Chapter 53: A Long Year

Chapter 53: A Long Year

Beyond the palisade, West Town looked like any small village. Lamplight illuminated a single main street, then darkened in the mouths of the few alleys. Eli's sparks mostly saw one-story timber-framed buildings, though a few of them boasted lofted roofs. A handful of two-story buildings stood farther along, and a stone dome dominated the center of the village, clearly built in a previous era.

Before Ehrat Break melted.

Before the war and the warding.

Before the concomitances and the angelbrood.

The village looked safe though, at least now the brigands were broken. Definitely safer than crossing the rest of the way to the Weep.

Which meant it looked like a good place to leave Lara while Eli did ... whatever he ended up doing.

He walked beside Fern, taking absent note of the diminished saddlebags. The bandits had stolen anything that took their fancy. At least Lara would have chance to reclaim her stuff: a dozen villagers were in the bandit camp right then, collecting their dead--and sacks of grain, haunches of deer, anything edible or useful or valuable.

Other villagers stood atop the palisade, peering into the night, alert for danger. Eli had told Arcuro, Gertrud, and Winina what he'd learned from Bo, that the bandits were gone for at least a few days.

Still, they worried. And Eli didn't blame them. That wasn't the kind of you wanted to be wrong about.

Also, Winina had repeated that there were other worse things than bandits. "Like the witch's 'risen'."

At her words, Gertrud had made the sign of the angel.

Eli had almost asked for details about the witch, the mercenaries, and the lady. But the townsfolk were exhausted and grieving and hurt. It wasn't the time. He would've helped them search the camp, too--the sparks covered a lot of ground--but Arcuro had insisted on leading him and Lara to the tavern.

Insisted a little too strongly, maybe, but Eli figured that he'd needed to salve his pride. To repay the town's debt, or at least to take a step in that direction. And Eli had had a hard time saying no to that, especially if his choices were between a warm ale and a pile of corpses.

The sparks circled Eli, checking the shadows. The blacksmith shop looked vacant, but Fern brayed at the horses in the stables next door. A handful of homes with kitchen gardens struck him more abandoned than merely empty, as did a handful of shops.

Arcuro led them past an office with a sign reading 'Olives,' that fronted a wide, low warehouse. Three villagers talked in low voices nearby, loading the broken body of a woman--the one launched by the catapult--onto a cart.

When Eli paused to watch, his anger ran cold instead of hot.

Lara must've noticed, because she took his arm. She said a prayer in dryn, though he missed most of the words. Then, still in dryn, she said, "The woman knows your name."

Eli grunted in understanding. She meant that's why she'd called him 'Meek.' Because Lady Brazinka might remember the name 'Eli,' as the Head Clerk's assistant. She might make the connection between this Eli and that one. Which might endanger his sister--or even the other junior scribes. He didn't see how, but better safe than grieving.

He followed Acuro along the main street for another minute, and a cry sounded from beyond the spark's field of vision. Eli's shoulders dropped in readiness and his core poured weight into the sparks--but the cry turned immediately anguished.

A moment later, a spark peered around a corner to a tiny town square with a big olive tree, where the bald man knelt beside the body of his son, holding his hand.

"Please," Arcuro said, ushering them onward. "This way, mirs. There's the inn."

Didn't take long to get there. A shingle above the door swayed in the night breeze. Carvings of olive branches twined around the name: The Crush.

"The girl will see to your donkey," Arcuro told them.

The girl looked about eight years old, but she took Fern's lead with authority. She didn't seem to notice that Eli was wearing bloodstained rags. Maybe she'd seen that too often to care.

Eli grabbed the satchel and Lara pulled a few things from the saddlebag. Then the girl headed around back while Arcuro led Eli and Lara into what looked more like a tavern than an inn: a bar, a handful of tables, a wide hearth, few skint boards. Exactly the same as any other small-town tavern, except for the bowls of olives on every table.

And the emptiness. They were the only people there.

Everyone else was standing watch or scavenging in the bandit camp ... or tending to the dead.

"Hot water will take some time," Arcuro said, apologetically. "But there's a room with a bath upstairs, and I'll fill that in two shakes, if you don't mind cold."

"Fine." She turned away from him. "I'm fine. I'm okay."

He ate another olive. "You think I shouldn't be fine. You think I shouldn't be okay with what I did."

"That's not true."

"Isn't it?"

"I--maybe." She turned back to him. "Maybe I think that should've shaken you up more. Chivat Lo didn't care. Nothing affected him. Don't become him, E--Meek. Promise me that you'll never become him."

"I don't know what I'll become." He took her small, calloused hand across the table. "But I promise you this. None of that happened because I don't care."

She blinked away tears. "I was so scared."

"Me too."

"Liar."

"I was!"

"Until you started laughing." She shivered. "That didn't sound like you."

He squeezed her hand. "I'm sorry I frightened you."

"Well, I mean, you did save ten people's lives. And lifted the seige of the town, which probably saved all their lives. So it's not the worst thing that--would you stop that?"

"Stop what?"

"Eating olive pits."

"Oh!" He hadn't realized he was doing it. "But they're so crunchy."

She gave a tiny laugh, and some of the shakiness faded from her eyes. "You're such a hedgehead."

"To hedgeheads," he said, raising his tankard in a toast.

She raised hers, and they drank in companionable silence. Companionable, if not entirely comfortable for Eli, at least not after he started wondering at his reaction--his lack of reaction--to slaughtering that many bandits. He did feel unclean, but only in a bodily way. Sticky and reeking, sure. Yet horrible images didn't assail his mind every time he closed his eyes. He didn't have the urge to pray to the Chained Angel to wash his sins away. Halo, his soul didn't feel any more stained than it had that morning, and--

"Bath is ready, mirs!" Arcuro announced, tromping downstairs to the common room.

"Thank you," Lara said, rising.

Eli grabbed the bowl of olives and did likewise.

When they reached the stairs, Lara said, "Oh, Arcuro, one thing?"

"Of course."

She tilted her head. "There's something wrong in town, isn't there? Something other than the bandits."

"In town? No, well, that is ... " He scrubbed his curly hair, and his expression grew troubled. "We've had a long year. A ... long year. Please, eat and sleep and--let us give you a night of peace. Please. It's a paltry repayment for the debt we owe, but it's all we can offer."

"There's nothing paltry about a night of peace," Eli said.

Arcuro smiled his thanks, but the smile didn't reach his eyes.