Chapter 18: Considering

Chapter 18: Considering

Tuvos, Day 8 of Melia

Eclipse of Thyxia

Year 602

The best storytellers have lived through terrible things,

and the best singers know well the songs of others.

—The Facerum

Repht clutched at her heavy basket and squinted up into the midday sun.

One half of the sky was heavy and dark with rain clouds, and there seemed to be a peculiar charge to the air. She needed to make it to the temple and back before the storm broke.

Her little home stood on the outskirts of Daitak City. It was just close enough to the markets to be convenient but far enough to be out of heavy traffic and the chaos and shouting so characteristic of city life.

It was in disrepair, she noticed for the hundredth time. Part of the roof needed to be patched, and cobbles showed through the cob on the outer walls. The path hadn’t been swept in weeks.

But the inside was clean and comfortable, if small.

The lady’s grace next to her front door had grown into a monstrous, bushy thing and the heavy breeze tugged at it, releasing its sweet, calming fragrance. Her bloodbloom, likewise, had grown exponentially and needed to be cut back. Repht could see where the new branches had sprouted, fresh and bright green juxtaposed against the dark woodiness of the older growth.

Impulsively, she picked a few blooms and added them to the bounty in her woven basket. She’d loaded it high with valley posy and roadweed, and the piles of stems and leaves bounced precariously until she pressed them down more firmly.

She’d seen Hodric the night before. He’d invited her to dinner at one of his friends’ estates.

Repht had been self-conscious about what to wear, but Hodric had bought her a gown or two since they’d met, and he’d told her one of those would do very well. She’d worn the light green, though privately she’d wondered if that was an appropriate choice for the weather they were having as it was long-sleeved.

But Hodric had told her she looked like spring itself.

The divider she’d carefully and slowly woven out of green branches wasn’t strong, but it was enough to keep deer and other pests from her garden.

She examined her heart as she left the fenced yard.

Her father had told her when she was young that she would meet someone that made her heart beat fast, someone who would understand her without her even needing to speak. Young Repht had professed trepidation about courtship in general, but Mina had told his daughter gently that she would simply know. She’d know.

Repht sighed. She didn’t know.

It was a smart match, and Hodric seemed to like her. She was older now. It wasn’t about feelings—it was about survival.

She wondered what her father might have to say about the man.

“Seems a little old,” Mina would say.

She smiled.

“He’s kind, though,” she found herself explaining to him. “He takes me to wonderful places, and I always feel safe with him.”

“But any man can feed you,” Mina would protest. “Do you love him?”

Repht laughed at the ridiculousness of the question. “It doesn’t matter, Father,” she said. “I’m sick. I’m damaged.”

She’d turned out into the lane and was on the dusty path into Daitak. She carefully stepped around a few stray stones and a twig or two. She glanced up at the sky—the road would be a much worse mess after this storm if she was correct.

“It’s not about love,” she added after a moment.

But her father stared up at her through his eyebrows in that way he had. “Whatever else it might be, it had better be about love most of all. If there is no love, do not proceed.”

She sighed and looked away in frustration.

“Darling,” her father said gently.

“What do you know?” she spat at him with a deep fury that surprised her. “You left. Before you were finished teaching me. Before I even knew who I was! And with my—troubles, my… my illness, I can’t count on anyone’s interest in me.”

He seemed sad, but didn’t answer.

“This man may be the best that comes along for me,” she added more quietly. “ I think it is folly not to entertain him.”

Mina shrugged. “You know your heart best,” he conceded. “I only want for you to be happy.”

“Then come back!”

Repht realized she had spoken the words aloud and one of the city guards was staring strangely at her. She’d just breached the south city gate.

“Pardon,” she murmured to him, sketching a curtsy. “Just—thinking.”

The man seemed to accept this and she moved on.

“If you wanted a say over what happened to me, you shouldn’t have left,” she muttered, feeling an irrational desire to have the last word in this theoretical conversation she was having with a dead man.

But it didn’t matter. Mina was gone.

There were temples to the Divine Pantheon all over Daitak, but the one on the south side of the city stood but a few lanes over from the city gate. Repht turned right, following the curve of the road.

The flowers in her basket gave off a sweet fragrance and Repht found herself inhaling to instil a sense of comfort.

Calm, steady lines of people filed in and out of the temple.

It was common to visit the place and pray at any time and for any purpose, but the flow of people seemed a little heavier today. Probably due to the eclipse of Thyxia tonight, she told herself.

Repht couldn’t be certain that other places kept to these customs, but she knew that at least for the people of Daitak, changes in the celestial bodies meant that the Pantheon was speaking to humanity. Almost everyone could agree that it was probably prudent to listen.

She joined the throngs of people.

A mother near her held tightly to the hands of her two small children, admonishing them to be quiet, and Repht felt that familiar ache in her chest. She wanted to bear children dearly, but didn’t even know if it was possible—didn’t know if she would survive the childbirth let alone survive the rearing of them.

Some around her were empty handed, but others around her bore offerings as she did. It was common for worshippers to bring candles to burn, or incense, or herbs. It was even popular to bring food.

The steps up into the temple were shallow and spaced far from each other—easy for old people—and sick people, Repht thought bitterly, to mount.

Large and imposing, the building itself was wrought of simple block and cobbed where needed. The huge double doors were propped open, and the smoke of incense and cooked food wafted out through the top.

When she reached the top step, Repht turned for a moment to peer down the street. There was enough elevation here that she could see easily down the main road and a few lanes beyond, but it was by no means a prized vantage point in the city. That would be in Daitak Capital. The best view was reserved for the emperor himself.

Turning, Repht let herself into the temple of the Divine Pantheon. It had turned cloudy outside quickly, so her eyes didn’t need to adjust too much before she was able to make out the shadowy visages of the gods.

The queue was no longer applicable once the worshippers were inside, and Repht went to Calumn first. He was immense, nearly reaching the ceiling, and carved of stone. He gazed straight before him and over the heads of his people, the handsome face and flowing hair strong and passive. His hands were outstretched before him, palms up, as if receiving something.

“Calumn, I honor you,” Repht whispered. She dropped a spray of bloodbloom at his carved stone feet. “I seek wisdom on this day, the eclipse of Thyxia. I am courting a man.”

The rest of what she had planned to say stuck in her throat. There seemed nothing left to explain. “I seek wisdom,” she repeated dumbly. She stood there for a while, listening to the murmured prayers of the people around her, picturing each prayer floating up to the Pantheon to be considered and answered in its time.

She turned away from Calumn and approached Bipel, the Goddess of Spring.

The icon was not quite as tall as Calumn, but she was still formidable. Her long hair had been carved into coarse, individual strands, which were then adorned with little stone butterflies and insects. Some of the tiny creatures had been painted a metallic-looking wash made of mica; the effect was magical. Bipel’s eyes were closed, but the suggestion of a glittery tear leaked from the corner of one of them—it was assumed that Bipel wept because of her daughter Pikyia’s failed marriage to Aethe the Sun God.

The coolness of the inner temple felt good after the heavy pressure of the near storm outside.

Repht knelt before the Goddess of Spring, her dark, heavy hair falling forward over her shoulders.

“Calumn, I honor you,” she said first—so that he might not be  jealous—and then, “Bipel, Goddess of Spring, I honor you. I seek guidance over my life. Direct me in the correct path, that I might not commit blunders in the sight of the Divine Pantheon. I give you my offering of Spring branches…”

And here, she scooped the heavy, fragrant stems out of her basket, arranging sprays of lady’s grace and valley posy at Bipel’s carven sandaled feet.

Nearby, the sweet scent of flametooth incense drifted over to her, and she inhaled deeply, allowing herself to relax.

“Please, my Lady Goddess,” Repht continued. “Show me which way to go.”

* * *

It was midday at Craestor, and Bricot took a pull from his mug of cold black tea.

Before him, the Ruqan letters of the Facerum positively swam. He had just finished translating several strings of metaphysical equations he would probably never understand. Don’t have to understand it, he thought exhaustedly. Just have to make sure others can read it.

His room at Craestor was pleasant enough, with the casement window flung open to the warm Melia day. But the sun had climbed to its zenith in a way that projected the stifling rays straight down onto his back, and Bricot was beginning to sweat in the heat.

He stood and stretched. The morning classes had gone well, and he’d already prepped for the next day. With a start, he realized he hadn’t spoke privately to Ger in a while. He’d seen the young man in classes, but they’d not connected after the incident with the wasps.

Then, his stomach seemed to drop out from underneath him in dread.

Colin had informed him that the monthly university board meeting would occur in roughly a week’s time. During the business discussed, the board intended to review Bricot’s conduct and make a decision regarding his engagement at Craestor.

He wasn’t looking forward to it.

Standing and pushing his chair closer to the desk, Bricot sighed. While he felt keenly the drive to translate as much as he could before the meeting, he knew he was too tired at this point to be productive. It was time to clear his head of the Ruqan nonsense floating about in it. And he needed to distract himself so he wouldn’t think about the board meeting.

The master alchemist decided to go in search of young Ger.

His hand was on the door latch when a soft knock sounded from the other side. Bricot jumped in surprise, then backed away.

The door swung open, and it was Ger himself.

Greatly relieved, Bricot caught the young man’s hands in his own and clasped them warmly. “Ger,” he said kindly. “I’m so glad to see you. Do you know, I was just on my way downstairs to look for you?”

The redhead grinned at him. “Hullo, Master Bricot. It’s good to see you, too.”

“How are you feeling?” Bricot asked, indicating the student’s neck and strangely bruised eye. It appeared that Ger was still healing from the shade wasp stings.

“I’m all right,” he replied. “The really bad one was on my eyelid, and that’s healing all fine.” He lifted a finger to touch the sickly yellow-grey skin there, carefully avoiding the eyelid itself, which was still a deep purpley-red colour. “The healers did miss one of the stingers, though. I had thought that wasps kept their stingers, but I smashed one deep into my skin while it was still… on me.”

Bricot shuddered.

“That’s why my neck had swollen so much. They couldn’t find it at first.”

There was a little lull in the conversation, and Bricot realized he was standing in the middle of his room without having invited Ger in.

“Please,” he said gently. “Come in and sit.” He moved his desk chair to face the bed, indicating that Ger should rest there. Bricot sought the edge of his bed, and the two settled in, leaving the door to the hallway open.

After a short silence, Ger spoke quietly. “I must thank you,” he said.

Bricot looked up in surprise to find the boy’s eyes shining.

“I could have died,” Ger went on. “I nearly died. No, I think I actually died…” and he gave a nervous little laugh. “You saved me. I was barely conscious, I know—but I heard you. Praying.”

The master alchemist wasn’t sure what to say.

“What made you try that?” Ger asked him.

“Try—praying?”

“Yes.”

Bricot thought for a moment. “Well, I just… I was so angry. That you could be taken from the world so soon. I resolved to try anything I could to keep you here. I care for you a great deal, you know.”

Ger nodded, looking at the floor. “I know,” he murmured.

“I always wanted a brother,” Bricot continued. “Older or younger, it didn’t matter. And I think I may have come to find that in you. I know your relationship with Calumn is very... unusual. I thought it would have been stupid not to try everything I could to save you.”

Bricot fell silent, and Ger watched the other man for a moment before saying, “I know Ishka was recognized for helping me. Colin cannot stop mentioning it.”

The master alchemist smiled bitterly.

“Why don’t you correct him?” Ger asked bluntly. “I know what happened. You know what happened. What don’t you take the credit?”

Bricot shrugged. “That’s not what’s important. Taking credit. If I came forward, I’d look like an ass, straining to be impressive. And the incident happened nearly a week ago. It wouldn’t make sense to point it out now.”

Ger kicked at the rung of the desk chair absently with one of his feet. “Straining to be impressive,” he wondered aloud. “An interesting choice of words. Who do you imagine you’d impress by confessing what really happened?”

There was a short silence and Bricot coloured faintly.

Glancing up, Ger saw his teacher’s face and grinned. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I won’t tell her.”

There followed a moment so uncomfortable that Bricot was tempted to end the visit early. He wasn’t sure how to proceed.

But before anything else could happen, Ger changed the subject.

“I know about the hearing,” he said sympathetically. “What do you think is going to happen?”

With the heat of the blush still fading from his features, Bricot shook his head and peered out the window. “I honestly don’t know,” he replied. “My only chance is to tell the truth. I was attempting to preserve the life of a student. Another student spit on his existence. And it was all too much.” He shrugged. “It doesn’t change the fact that what I did was wrong, though. I will accept the consequences of my actions, spurious little git or no.”

“Diarmad’s always been out of line,” Ger commented. Then, thoughtfully; “Not so much lately, though.”

“Oh?”

The student nodded. “He had a chance to bother me recently, but he chose to leave me alone,” he explained. “I think he still hates me—and I don’t know what I did to deserve that—but I’m not worried about him anymore.”

“You did nothing,” said Bricot firmly. “Sometimes, unhappy people will do anything to lower the spirits of those around them. They feel out of control. But they can control what they do to others and the emotional consequences that ensue. Diarmad is a mess. You’re not. And he hates that.”

Ger found himself nodding. “Thanks,” he said. After a moment, he added, “Can I come to the board meeting?”

Bricot was surprised. “You’d like to attend?”

“Of course!” Ger cried. “I’d hate it if they dismissed you. You’re my favorite master here at the school. And I know a lot of other students who feel the same way.”

“If you feel that strongly, you should talk to Master Colin about it,” he suggested. “I’m just a teacher. I don’t have a say over what happens on the board. But I’m flattered. Your support… means a lot to me.”

Ger nodded solemnly.

“How’s your experiment going?” Bricot asked him, changing the subject.

The student’s eyebrows shot up. “It’s very interesting,” he replied. “I repeated the same test and got the same results.” As the master alchemist shook his head in wonder, the boy went on. “I’m confused, and in awe, and a little scared.”

“I don’t blame you.”

Ger continued, struggling a bit with his words. “I’ve been praying to Calumn a lot, and am beginning to wonder if I’m in the wrong place.”

“The wrong place?” Bricot asked.

“Here,” Ger said. “At Craestor. I’m wondering if I ought to be pursuing a priesthood instead. I’m afraid that I’m wasting my time here.”

Bricot smiled at him. “No time spent receiving an education is wasted. I promise. As to the priesthood, why not do both? Get your Journeyman papers here, and then go on to the temples to study. You’ll still be absurdly young and full of energy.”

Slowly, the boy nodded. “I could do that,” he said softly. “I could do that.”

Bricot sat listening to the birds outside for a moment before adding, “I’ve never seen anyone with such remarkable divine communicative abilities. You’re fascinating. I don’t know much about these things, but I can tell you without reserve that you will go on to lead an extraordinary life.”