a cheerful expression as she recognized him. “Adder, you’ve returned. Earlier than I thought.” 

“Well, they did not have need of me for the time being. And instead of wasting their hard earned money--” he emphasized his sarcasm by thumbling one of the pearl buttons on his waistcoat-- “I figured I would be better remaining here in Gi’Han.” 

She scoffed, leaning in close to investigate a loose thread at his shoulder. Then she turned and spat onto the hearthstones. “I’m almost surprised it wasn’t made out of gold.” 

“Ah, but I have it on good authority that my shoes were oiled with the tears of the penitent.” He steadied himself against the rough mantel as he extended one dust-covered leather shoe. “They spared no expense for my comfort.” 

Unlike Iohel, Eluned had no regard for the state of his cleanliness. She reached out and smoothed his cheeks with grubby, soot stained fingers. “Your old clothes are in the loft with your bedstuff. You look absolutely ridiculous in those.” 

Adder laughed and took her hand between both of his. “Always a golden tongue, Elu. I’ll change before the others see me.” 

“Good. Now, tell me of your trip.” She easily pulled away from his grip and waved at the rest of the kitchen. There was nowhere to sit. The wooden table in the center of the room, laden with vegetable scraps, had one short leg so it wobbled. Still, it provided the best option. 

He moved to lean against it, crossing his arms over his chest and peering out the square window against the far wall. An uneven sheet of muslin was tacked in place to block out the light and the worst of the dust from the street. 

“You know,” he started, drawing out the words. “They had glass in their windows in Hullenscir. Every building. Not like here.” 

Eluned huffed and wrung her apron between her fingers. “And what if the windows break?” 

He blinked, distracted from his thoughts. “What do you mean?” 

“The glass breaks, and then what? Do you get a new one? How much does it cost? What do you do until then? What if you cut your foot on the broken glass, or an alley cat eats a piece, thinking it food?” 

Laughter exploded from in his chest, a part of him surprised at how shallow and bitter it sounded. “It is the city of the Goddess, Eluned. There is no hardship there.” 

She snorted and gestured to the window. “Nothing wrong with what we got.” 

“No. There isn’t. Everything felt so cold in Hullenscir.” The stones cast shadows, hiding pits of moisture from a rain that hadn’t fallen in two weeks by the time he had left. The Church towered grandiose over the rest of the city. The walls wrapped around the huddled mass of buildings like arms that meant to be comforting. 

They felt possessive instead. 

“Did you learn anything about your mission?” She pulled down a pouch of beans from the mantle and ran her fingers through the contents. “Or did they just buy you fancy clothes?” 

Adder lifted a hand to his throat, tracing a finger along the collar of his waistcoat. “They received word that she finally arrived.” Of course, there had been a part of him that had known the moment she appeared. A small kernel deep in his chest blossomed and burned when the Goddess stepped foot on her planet. 

He was tied to her, after all. Their fates interwoven through the course of time. He wondered if she knew about him -- that tiny seed of darkness inside her that he represented. 

How appropriate. She burned, and he devoured. 

Eluned dropped the bag of beans in surprise and pressed the heels of her palms against her chest. “She has finally arrived? After all this time?” 

Adder moved to kneel alongside her. His long, tapered fingers plucked up one bean at a time to drop it back into the burlap pouch. He could still remember the chaos in the city when the Deacon announced that the Goddess returned. 

Deacon Paol did a magnificent job covering up the oversight with carefully worded platitudes. The nobles who had been waiting for their blessings practically salivated at his words. Meanwhile, Adder had stood in the back corner of the cold room -- the “charity case” brought in for the Goddess’ well wishing. He watched the men made of money and hated every moment of it. 

“Have you told Iohel yet?” Eluned pitched her voice low, not wanting the old man to hear. 

“Not yet, my friend. I wanted to wait for everyone to come before I made the announcement.” He winked at her surprised face as he handed back the sack of beans. “I was just hoping that telling you first would give me an extra helping.”

She rewarded him with a laugh, swatting his arm before straightening the collar of his waistcoat. “Go get changed. I will call the two of you when dinner is ready.” 

“And tomorrow, we shall hold a conclave.” Adder waved a hand in the air in the same lofty manner he could remember the nobles doing it. “As I tell you all of my journey to Hullenscir.” 

Eluned ducked her head in a manner that was either a curtsey or an attempt to avoid his gaze. Adder didn’t like it either way. “It is good to have you home.” 

He watched her return to the hearth, her silence a clear dismissal. For a moment, he wondered what it would have been like if it had been any other of their number returning from Hullenscir. Garren or Neva, perhaps. Would Iohel or Eluned treated them differently? 

Adder smiled at her back, glad that she couldn’t see how thin it must have been. He headed for the door to the main room of the house. 

A small lantern hung on a peg, the wick burnt and trimmed too low. It would need replacing soon. Firelight flickered in the dingy glass, and his gaze followed the dancing flames. 

He caught sight of his reflection in the glare. Bright green eyes returned his study, sharp and knowing.

The Goddess walked Mwyr, and he would see her soon.

#

Cassia’s faint humming floated through the otherwise silent confines of the house. 

Chan closed his eyes and breathed in deep. Filled his lungs with the warm summer air and the lingering taste of the peaches from her parents’ farm. 

He allowed himself to linger in the doorway for a moment longer. Tricking himself into thinking that everything was the way it had been. It didn’t even have to be that far back. 

Just before Arika. 

He knew Tallah was gone -- two years is a long time to try and accept the fact, but he still tried. He knew he couldn’t push open the door and she would be back. 

Instead, when he stepped into the room, he found Arika’s blue canvas pants. She kept the boots and the sweater, yet left these behind. There were some clothes scattered about the hastily made bed. Tallah’s old riding habit, which never fit Arika’s bony frame, rested over the folded quilt. 

A scrap of parchment rested atop the pillow at the head of the bed, his name scribbled in splotchy ink. 

Chan shuffled in the small confines of the room, his heavy tread muffled in the silence. Flipping over the parchment, he read the brief note left behind. 

Thanks for everything! =) -- Arika

He studied the words and tilted his head to the side to figure out what the symbols meant. “Ah,” he muttered to himself a moment later. A smiling face. 

With a smile of his own, he slipped the note into his pocket. Then he moved back to the hall and scooped the basket off the floor. He didn’t waste another moment lingering over the clothes scattered across the bed. 

Every article went into the basket. Even Arika’s strange trousers. The four drawers rested empty against the wall. 

When that basket was full, he moved it into the hall and picked up the second of three. In went the bedclothes, though he kept the quilt aside. It had been Lyren’s before she passed it on to Tallah. 

“Chan?” Cassia’s voice echoed from where she worked out behind the house. “Bring out everything that needs a wash. It’s such a nice day outside.” 

He stacked the two baskets and tread the halls by memory alone, unable to see his feet beneath the load. The front and back doors were thrown open, allowing the warm summer breeze to sweep through the house. 

A flash of blonde hair blinded him as his eyes adjusted to the light. Cassia wore her curls unbound, a broad-brimmed straw hat protecting her face from the worst of the glare. Her skirts were pulled up to her knees and tucked beneath the tie of her apron. She spotted him a moment later, and her face lit up. “Oh, good. Just leave them on the porch. I’ll get to them in a moment. Just need to finish filling up the wash basin.” 

“Do you need any help?” 

Cassia waved him off before he could step down the stairs. “No, I’m fine. Just call me if you need anything.” 

“You do the same.” He stood to watch her fidget with her dress sleeves before finally turning back to the house. The inside was cooler and darker after staring out over the green hills. 

Infinitely smaller as well. 

Chan had to stop, close his eyes, and breathe. Inhale, exhale. His hand gripped the kitchen table to steady himself. 

He needed to keep moving -- keep busy. It would distract him long enough. 

Fetching the third and final basket, Chan rounded to the other side of the house. After his parent’s had died, he had moved from the room he shared with Loki into their bedroom. It didn’t mean much. Loki was never around anyway, and the room felt lonely without his presence. 

Sera ended up claiming it for himself whenever he came to visit. They removed the second bed after Tallah died. 

Loki never had much to begin with. He took everything he could when he left to study at the university. There were no personal effects left behind. 

It was odd to see the room looking lived in once more. A collection of books from Goddess only knew where sat scattered about the room. From the Wellfox library, perhaps. Or his father Osus’ own personal library, or even Sera’s. A battered tin whistle weighed down several sheets of parchment sporting music staves and scribbled notes in Sera’s loopy scrawl. 

Reminders lingered everywhere. What was he supposed to do with the whistle? It wasn’t his to get rid of, but Sera left days before. 

Chan turned the metal around in his grip, lining up the pads of his fingers with the holes. They weren’t terribly clumsy. He worked with tools that required a delicate touch unless he wanted to end up one finger short. But he didn’t possess the same fluid skill that Sera did when handling the instrument. 

He had no idea how to play anything other than a basic tune, nor did he have the slightest clue on how to read music. Sera’s handwriting did not lend itself to trying, either. 

His eyes slipped shut, and he wavered in his spot. A sharp but distant bark from Luka snapped him out of his thoughts, and he set the whistle down on the table. 

He would return Sera’s stuff to his family. Say here, he left these behind. I didn’t know what to do with them. Push the responsibility of that memory onto someone else. He had enough to deal with. 

With a quick cough to clear his thoughts, Chan set into action. He pulled the linens from the bed and tossed into the basket alongside any stray pieces of clothing. This room would get cleaned out as well. Two rooms available to house any help he might want to hire on. 

If he decided to stay. 

Chan scooped up the basket and whirled about -- only to find Cassia in the doorway. “Goddess!” he choked, heart lodged in his throat. Shaking fingers slipped and the basket clattered to the floor. “I didn’t even hear you.” 

She took an uncertain step into the room, then a second. Her pale fingers, cool against his skin, curled around his wrist and pressed into his stuttering pulse. “What are you thinking about?” 

Words failed him for several seconds. “What?” The single sound tripped out on a laugh. He couldn’t tell which of the responses he had to force. “I’m thinking about hiring help and how I might--” 

She squeezed, and he winced at the brief flare of pain. “What are you thinking about. And don’t lie to me.” 

He glanced down at the basket and somehow convinced himself he was inspecting the laundry and not avoiding her gaze. It was not a lie -- not on the surface, at least. When had she become so perceptive to his thoughts? 

A sigh escaped through his nose, and his shoulders drooped with exhaustion. “I don’t know what I’ve been thinking.” 

Cassia’s fingers ghosted over his cheek and he immediately jerked back. Guilt flared in his chest at her injured expression, and he bit down the apology that came with it. She should have known better. It would be rude of him to accept the comfort that she wanted to offer. 

He had turned her down years before, unable to return her feelings. 

She didn’t give him the chance to consider his next move. She stepped forward to close the new space and both of her hands lifted to his head. 

A confused sound barely had time to make its way to his mouth before she rose up on her tip-toes and ruffled his hair between her fingers. His head bowed to her touch, allowing this much contact. 

“You’re thinking of leaving, aren’t you?” 

Her question somehow managed to capture the idea he didn’t know how to voice. “I thought... I might move south. Back to the far end of Raeq. Become anonymous there.” Even though he had been born in a small town close to the southern coast, he didn’t remember anything about it. He had been a toddler when his parents died. A disease, or famine, or any number of things. He never learned, but he doubted that the Rotia who found him and took him in even knew the truth. 

The band of Rotia took him north during their migration to cooler weather in the dry season. Raeq was a distant speck in his history by the time Gi’Han attacked their neighboring kingdom. His life at the time circled around Stoam and Wellfox, around the deaths of Osus and Lyren. 

The brief war between Raeq and Gi’Han was a world away to him. 

Cassia gave him one of her looks, the one that let him know she knew more than he thought she ever could. “You’re thinking about the Goddess, aren’t you?” 

Chan considered this. “Honestly? No, I don’t think so.” 

“Honestly?” she mocked, eyebrow rising in challenge. “Yes, you are. You just don’t realize it.” A nail tapped the space between his eyes. “It’s all over your face, and the way you keep sighing.” 

The sighs stemmed from his permanent state of exhaustion. They were as much a part of him as anything else was, as far as he was concerned. He couldn’t remember ever not feeling a sigh lingering between his ribs. 

He opened his mouth, ready to deny her claim. Instead, he asked, “Do you think it was right? What I did?” The rest of the questions and explanations cluttered in his mouth. His brain remained stuck on the idea of following after her. 

“You did what you had to. It’s better for you this way.” 

The idea that his life was better after everything that happened was laughable. His entire family was gone -- the only family he had ever known. He was so tired, and he was only twenty-five. How much longer did he expect to have to carry on like this?

He needed closure. And the only person who could give it, he had surrendered to the will of the Church. “Will you go with me?” 

Cassia’s dusty green eyes widened, and she squeaked out a faint, “What?” Her expression shifted, settling onto something that almost begged him not to ask that of her. 

But he needed to be selfish. Just this once. “Will you come with me to Hullenscir? I need to see her one more time.” 

Her face crumpled and he saw the refusal in her eyes. He had to ask, though, even if it was clear she wished he hadn’t. “I will go.” 

He blinked, thoughts scrambling to interpret her timid words. “You will?” 

“I am not about to let you wander out there on your own.” She attempted a smile, and it nearly fooled him. 

Still, he pretended not to recognize the difference. She wouldn’t want him to point it out. “I’ll need to make preparations. Do you think your parents would be willing to take the farm?” He didn’t add ‘until I get back’. He wasn’t sure if he would. 

Something close to a laugh escaped her. “Of course. It only has some of the best soil in Stoam. Once we finish here, we can go talk to my parents.” 

Chan could feel the weight ease form his limbs. A plan of action. Something to set his mind to. Motivation trilled through him. “Thank you, Cass. For everything.” 

She smacked his arm playfully, and the smile at least looked more genuine. “What would you do without me, you goof?” 

“Probably wander lost in my own misery.” Or have drowned in it years ago. He reached for her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Then let’s get cleaning.” 

She jerked her head in the direction of the low table. “Guess you should take Sera’s whistle to him, huh?” 

“I guess so.” He hadn’t thought about how seeing Arika again would mean seeing Sera as well. After he had been so prepared to cut him and the memories he represented out of his life.

Cassia stooped to fetch the abandoned laundry basket, golden curls tumbling over her shoulder with the motion. “I’ll be outside,” she said over her shoulder, and he mumbled a response. 

For a moment, his heart ached -- sorry that he couldn’t love her the way she wished he would. But he had to stay strong somehow, and he couldn’t be more grateful that she still stood by his side.