Homecoming
Once
back at the house, Zarnian allowed herself to breathe slightly. After finally
rescuing Timmuth, she had grabbed Kirby and Hank to escort her while shopping
for what Timmuth would need. Other preparations for his return were in place.
Her room was clean, scoured the night before with rags and sand to remove any
smoke or char. Scrubbing the soot had done little to erase the stain of G’tol’s
blood from her hands. It needed to be done, but she loathed it. She thought she
could offer G’tol purpose and salvation through honest work. She had been horribly
wrong, and it had cost too many good people their lives. She would not allow it
again.
“Where
do you want this?” Hank’s words drew her from her thoughts. Hank stood at her
side, struggling with enough fluffy bedding to devour him.
“On
the cot,” she replied, “and those can go on the table,” she stated, pointing
Kirby to relieve him of the bag he carried, overflowing with clothing and other
goods for Timmuth. “Thank you for the escort. We shall see you at the food
table in a few moments. Who was on cooking detail tonight?”
“Claremont,”
Kirby answered quickly.
Zarnian
allowed herself a soft smile. “Thank the souls in the Grey. Yesterday it was
Scott’s turn, and while he has many talents, making edible food is not one of
them.” Both Kirby and Hank laughed, nodding their agreement.
“Yeah,
if they ever retire it will have to be Jean that does the cooking and Scott
that does the…”
Zarnian
cleared her throat loudly, interrupting Kirby’s next words. When he froze, Zarnian
tilted her head down to indicate Timmuth’s presence in the group. During his
slavery, the boy had gained the ability to be unnoticed. “See you at the table,” she said to the two
guards.
Hearing her
unspoken order, both of them shuffled out, leaving Zarnian with her new ward.
Timmuth held his pillow and blanket carefully, afraid to wrinkle them as if she
would beat him for it. Gently, she took his physical burdens from him, setting
it on her own spartan cot. Her own bed was minimal, as she only used it when
she had relations with Trakas and every third night to sleep. She had splurged
on bedding for the boy; a touch of comfort to offset his recent misery. He just
stood there, pale, his eyes downcast as if unaware that all the shopping and
commotion were for him.
Zarnian’s heart
rose into her throat with a duality of emotions. She felt immense love for
Timmuth. However, she also felt terror. She’d never raised a child. This was
not something she drilled into her body for hours a day over the course of
years that came freely and naturally like wielding her spear. Desperately, she
wondered what Carn would have done. Then, she realized that he would laugh at
her. He would have thought it hilarious that after all she had faced and
conquered in her life, she would be timid about raising a child.
With this new
resolve helping steel her, she kneeled down to Timmuth’s eye level. It was
difficult to keep her face calm and neutral. His nose had been broken at least three
weeks before – there was little she could do to help it now. His left ear had
swollen and deformed from being cuffed repeatedly. On the way to the room she
had seen the lash marks on his neck poking out from his rough tunic on his
neck. “Strip to your underwrappings, Timmuth,” said the mul in her gentlest
tone. Moving to her desk, she began mixing the medicine components she’d
purchased – fine soft clay, aloe, a few calendula flowers, and goldenseal oil. A
quantity of water allowed her to make it into a soft paste. Timmuth peeled off
his tunic, flinching. His back and upper legs were a mass of lash marks in
various stages of healing, some fresh. Scabs removed with his clothing started
bleeding again. Pouring water into a shallow bowl, she started gently using a
soft cloth to wash his wounds. She could feel his little body shake slightly
with pain as he tried to hold it inside. “I am sorry for everything,” she found
herself saying. “I swear to you that I will protect you and raise you. I am
never letting you go, or be torn from my arms again.” Once the wounds were
washed, she carefully started coating his lashes in her mixture. “This will
sooth the pain and assist the healing of your wounds. It should feel cool and a
bit numb.” Once it was done, she wrapped his back and chest in bandages, then
handed him new clothing. As he dressed, she appraised him. He’d grown in the
month he’d been gone, she noted. And he had lost weight. She strongly suspected
that beatings were not his only punishment; he’d likely been starved. “Are you
hungry?” she asked.
Timmuth nodded.
“Yes, Zarnian,” he answered in a way that made ‘Zarnian’ sound too much like
‘master’ for her tastes.
Taking his hand in
hers, grabbing her spear in the other she led him across the street to the table,
where several of her guards were already sitting, eating and laughing. Grabbing
two bowls of stew and two flatbreads, she sat Timmuth between she and Hank,
handing the boy his food. At their arrival, a bit of the jovial chatter
quieted. To Zarnian, it was not an indication of fear or disrespect, but more
likely they were discussing Marjoram and what they would like to do, something
that Zarnian did not want discussed around Timmuth. Instead she said, “So who is
betting on Barok?”
“Who isn’t betting
on Barok?” demanded Bobby, narrowing his eyebrows as he scoured the table.
“Wait, let me pretend I’m Scott.” He placed two fingers above each eye to
create wooly brows he moved up and down. Everyone laughed, including Scott, who
flicked a piece of flatbread at his fellow guard. As the chatter quickly
resumed around Barok’s fight and how badly he would crush Bonesnapper before he
won, and how much people stood to win. After forgetting Zarnian was there, it
flowed to how much moonshine was stored in Kirby and Clairmont’s room for the post
fight celebration. It was noted with pride by the pair of archers that the
hooch now had a smoky flavor due to the fire and porous ceramics that made it
the most palatable set yet. Listening with a half an ear, she looked down at
Timmuth. He also seemed to be listening, but not looking. Instead, he had
inhaled his food, carefully soaking up the last dregs of broth with his
flatbread. Taking a few bites of her stew so she wouldn’t be weak during
Barok’s fight the next day, Zarnian switched her bowl for Timmuth’s without
warning, handing him the rest of her bread. At first, Timmuth just stared at
it, his face slightly unreadable. “Eat,” she commanded, softly.
At this, he
finally looked up at her, searching her face for the answer to some question.
“Bay says that Athas is hard, and I need to be hard.”
Before she could
fully formulate an answer, she answered simply, “Well, I say that you’re skinny
and you need to eat. Are you still hungry?” His cheeks blushed in shame. “Then
eat until you’re full.” A soft smile encouraged him, until he finally finished
the second bowl as well. As he finished, she asked, “How is everyone’s training
progressing?”
Claremont spoke
for the group. “Zarnian, you never need to tell us again to cross train and
drill. We survived this attack because of you drilling training into us.”
This made her
swell with pride. “Timmuth will start training with us, soon. First, he heals
and gets his strength back.” Turning to him, she asked, “tired?”
Timmuth shook his
head but his eyes were drooping. She stood, but as Timmuth stood to follow her
Hank reached down into his satchel. “Hey, what’s this?” He pulled out two
pieces of candied cactus, wrapped in a thin leaf wrapper. “These would just go
to waste with me.” He held them out to Timmuth. After a quick glance to Zarnian
he took them, muttered a ‘thank you’ and followed her. As she left, she heard
Bobby tease, “Way to brown nose, Hank.” Hank’s voice had no maliciousness in it
when he replied, “You didn’t see him in that place, or see what they did to
him. He’s a different kid, Bobby. Besides, this is the happiest I’ve seen
Zarnian.”
She politely
pretended that she heard none of the exchange, as she walked away. For tonight,
she’d asked Trakas to sleep elsewhere, so the first night the boy could adjust
to his room without the Druid’s presence. Easily, Zarnian made his bed. Though
it was early, she doubted he had slept well in a month. “You need to get some rest,”
she coaxed. “I have a big surprise for you.” At this, his eyebrows shot up in
slight horror. Realizing that surprises were most likely less than welcome, she
decided to reveal “Tomorrow you and I are going be able to go in the pits with
Barok and wait with him, then we can watch his match from the gate.”
At this
revelation, Timmuth smiled for the first time. Traces of the boy she had known
from her old life in Nibenay flashed for an instant before they were gone again.
Still, if there were embers, she knew she could breathe life into them. “Zarnian?”
“Yes?”
“Please don’t
leave me.”
“I will not. I am
going to stay up, and watch over you.”Those words said, she jiggled the blanket
in her hands until Timmuth laid down on the bed. Covering him, she bent over
and kissed his forehead.
“Zarnian?”
“Yes?”
“You don’t have to
kiss my head like I’m a baby. I am nine years old now.”
Fighting off a
smile, she replied, “Well, things are going to be different with me than they
were with Bay. That means you will have to suffer getting an occasional hug, or
kiss on the forehead, or some such indignity.”
The boy thought
about this for a moment before nodding. He closed his eyes and fell quickly
into sleep. Zarnian watched over him as, the ghost of her own mentor watched
over her.
No comments:
Post a Comment