Chapter 51: Ch 41

Solace is nowhere to be found the next day. Leah keeps her eyes peeled as she grabs breakfast – almost a burrito, but mainly flatbread and sweet potato – and doubles back up to the refugee room, but does not see the familiar face. There goes my one other friend, here. I really should have focused more on meeting people, in the past couple weeks.

Well now, that’s not fair. I had no way of knowing war was going to break out and we’d all be busy preparing. She takes a bite of breakfast and snickers to herself. And, if we go further; I had no way of knowing I’d still be here by now.

The thought isn’t as sad as it used to be; Leah realises she is resigned to seeing this conflict out, even if it means delaying her return home. What can I say, I guess this place matters to me. It’s not like my absence is going to turn the tides back in Quebec; meanwhile here…

John and Leah spend their shift watching the training room fill up with families from the surrounding farms, the last little squares filling with their bedrolls and hastily packed possessions. The word among the guards is that today is the last day for refuge-seekers to enter the Hold, and that any left outside after tonight will have to seek shelter at one of the lesser homesteads.

The risk of an assault has gone up, and they spend their shift on active watch, pacing the gallery and checking behind doors and curtains for any unauthorised activity. The most excitement happens when a new serving boy gets lost and accidentally stumbles in, and starts babbling an apology that even John has a hard time following.

Again, after six hours they are relieved, and both head down to the mess hall for a cup of broth for lunch. Leah muses that she hasn’t seen Solace in a while, and John shrugs it off.

“She told me she would leave soon, but I didn’t realise she meant right away…”

John notices her disappointment, and asks if it’s something he can help with. When Leah explains in vague terms that she wanted to learn more about religious practices of the area, John recommends she speak to one of the clergy members who have sought refuge in the keep.

“I was thinking a more academic source,” Leah says hesitantly, not eager to face a priest with questions about what seems to be a deadly sin here. John does not follow, but does not press.

They part ways, Leah to her training and John to the farms. John offers to find her a place at the barns, if she prefers to spend her time with animals – “People have noticed you with the pheasants,” he explains, “And having someone strong around would be helpful.” – and Leah says that if they need help, she can lend a hand, although her experience is limited to the few times she helped her neighbours with the haying.

Under a blazing midday sun, Leah exits the Hold and finds her way back out to the practice area where she and lieutenant Adan run through another set of moves, hidden in the far corner of the courtyard.

They start developing a sort of pidgin, between the two of them, exclusively for fighting terms. Things like “arm,” “go,” “stay,” and “low” are practically identical between dialects, but for everything else they have to discuss and agree on a word together. Adan ends up learning the Volsti terms, except for any with ‘Y,’ ‘W,’ or ‘TH’ sounds, which she struggles with. Mainly they rely on pantomime.

An hour in, Leah calls a break. They rest, sitting on old crates, the wooden swords at their feet. Leah can feel bruises on her legs, but fewer than the day before – her first round of practice had left her splotched blue and purple, and some of today’s  blows had hit on the same spots.

Adan seems to notice her wincing. “E’s nau helful teu overfõ jõself.”

“Huh?”                                                            

“Tomorrow, trainnau. Res.”

Leah takes a moment. “Train not, rest. Don’t train?”

“Doh ntrain.” Adan nods, and Leah nods along.

“Rest the muscles, right.”

They recover and go their separate ways. Leah is just barely back inside the Hold when a servant hurries up to her with a letter, folded but unsealed, from Seffon. The kid babbles an explanation in Olues that she can’t quite follow, so Leah opens the letter to read it.

Seffon’s handwriting is much messier when he’s not writing a formal missive: “One last spell to do, before the hammer falls and no-one has time.”

She walks as quickly as she can without jogging to get to the tower, and finds him puttering around with the wine bottle that Leah by now associates with the Bitter Dream spell, and standing beside him – of all people?! – Jeno.

“Another memory spell?” Leah asks. “I thought you said it might not be a good idea.”

Seffon, without looking up, says, “Jeno wished to have someone with her when it was performed.”

Leah puts two and two together. “You think you have lost memories?” she asks Jeno, gently.

Jeno is high-strung but answers evenly. “I have fuzzy memories of the…the past two weeks, but especially of the…stabbing. I can’t remember the details.”

“We can figure out what sort of magic Eschen used to compel her, if we understand better how she was manipulated. Whether he was in the room, whether it was a direct command or a suggestion, whether he puppeteered her body or not – ” Seffon explains, all while still looking about for specific ingredients, absent-minded.

“I get it,” Leah cuts him off. Seffon does not notice Jeno’s increasing distress. “And so: Bitter Dream?”

“An adapted form.” Leah rolls her eyes a bit at that – always adapted, never the original – but goes to help him as he sets the spell up.

“Will Jeno know what information to look for, in the restored memory?” Leah asks.

Seffon hesitates. “No. And I’m not convinced that she is stable enough to withstand the undiluted memories. She was fond of the boy, at the least.” Suddenly he stumbles over his words and avoids eye contact. “Anyway. No. We need the memories, but she is in no state to relive such a thing.” He pauses, and Leah waits. “I would like you to receive them.”

Leah stiffens. “Can you do that? Transfer a person’s memories like that?” And why the fuck haven’t you mentioned this in all our speculations of how my mind ended up in this body? She thinks, the words hanging palpably between them.

Seffon seems to sense the implied question. “Memories only. Not soul, not mind. You will be able to access them, but they will remain separate from you.”

Leah considers, then nods once in agreement. Seffon finishes the preparations and instructs them to sit opposite each other, on the stone table. Reaching across, Leah takes Jeno’s hand comfortingly.

“Now, Leah, there’s a very small chance that whatever memories are sent to you might accidentally stir something up from before the swap – unlikely, but always possible.” Leah nods. “And you, Lady Auzz – Lady Valerid – you may find yourself transferring other memories as well. You can minimise the risk by focusing clearly on the target memory, and only that memory.” Jeno nods, and Seffon begins the spell.

Each participant takes one of the skulls in their left hand – Jeno seems distressed to be touching part of a dead animal, but does not flinch much. Seffon pours in the mixture, each woman waits a beat, and as the vapours rise they place their right hands over the stones on the table and inhale deeply. Seffon walks them through each step, eyes sharp, and picks the skulls from their hands as they slump forward, dazed.

Leah recovers first, and sees the skulls tossed into a bowl of flame. She supports Jeno, who seems dizzy and nervous. “Is that all?”

Seffon nods. “You’ll likely have the dream tonight. Your guard shift has been reassigned, and you will report back here in the morning instead, so we may go over the details.”

Jeno seems itching to be out of there, but Seffon seems oblivious. “Then I will escort Jeno back to her rooms,” Leah says.

“There are some things I’d like to go over with you,” Seffon says, putting away the spell components.

“Of course. I’ll return right away,” Leah assures him, firmly but politely. She gets up, helps Jeno down, and they leave the tower. Seffon watches her go with a sort of confused, hurt pride.

Activity in the halls is not quite as heightened as it is around the refugee area and the walls, but there are still more guards present than before. None of them interrupt the two women on their path.

Jeno is silent during the walk. Leah walks even with her but makes no gesture to reach out. Back at Jeno’s rooms, Leah can see that they have been filled with much to keep the Cheden refugee occupied; books, journals, pens, a stack of playing cards.

Jeno holds Leah’s hand tightly at the door, catching her before she can leave. Leah checks the halls quickly, to confirm no-one is watching, and gives her a quick kiss. “Goodbye,” she says, with a warm smile. Jeno returns it, and closes the door softly between them.

Leah doubles back to the magic tower at a jog. The moment she opens the door, Seffon, without turning, speaks. “Our neighbours are at war, and are threatening us with invasion. I have the responsibility of overseeing this region, and when I say that something needs to be discussed, it is not a suggestion, and it is not up to you to decide when you are free to discuss it.”

Leah straightens. “And when you learn to dig your attention out of whatever’s in front of your nose, and actually consider those around you, I’m sure I will bend to your reason.”

He turns at that, looking icy. Leah matches it.

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“Did you even notice how scared she was?” Leah asks. That seems to startle him. “Jeno’s from a nation where all magic is used for warfare, and you bring her here saying you want to dig into her memories of being forced to commit murder. It doesn’t matter that she won’t have to relive it. She was so shaken, by the memory and by the magic.” Seffon does not reply. “And frankly, I’d like to know who brought her to this room in the first place. Did you fetch her yourself?”

Seffon’s face clearly says yes. “I thought if – ”

Leah sighs exasperatedly. “She has spent the last month convinced you are intent on killing her and her family. She’s scared of you. Seffon.” He meets her eyes angrily, but a little cowed. “Jeno is scared of you. Do not ever send for her again if I’m not here too. She needs a familiar face, or she’s going to become even more of a nervous wreck than she already is.”

The tower is silent. A guard standing at the door shuffles awkwardly.

“I wanted to talk to you about your role in the protection of the Hold, over the next few days.” Seffon’s voice is still icy. “But if you would rather dictate your own terms, then I’m listening.”

“Don’t act like a child because I went against you on this one thing. I know Jeno, so I did what was best for her. You know this Hold. You know strategy. I am still on your side, in everything that concerns its protection.”

Seffon glares at her, but Leah stands firm. Neither has moved from their starting positions.

“Perhaps we should address the obvious point, then,” Seffon says.

“Which is?”

“You and Jeno.”

Leah hesitates, then nods. She takes up her usual seat on the edge of the stone table, but Seffon does not join her, instead standing and facing her. He reflects a long time before speaking.

“Why did you want to go to Valerin to rescue her? According to Solace, you put on quite the show.”

Leah twiddles her thumbs a bit then stills her hands. “We both knew we needed to tell Valerin eventually about the suspected alliance between Cheden and Devad, and Jeno was the one unknown in our theories. We needed her alive, to figure out her role. Personally, I figured that if the Auzzos were even partially behind whatever’s going on now, the Valerids deserved to know. Interrupting the execution meant I had an audience when I told them what we knew.” Seffon stares her down until she continues with a shrug. “And, Jeno is dear to me. I wanted to save her. Going to Valerin solved many problems at once.”

Seffon continues to stare her down for a bit, then closes his eyes and nods. “Do you have any idea the position you’ve put me in?”

Leah bites her tongue – if the argument appears to be over, she doesn’t want to restart it unnecessarily. “No.”

Seffon looks riled by the answer, but also exercises control not to snap at her. “Gossip spreads quickly. Many people saw you…when you came back.”

“Saw Jeno and I kiss, yes,” Leah says, and Seffon – to his credit – does not flinch or wince.

“Are you aware of the legal situation surrounding inversion?”

“Valerin calls it deviance. I thought it was called ill-formed, here?”

Seffon blushes heavily at that and splutters a bit. “Not in polite company it’s not. Who taught you that term? Or is that what it’s called where you’re from?”

“That’s a term I learnt here, but if it’s not polite, I won’t use it.” Leah makes a mental note to pay closer attention to John – if gossip is spreading, he ought to find out about her quite soon.

Settling down, Seffon continues. “Inversion is not a standard practice. Some regions allow it – in Devad it’s an essential part of their social system, due to the sheer number of orphans and single parents their laws vicariously produce.”

“And in Valerin it’s a serious crime, yes.”

Seffon nods. “We have, for the most part, stayed true to Volsti law. But over three hundred years…and with influence from Devad…” Leah waits but he does not finish his thought. She clears her throat, and he orders his thoughts and continues. “The inversion laws are part of a larger group: the religious prohibitions. Our religious beliefs are largely the same as in Volst, but lacking any classically trained clergy, our traditions have evolved. Many people believe the religious prohibitions are irrelevant, while others insist they are essential. Our official stance has always been one of neutrality; we neither endorse the laws, nor have we removed them. This has mainly been possible because no-one has ever flaunted them in my own study before.”

Leah nods along, understanding. “I don’t know much about religion here, but the…Ring? The joining of new and old?”

Seffon hums a confirmation, seemingly taken by surprise by her bringing it up. “It’s a symbolic marriage, joining the old year to the new year. The marriages are only recognised for that one day, and most people…I imagine most of the volunteers are probably like you, but it is not acknowledged.” He then pauses. “How did you get this information?”

“In an initiate’s handbook, from Valerin.”

Seffon splutters a moment. “A real one? How by the Gods did you manage to get it?”

“Solace left it with me,” Leah says casually, but with a little pride. She then reflects on Solace’s absence, and grows a little concerned. “I haven’t seen her since yesterday, do you know where she went?”

Seffon goes silent, still distracted by the prospect of the book. “I haven’t seen her, nor do I expect to again. She’s…odd.” He seems lost in thought for a moment. “How do you know her?”

“We escaped prison together. I told you that.”

He eyes Leah carefully. “She knows you well.”

Leah shrugs. “We spent a while talking, before the escape.”

Seffon muses, then shakes his head and snaps out of it. “If you’d be willing to part with the book temporarily, I’d very much like to make a copy of it for the school library.”

“I think that’s a good idea, actually. There are a few passages that I think might be spells.”

Seffon’s interest immediately increases. “Could you fetch it right away? I could have someone begin the transcribing now, before things get too busy…”

Footsteps approach up the hall leading to the tower – quick and heavy. Seffon’s sentence trails away as he notices them. Both he and Leah turn to face the new arrival.

A guard stumbles in and then stands at attention. “A ridẽ, approceng from th’ys. Jus uon, b fas.” He says it quickly, a little short for breath.

Leah asks for translation, and Seffon gives it. “A lone rider from the east, coming in fast,” he says, even while rushing out of the tower and signalling the door guards to lock it behind him. Leah follows on his heels.

They emerge into the late afternoon shadows in the front courtyard barely a minute later, by which point the gates have already been opened and an exhausted-looking rider is being bodily removed from a skittish but equally exhausted bay horse. Militia on the walls have arrows drawn and pointed at the rider, and a loose wall of bodies is forming around the new arrivals, looking wary.

Seffon holds one of the charms on his wrist and mutters something softly; a rope of red light starts coiling out, and slithers out across the space to bind the rider, who collapses to their knees as the guards let go of them. The cords solidify but still glow faintly red. The horse whickers, and tries to bolt away, but two guards hold it in place; the horse is sweating and breathing odd, apparently on the point of collapsing. One of the other guards is removing a quiver and a distinctive unstrung black bow from the saddle pack.

Leah stumbles to a halt, then sprints forward to the rider’s side. The crowd has already parted for the spell, and none move to bar her way.

The rider looks up with bleary eyes as Leah goes to her knees beside her.

“Leah…” Vivitha mumbles, with a weak smile half-covered by blood from a long-dried head wound. Her tone is unbelieving. “I made it…”

Vivitha slumps over to the ground and Leah catches her.

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