Authors: Leslie Ann Moore
As Gran opened her mouth to reply, the infirmary door swung open to admit Magnes. Jelena’s cousin crossed the room in five long strides, a broad grin on his face.
“Ashi, you’re awake! When did this happen?”
“Just a short time ago,” Gran answered. “What brings you back to the yard so soon? It seems like you’ve only just left.”
“I came back to tend Mistress de Guera—she’s down with one of her headaches.” He pulled a chair around to the side of the bed and straddled it. “I’ve got some news,” he said, looking at Gran and lowering his voice. “I’ve set the plan into motion. Your mistress has agreed to finance the mobile clinic for the Eskleipans. Construction will begin within the week. I estimate it’ll take about two weeks total for the entire project, including provisioning.”
“This is very good,” Gran said, nodding enthusiastically, but her expression soon darkened. “Two weeks. Not a lot of time, yet too much, considering the stakes,”
“What are you two talking about?” Ashinji looked puzzled.
“Escape, Ashi,” Gran said. “We’ve been working on a plan while you’ve been sleeping.” Briefly, Magnes related the details.
“I’ll just have to be ready,” Ashinji declared. He paused. “What about Aruk-cho?” He rolled his head to the side, directing the question to Gran. He did not worry the yardmaster would betray them at the last moment; rather, he feared the akuta would extend his assistance to the point where his position at the yard would be jeopardized. The very last thing Ashinji wanted was to see Aruk-cho ruined.
“Aruk-cho will be ready. All he needs is a few hours’ warning,” Gran replied. “If you’re concerned about him getting into any trouble, don’t be. I promised to shield him and I can.”
“Are we really leaving here and going to Alasiri?” Tense with excitement, Seijon’s voice piped a little too loud in the afternoon stillness of the infirmary.
“Hush, child!” Gran scolded. “You can’t speak about any of this! All our lives depend on secrecy. If the mistress were to find out…”
“She won’t from me,” Seijon promised solemnly.
“Gran, I trust Seijon completely,” Ashinji said. He smiled at the hikui boy and received a grin in return.
“Two weeks, then,” Magnes repeated. “Now, let me check your wounds, Ashi.”
With Gran’s assistance, Ashinji rolled onto his side and lay as still as he could while Magnes unbound and examined his wounds. Even though Magnes probed as gently as he could, Ashinji found it impossible not to flinch. After Magnes had declared himself satisfied, he re-bound Ashinji’s torso with clean bandages.
“Are you hungry?” Gran asked. “I can send Seijon to the kitchen for some soup, that is, if you think you can handle it.”
Ashinji shook his head. The mere thought of food caused his stomach to roil in rebellion. “No, not just yet,” he whispered. “I think I need to sleep for awhile longer.”
“Have some tea, then, at least,” Gran insisted. “You need the moisture.” Ashinji nodded in assent and Seijon scampered off to fetch the tea.
The sounds of late afternoon drifted in through the open windows. Voices raised in animated conversation, the bleat of a goat, the dull
clack, clack
of wooden practice blades striking against each other—all served as a reminder to Ashinji that life in the de Guera yard went on essentially unchanged, and it mattered not a whit whether he lived or died.
He felt grateful to be alive.
Seijon returned shortly, carrying a tray laden with a teapot and four cups. Gran stood up, took the tray from his hands, and set it on a small table beside Ashinji’s bed.
“I’ll stay with you, Ashi, while you sleep. I’ll be right here the whole time,” Seijon declared, flopping down in the chair recently vacated by Gran.
“I feel much better, knowing that you’ll be watching over me, Little Brother.” Ashinji’s heart once again swelled with affection for the boy.
“The patient is in good hands, it seems,” Magnes said, winking at Gran, who tried her best to look disapproving, but failed dismally.
“Child, you’ve been sitting by Ashi’s bed for three days straight!” she exclaimed. “When was the last time you ate anything, eh? When was the last time I ate anything for that matter?” she muttered as she poured the tea.
“I’m not hungry,” Seijon responded, “an’ I’m not leaving.” His voice rang with youthful defiance.
“Huh! Suit yourself, monkey!” Gran’s eyes flashed, then softened. “I’ll go to the kitchen later and bring you a little something anyway. You can eat it or not; I don’t care.” Even in his bleary state, Ashinji could tell Gran cared very much.
With Gran’s assistance, Ashinji drank almost a full cup of the lightly sweetened herb tea, then lay his head back on the lumpy, moss-stuffed pillow. The room grew soft and fuzzy around its edges.
Just before he slipped into sleep, an image of Jelena appeared before his mind’s eye. She looked up sharply, as if startled, and her lips shaped his name.
He tried to answer, but he hadn’t the strength.
Bid For Freedom
"Hee hee! It’s grand, Tilo, just grand!”
Brother Wambo made no attempt to contain his glee. He performed an impromptu jig, his skinny arms and legs flailing like a manic scarecrow come to sudden, comical life.
Laughing, Magnes exclaimed, “Brother Wambo, if I had known you could dance like that, I would have suggested the temple put on recitals as fund raisers!”
The new Eskleipan mobile infirmary had been delivered that morning from the wagon makers’ yard, and all the inhabitants of the temple had gathered in the rear courtyard to admire the order’s latest project for serving the poor.
“Brother Tilo, we have you to thank for this marvelous thing,” Father Ndoma wheezed, his rheumy eyes squinting against the midday sun. In the harsh light, the old man’s skin looked like ancient leather stretched taut over a frame of sticks. The head of the Eskleipan Order had been unwell for several months, and it had lately become obvious that he would not last out the summer.
“I appreciate your kind words, Father, but the person we ought to be thanking is Armina de Guera. It was her gold that paid for this wagon,” Magnes replied.
Father Ndoma nodded. “Yes, yes, of course. We shall send a formal letter to the good lady expressing our gratitude.” A fit of coughing wracked his frail body and sent him sagging into the arms of Jouma the chirugeon and Ayeesha the midwife. Wambo shot Magnes a worried look.
“Perhaps you’d better go inside out of the sun, Father,” Magnes suggested. The rainy season had not quite ended, but already the days waxed warmer as spring took firm hold of the land.
“Ayeesha and I will escort you, Father,” Jouma said, gently taking the old man’s elbow. Together, he and the midwife steered their leader back toward the cool interior of the temple.
After the three had disappeared inside, Magnes turned to Wambo and said, “He grows weaker by the day.”
“Ndoma and I came to Darguinia together,” Wambo replied, voice heavy with sorrow. “So many years have gone by since, so many people have passed through our doors…. Some we could heal, others we could not. For those whom our skills were not enough, at the very least, we helped to ease their passage to the other side. Now, the time draws near when I will ease my old friend’s passage and take up his mantle of leadership.”
“Everyone here has complete faith in you, Brother,” Magnes responded with heartfelt sincerity. He recalled the day when he had first arrived at the temple of Eskleipas, his spirit withering beneath the crushing weight of depression born out of guilt. Wambo and his people had offered him a haven, a place where he could, in time, come to terms with what he’d done and perhaps find absolution through helping others. During his time as an Eskleipan Brother, Magnes had managed to ease his tormented soul, and if he did not feel entirely at peace, he felt as near to it as possible.
“I can have the infirmary stocked and ready to roll in two days, three at the most,” he said. “Fadili and I have had time to make plans, so we know exactly what we’ll need. I bought a map of the local area in a shop near the palace, so I think it’s fairly accurate…I’ve marked the outlying villages we’ll stop at. I estimate we’ll be able to stay out two to three weeks at a time.”
Wambo nodded as Magnes spoke, thoughtfully tapping his strong white teeth with the tip of a forefinger.
“Hmm, yes. Excellent. You and Fadili will both be missed, of course, but this is important work! Jouma will have to resume the contract work with the yards. Hmm, we’ll be spread a little thin…. Perhaps it’s time for a recruitment drive!” He slapped Magnes on the shoulder and grinned.
Magnes sighed. He felt torn between his desire to admit to Wambo the other use to which he would put the infirmary and his instinct to protect everyone at the temple. He hated the fact that he had to deceive his friend, but in the end, it was far safer that no one else in the temple besides Fadili should know the truth.
He glanced up at the hazy sky. “Speaking of the yards, it’s time I was getting over to de Guera’s. They’ve got at least five matches today, so I’m expecting a lot of injuries.”
The rest of the temple folk had returned to their duties, leaving Magnes and Wambo alone in the sunny courtyard. Magnes started toward the temple pharmacy where he kept his supply bag. Wambo fell in beside him.
“How is your friend the elf doing?” the old man asked.
“He is much better,” Magnes replied. “The elves are a tough race. I don’t know if a human could’ve survived the kind of wound Ashinji did. He is healing remarkably fast.”
“That is good to hear.” Wambo paused for a moment before continuing. “Tilo, when you first came to us, I sensed you were a young man in trouble. I have never asked you to reveal anything about yourself or your past, nor am I asking now.” He halted, and fixed Magnes with a discerning eye. “Whatever the circumstances that brought you to us, I am glad. I am glad that you became our brother.”
Magnes’ breath caught in his throat.
It sounds like Wambo is saying goodbye, as if he somehow knows I intend to leave and won’t be back. But…how could he know?
Until this very moment, in fact, Magnes himself had no idea he wanted to leave Darguinia for good, but now he realized that it had been his intention all along. He shifted nervously from foot to foot. Overhead, doves cooed and rustled in the eaves. A cloud drifted over the face of the sun, plunging the world into cool shadow. The wind began to gust and the smell of rain infused the air.
“I’d better get going,” Magnes said. Wambo nodded and turned to head back the way they’d come. Magnes watched him go, a deceptively fragile old man with a core made of the strongest steel. He would miss Wambo, and all the others at the temple who had come to mean so much to him, but something had changed. It took Wambo’s uncanny perception to bring it to the fore so Magnes would acknowledge it.
The time had come for him to return home to Amsara and face what he’d done. Thessalina deserved to know what had really happened, and Duke Teodorus’ spirit deserved the peace that the telling of the true story of his death would provide.
“Tilo, there you are!” Fadili called out, hurrying over to the pharmacy door where Magnes stood, thinking. “It’s getting late. We should go over to the de Guera yard now. The first matches are nearly over.”
“I was just getting my things,” Magnes replied. Hinges squealed as he pushed open the weathered wood door and stepped inside to retrieve his bag. Re-emerging, he smiled at the younger man and said, “Let’s go.”
~~~
“Everything’s ready, my friend,” Magnes said in a low voice.
“I’m ready as well,” Ashinji replied. Fighters, not so injured that they couldn’t walk but requiring Magnes’ services anyway, were trickling into the infirmary. “Let’s go outside,” Ashinji suggested.
Magnes nodded and called to Fadili. The young Eskleipan, who squatted over a female slave’s leg examining a nasty gash, looked up, eyebrows raised. “I’m going outside for a bit. Can you handle things?” Fadili flipped his hand dismissively, as if to say the question need not have been asked.
Magnes chuckled. “Fadili is turning out to be a fine healer. He really doesn’t need my supervision anymore.”
“I can see that,” Ashinji replied.
The two men stepped out of the infirmary into the cool of the blustery afternoon. The wind ruffled Magnes’ brown curls and sent loose tendrils of Ashinji’s blond hair whipping about his angular face.
Ashinji grew stronger with each passing day, but he was still far from total recovery. He tired easily and his wounds continued to give him a great deal of pain. The flight from Darguinia would be very hard on him and Magnes worried the effort might prove too much. Still, what choice did they have?
“Let’s walk over to the women’s barracks. Gran’s waiting,” Ashinji said, his voice catching a little as he spoke. He grimaced and rubbed his side.
“Ashi, we can wait another week if you need to,” Magnes suggested, keenly aware of the pain his friend tried to conceal.
“No, we can’t,” Ashinji replied, shaking his head. “If we wait much longer, it will be too late. Gran tells me she can feel the power of the Nameless One growing swiftly, even this far south. No, we must go now.”
They reached the shelter of the women’s barracks just as the first fat raindrops speckled the sand beneath their feet. Ashinji called out in Siri-dar, and a few moments later, Gran emerged from the dim interior of the long, low building. A frown deepened the creases at the corners of her mouth.