25Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡddylyybDrC
Morris’ hooves sank into the spring mud, its thick, wet consistency sticking to his horseshoes with every step he took. The village, if it could be called that, was as poor as the rest of Oueterre, and hardly a place Leonard wanted to visit.
The late afternoon sun pierced through the trees, casting long shadows as he inched his way into Coulver, a village Leonard had passed through countless times, but never bothered to explore. The place was full of loyalists, but Leonard’s confidence in his abilities to make new allies made him believe he could garner support for the rebellion anywhere.
On his left sat a house where two children played soldier, one with a twig and the other with a thicker stick. Leonard gave a polite smile as they glanced at him, then they went back to their game.
The boy with the stick effortlessly parried an attack from the twig. He flashed a smile and with a swift woosh the stick struck into the twig boy’s fingers. He let out a yelp, releasing his feeble weapon.
The fight didn’t seem fair, and it appeared one of the boys’ mothers agreed as she opened the door, saying they were being too rough.
The boys reminded him of Hector.
The town tavern sat before Leonard surrounded by a rickety old fence. Outdoor seating was damp from the day’s earlier weather. It being Sunday, Leonard figured it was not likely many people would take to drinking, not in Oueterre.
A hitching post sat in front of the inn patiently waiting for use, which Leonard obliged. His legs shook as he dismounted his horse; wincing at the wet squelch that accompanied his boot sinking into the mucky ground.
He coated his once-pristine boots. He liked to keep a presentable appearance as a healer, it was rare people would ask for an arcanist's help, the last thing he needed was to look like a bum.
The inside of the inn painted a somber picture with only a bartender, and a woman whom Leonard assumed to be the bartender’s twin sister, in the room. Both adorning pale blonde hair.
An affable grin grew across the bartender's face as he looked up from wiping his counter as Leonard walked in. The sour aroma of stale sweat, and alcohol drifted into Leonard’s nose. “Essudari are you?” The bartender asked in Essudari.
“How could you tell?” Leonard replied in the same tongue.
“You dress the part,” The bartender gestured toward his shirt.
“Seems that I do,” Leonard sat on a stool in front of the man. “Do you speak Essudari to everyone who walks in?”
“Just you,” His sister replied, her voice soft and melodic as she leaned on the bar to Leonard’s left. The twins were both slender.
“That’s one hell of a risk around here,” Leonard smiled at the girl, then looked back at the bartender. “I won’t be long, I’m looking for a man,”
“We’re not that kind of inn, you’d be better off going back to Essudere,”
“Not that kind of man,” Leonard looked to his right at nothing, then back to the bartender. “I’m looking for Antoine Fueralis,”
“Ah, he told me you might stop by if you got lost,” The bartender replied, his voice lilting up in a sing-song manner as he spoke.
“Didn’t get lost, I came straight here,” Leonard shrugged. “Why waste my time looking when I could spend it asking?”
“Hmm,” The bartender said with a smile. It took Leonard a moment, but now that he noticed it he couldn't stop noticing it. The way this man spoke Essudari was odd. It seemed as if he was speaking an older version of the language, or perhaps some sect of it he’d never heard. He knew in the south some people had strange accents, but this wasn’t the south, nor was it Essudere. “You’ll find his house on the East side of town, one of the bigger ones. Got a stone foundation and a straw roof,”
“Alright, thank you,” Leonard said, and scooted the stool out. He dug in his pocket and set two clae in front of him, sliding them towards the bartender on the cool surface of the counter. “For your trouble,”
“Oh you’re too kind,” The man smiled. “Why not stay for a drink?” He asked, and as if by magic the woman had scooted a mug with ale in front of Leonard.
“No thank you, I don’t drink.” He said, "Least of all with people brave enough to speak Essudari so close to Atheham.” He took off out of the door before the strange man had another chance to speak.
Morris blew his nose as Leonard approached him, patting at the squelching ground. Leonard rubbed his nose briefly, and began to mount.
One foot into the stirrup, and then hoisted himself up, but his bravery faltered for a moment and he returned to his stirrup position. He let out a sigh, as his hands began shaking. Stupid heights.
With a second bout of effort he pulled himself up and swung his foot over. He swore he would get a shorter horse one day, but Morris was too loyal a steed.
25Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡzFTFjG7JuM
Antoine’s house appeared well lived in. Layers of paint peeled off of the door, revealing different shades of browns that had been used long ago. Leonard shakily dismounted Morris and hitched him to the fence surrounding the home.
He approached the door as the steps creaked beneath his feet. With a gentle knock he waited a moment feeling a cool breeze nip at his back. In the distance a bird chirped melodically as its song joined with the rustling of leaves.
Henrieta would have thought this place was quaint. He half smiled as his gut twisted, feeling a pang of bittersweet nostalgia. She would have been excited to meet this man. She always got excited when they had new clients. Up until she died from one, of course. Leonard let out a sharp sigh.
A portly bald man with a thick mustache opened the door. The scent of freshly baked bread wafted from his home mingling with the faint aroma of wood smoke “Ah, there you are, come in!” The fat man spoke Oueterrian of course, but his Essudari accent came through heavily, adding a melodic cadence to every word.
“Thank you,” Leonard gave a polite smile,
“When Laura told us about you, she said there would be two healers, where is the other?”
Leonard cleared his throat, feeling another twinge in his gut. “She won’t be coming,” He grimaced as he quickly dove to change the subject, his voice laced with sorrow and determination. “Who am I here to see?” He asked, taking a full step into the house, his footsteps muffled by a thick rug laying across the living room floor.
It was lovingly decorated with a tapestry of a woman carrying two water buckets, and a chicken at her feet watching over their living room.
A wood stove burned in the house casting a warm glow and filling the house with a comforting crackle. The young boy who was playing in the street sat at a table eating something from a bowl, the spoon he held scraped against the wood.
“You’re that man who I seen earlier!” His grin stretched from ear to ear. “You’re here to help mum?!” He jumped up.
“Yes, he is,” Antoine put his hand on Leonard’s shoulder. “Please, let him do his job, son,”
“Your wife, then?” Leonard asked.
“Yes, my wife. She’s ill, been coughing and terribly weak, and can't even lift her head from her pillow.” Antoine shook his head, his voice heavy with concern. “I wanted to hire a doctor, but they were too expensive,”
“So you sent for me, I understand,” Leonard nodded. “That’s what I’m here for, but…” He cocked an eyebrow at the large man. “Had Laura discussed the price with you?”
“Briefly,” The man said, and his demeanor shifted from excited to closed. “I’m to set off provisions for the rebels,”
“Yes,” Leonard smiled. He was glad Laura mentioned it before him, Henrieta had always been the one for sweet talking the customers into an arrangement, Leonard on the other hand, was always the one for actually arranging it. “A man named Kalos will come by every two days to collect, you will give him one third of what you bake,”
The man hesitated with a shaking breath. “One third?” He furrowed his eyebrows. “Laura said a fourth!”
“Ah, a fourth then, Kalos will collect what he’s due to collect. He reports directly to her,” Leonard looked the man up and down. Laura must’ve pitied him. “I’m just the healer,”
“Right, of course.” His eyebrows returned to normal. “This way, then,” The man walked through an archway and into a bedroom. The room smelled musty and stale, the air heavy with the sickly-sweet scent of illness.
“How long has she been here?” Leonard asked, the ‘r’ in the last word hitting a guttural nuance of his Essudari accent.
“About two weeks,” Antoine frowned, reaching for her hand. “She used to be able to sit up, but now she just sleeps,” As if on cue the woman let out a phlegmy cough.
“May I?” Leonard asked, cocking an eyebrow up.
“Yes,”
Leonard placed the back of his hand to her forehead, her skin nipped at his in a stroke of heat. “Hmm,” He grunted to himself. He opened her left eye and inspected it closely. The veins in her eyes ran bright red, and the whites a pinkish color.
“Felix’ cough it looks like,” Leonard sucked at his teeth as a slight cringe etched across his face. “I think we were able to catch it before it progressed too bad,” He lied, although the truth gnawed at him. It was bad, very bad. If any other healer saw this they would have carted her off to the cemetery, but he was no other healer.
“We have?” Antoine smiled, showing his teeth underneath his mustache. “You’re serious!?”
Leonard nodded. He glanced around the room searching for something to distract the portly man. The end table next to the woman appeared to have a thick layer of dust on it. He pondered if Antoine usually had his wife take care of the dusting or if he even knew where he could find something to dust with. In the corner a freshly constructed wardrobe sat, free of dust and trying its best to combat the musty scent with its own aroma of freshly hewn wood. Next to it was a tiny chair. “Could you bring me a cloth?”
“A cloth?” Antoine’s face contorted in a puzzled smile.
“Or a rag, something wet, to cool her forehead.”
“Ah, yes…” He paused for a moment, “I will be back shortly,” his footsteps fading into the adjacent room.
Time was in short supply, but he didn’t need long. Seizing the opportunity, he grabbed the child sized chair from the wardrobe and set it beside the woman. His lanky knees took up more room than the chair could hold.
Gently removing the blanket, he moved his hand up her shirt and over her heart feeling her heartbeat beneath his finger tips, then his other hand onto her forehead. Leonard took a deep breath.Another. A tingling sensation cascaded down his spine, dulling his senses. Three breaths. The energy coarse through veins thickening like molasses. Four. Another surge coursed through him as his breathing became heavy. Five.A final wave of energy, akin to pins and needles, rippled through his arms and out of his hands. He could feel as the energy slowly radiated through her body beneath his palms.
Effortlessly, he readjusted her blanket to its original position, and wiped his now clammy hand on the crisp bedsheet.
Antoine reappeared and rounded the corner with a bunched up rag, dripping with cold water, and handed it to Leonard. He took it, and placed it over her forehead. Opening his satchel, he meticulously dug through it, producing a vial.
“Give her this the next time she wakes up,” Leonard instructed, confidence booming in his voice. “It’s a mix of Anderleaf, to reduce her mucus build up, Paul’s blessing for the irritation in her throat, and a little bit of spirits to make the concoction more bearable.” He deposited the vial into Antoine’s hand, and closed the man’s meaty fingers around it. “Once this has been administered, give her plenty of water.”
“You truly think she will wake up?” Antoine’s voice trembled with hope.
“Oh yes,” Leonard affirmed, his nod accompanied by a smile. “Like I said, we caught it early enough,”
Antoine beamed, and tenderly kissed Leonard on the cheek. “Thank you my friend, thank you!”
“Of course,” Leonard began to step back into their cozy living space once, and caught sight of the boy perched at the table, now shirtless. “Where’s your shirt, little man?” Leonard asked. “You’ll catch a cold,” He added as he mustered a smile. Henrieta would have launched into a ten minute lecture about it had she been there.
“I gave me pa muh shirt for mum,” The boy said, devoid of his father’s distinct accent.
“Ah, a noble sacrifice indeed. Well done,” A sudden wash of dizziness washed over him, causing him to sway precariously, nearly toppling over.
“You okay?” Antoine’s voice carried genuine concern.
“Yes, yes, just need to sit down for a moment, if that’s alright,”
“Certainly!” Antoine boomed, his large frame motioning Leonard to sit on a bench situated across from the child, next to a large window. “You need some water too?”
Leonard’s vision blurred for a moment as a dull ache pulsated through his temples. “Maybe… yes, thank you,” he managed, his voice tinged with vulnerability.
Antoine strode to a cupboard, retrieving a cup before producing a pail filled with water. He scooped water with the cup as he hummed a little tune to himself.
Beyond the window a group of military men walked past. Leonard’s gaze locked on them, his eyes fixating on their distinctive Forterrian attire. The red and black checkered pattern on their gambesons stood out boldly, a vivid contrast to their muted surroundings.
The proud Outerrian lions sat on their left breast, and the Forterrian tri-keys sat on their right. Two keys crossed like swords, and one down the center. Leonard grimaced as the group walked by stirring up heavy unease.
Lost in his thoughts, the sudden clack of the cup on the table startled Leonard, bringing him back to the present. With a polite nod and a smile to Antoine, he picked up the coarse wooden cup.
A small sip to the water, the cool liquid flowed over his tongue providing momentary respite from the dizziness that plagued him, but it didn’t help for long, nothing ever did but time.
Henrieta used to swear up and down that eggs were the fix to healer’s spins, but it was a myth. It’s not like she would have known, the spins and her hardly come into contact.
For just a moment he thought he could hear her laughter. He would have killed to hear her voice again, or to even just see her. Now that laughter was nothing but an echo of a memory. A gnawing ache of loss in the form of a giggle’s ghost.
“What happened to your hands?” Shrill words from the young boy derailed his thoughts as Leonard jumped with a slight start.
“My hands?” Leonard set the cup gently onto the coarse wooden table and turned his palms up revealing a web of scars across his palms. “I fell into a fire when I was a boy, put my hands out to catch myself,” He lied. “That’s why your ‘pa’ tells you not to play in fire,”
“Not that it’d ever stop the little bastard,” Antoine chimed in accompanied by a hearty chuckle. “You’re Essudari, Leonard?”
“Yes,” He nodded.
“Whereabouts?”
Leonard sipped at his water again, the cold flushing through his mouth as the wooden cup poked at his lips, he set it down with a dull thunk. “I was born in Adenosse, I think, but didn’t live there long. My parents died when I was young and I was taken in by a woman from The Freshunt.”
“The Freshunt? Awfully cold up there,”
“Sure is,”
Before the conversation continued any further, an abrupt rapping at Antoine’s door shattered the tranquility of the moment.
“We are here on behalf of his majesty’s Division of Anti-Arcanists, open this door at once!” A commanding voice came from the other side of the door.
Leonard spun dizzley around as he rose from his seat and made his way through Antoine’s poorly lit home, seeking refuge in the room where his wife slept.
“Why would-” Antoine started, but pounding rang from the door once more. He began walking toward the door as Leonard slinked out of sight.
Inside the room where Antoine’s wife slept was a thick silence, broken apart by the occasional cough. Leonard’s gaze fell onto the wardrobe as he hurried his way to the wooden structure, acting on instinct.
He hurriedly maneuvered himself into the narrow confines of the wardrobe, trying and failing to close the doors properly from the inside as his pulse pounded at his temples.
His narrow vision felt as if it was spinning. Leonard nearly resigned from the struggle, when the doors suddenly clattered shut. He looked through the slit between them, and to his surprise the little boy had taken it upon himself to help secure his hiding place.
Was it the innocence of a child that beckoned his intervention, or had the boy recognized the urgency of his situation? He pondered his thoughts silently as he took a deep breath laced with gratitude. Henrieta surely would have had a way out of this one, but Leonard was simply at a loss.
Leaning his head on the sturdy backboard of the wardrobe, Leonard let out a steady sigh, the sound muffled in the cramped space. The confined atmosphere in the wardrobe quickly became suffocating as humidity mingled into the air with his every exhale creating an oppressive sense of claustrophobia.
The muffled voice of August came from the other room. “I am sorry to bother you, however we are here looking for two fugitives, one Henrieta Yarlodd and Leonard Potredevie, have you seen either of these two?” The sound of that voice caused Leonard to wince as his heart beated so fast in his chest, it seemed to have lodged itself in his throat.
Every nerve in his body seemed to jangle viciously, his dulled senses trying to gauge where the impending danger resided. The weight of every second felt agonizingly protracted, as if time itself was helping August weed him out of the wardrobe.
It felt as if every heartbeat would be his last, that the sweat dripping from his forehead was about to drown him, that the muggy air in the wardrobe desperately wanted to suffocate him.
“No, never heard of ‘em,” Antoine’s voice sounded. Relief was quickly drowned out by the relentlessness August was known for.
“That so?” August asked, his voice dripping with skepticism.
“It is,”
“We’ve reason to believe he’s here, if you don’t mind we’ll be taking a look around,” August’s voice rang out with a chilling undertone of horror.
“I-” Antoine started, but was quickly cut off. The squeaky leather of the archies’ uniforms grated against the silence of the house.
“You check the kitchen, I’ll check out this room,” August stated, his voice growing closer with each word. Stomp, squeak, death. Stomp, squeak, death, The rhythm of the footprints became etched into Leonard’s mind as the final thought he would ever have.
August’s very presence filled the room, the pattern of his footsteps haunting every inch of the space. Peering through the slender crack of the wardrobe, Leonard strained his eyes to catch any glimpse of the man. He could make out the black leather uniform he wore, and a glimpse of his pointed red hair striking a stark contrast from his dark attire.
As August’s piercing eyes scanned the room, Leonard felt another trace of sweat carve a slow, agonizing path down the nape of his neck. “Who is this?” He asked, his gaze fixed upon Antoine’s wife.
“That’s… that’s my wife, Imogene, she’s sick with Felix’ cough, please let her rest,” Antoine’s voice filled with desperation.
“Your wife is sick?” August asked. “Hmm,” Stomp, squeak, death. Leonard’s heart continued its erratic beating. Through the narrow opening, he watched as August moved towards the bed, his presence becoming veiled from his sight. Squeaking of leather rang through the room as August inspected the scene before him.
Antoine’s stern voice punctured through the silence, “Surely if this Leonard is here, he’s not under her bed,”
“He’s a crafty bastard,” August muttered. The leather of his uniform squeaked as he moved. The ominous cadence of his footsteps grew closer to the wardrobe. Stomp, squeak - death came in the form of an archie and his determined stride.
The crack in the wardrobe door widened slightly as August’s face invaded Leonard’s sanctuary. His body tensed as he prepared for his moment of reckoning.
If August had spotted him, he offered no indication, leaving Leonard to wonder if he’d somehow escaped detection, or if August was simply toying with him. The air was horrifically tense, each passing moment pregnant with the possibility of detection, or betrayal.
An eruption of coughs from Imogene cut through the tense air, causing August to jump. With a sudden clatter the wardrobe’s doors slammed shut, the sound reverberating through the wardrobe.
In the midst of Imogene’s cough came an unintelligible mutter. Antoine rushed to her side, “Imogene my dear!”
“Whos-a-wha,” She croaked, her voice barely audible through the barrier of the wardrobe.
“Drink this, please!” He uncorked the vial and poured it into her mouth. “Oh my darling, I’ve longed for your voice!” He swooned with an intense mixture of joy and adoration.
August’s attention fixed on the both of them as he straightened his collar. He cleared his throat as his eyes darted between Antoine and Imogene. “Nothing in here, captain!” One of the other archies rang out, “Just some kid,”
August turned away, dismissing the room as devoid of Leonard’s presence. “Very well, Aever must’ve had some bad information. We’ll head back to the inn, see if he already left town,” He took a quick, stern glance at Antoine. “I don’t think I need to remind you the price for helping arcanists,”
“I would never,” Antoine said, his words resolute.
“Right,” August replied with a curt nod. With a series of determined stomps and a symphony of squeaks, August returned to the outdoors, and out of Leonard’s hair.
The wardrobe doors opened with a jolt as he stumbled forward in a dizzy stupor, his world still spinning from healing Imogene.
“Ah, the wardrobe, that’s clever,” Antoine smiled.
“It wouldn’t have been that clever if your son didn’t have the presence of mind to shut the doors,” Leonard replied as he fumbled into the chair next to the wardrobe.
“He’s a quick thinker, that one. I don’t care what everyone else says,” The boy came into the room after seeing the archies gone, his youthful curiosity unabated.
“Is mum gonna be okay?” He asked, the boy’s voice piercing through Leonard’s weary mind.
“I think so, yes,” Leonard looked at her still form. “If she woke up earlier, then she’ll be fine,”
“She did!” Antoine boomed with a laugh. “That ginger ate it up too! ‘oh my darling I’ve longed for your voice’!” He mimicked. Leonard let out a half hearted chuckle. “You alright?”
“Yeah, yeah, just…” He wiped sweat from his forehead. “Didn’t think I’d make it out of that,”
“Well, us Essudari gotta stick together, don’t we?” He smiled.
Leonard looked the man in the eyes. “That we do,” Henrieta would have liked this man, and she would have liked even more that Leonard saved his wife. He imagined how differently things would have gone had she still been with him. How she would have hidden, if she would have tried to bribe Antoine, or rely on his kindness. She could always think things through. Leonard preferred to take his chances with things, on people, and live in the moment. When Henrieta was alive, it was quite the balance they struck, but now? Not so much.
ns18.227.111.48da2
