Day 204,
Morning thought: Will that healing spring of Maiko’s help the body of my Catacombs self?
I’m back at the house but Maiko isn’t. On the kitchen table she left her bracelet and a note on her wax tablet saying she needed time alone.
Fair enough.
Perhaps I shouldn’t have, but I checked her hiding spot underneath the couch cushions and found her pouch, so I’m confident she intends to come back sooner or later.
That’s the end of the day most presently on my mind, but what of the events preceding it?
Mostly, I was talking with Pat. Around lunchtime I told Cass I was going to talk to him about some “personal life advice stuff, and maybe some old history stuff,” and that she was free to lock up early to go join her family, otherwise she’s in charge until I got back. I think the idea of being in charge of anything rather appeals to her. Or maybe it’s just that she likes being trusted with responsibility.
It took some asking around, but I eventually found Pat down on the beach once again. As I got close he turned around to greet me and invited me to join him on his walk. I was happy to do so, apologizing as I did so about not visiting as much as I’d intended. He said not to worry about it.
It didn't take long for him to ask me how I was holding up since the last time we talked.
Reflexively, I said I was doing fine. Then I caught myself. Paused. Corrected myself by saying that wasn’t completely true. Struggled to find words now that I was finally there. Asked if we could just walk for a while.
And we did.
Slowly, Pat started to fill in the silence, commenting on the weather, the birds, a large shell on the sand. He drew me into light and easy conversation.
As we both stopped to catch our breath, taking seats on a log of driftwood he observed that I wasn’t faring much better than he was.
I said it was a lingering effect of the Children’s Fever. Or perhaps lingering damage. That I’ve been weak and easily out of breath since then, and while it’s gotten a little better these past three weeks it’s been slow enough that I worry if I’ll ever get back to full strength. Giving voice to that concern provided a segue into one of the things I’d wanted to talk to him about, namely the healing spring. I told him that I’d heard and read about it (technically true on the latter, but barely) and had an idea of how to find it, but I thought I’d ask if he knew anything of it or thought it might help me before I take a long and uncertain trip to get to it.
As it turns out, he was familiar with it, and had even been there once or twice himself. He wasn’t sick himself while visiting but he did generally feel better for a while afterward. He said that while there weren’t enough people in the Village getting seriously sick or injured enough to warrant trying to take a trip to it more than once every couple decades, he knew of a handful of people that claimed it helped them more than time, rest, or medicine could do. It might not be a miracle cure that instantly gets me back to where I was before and it might not last forever, but it should do something for me.
Good enough for me to try it. Now I just needed a boat, preferably one big enough to accommodate more than one person and carry supplies for an extended trip.
Hearing me mutter that last part to myself (the old man has young ears, I swear) he gave me the names of several people to talk to about borrowing a boat. He seemed certain that the villagers would be willing to help one of their own, especially with my health on the line.
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One of their own?
He smiled. Said that I live here, don’t I? Fill a role. Eat the same food. Walk the same streets. What else would I be?
An outsider?
He laughed like I’d just delivered a punchline and then said I can be both at once.
Seems like a paradox to me, but I’ve learned to be comfortable with those.
Trying to get back on productive practical topics again, I brought up that I’d read about Iole, was given to understand that the island she wound up on was near the one with the spring, and that I was considering looking for her while I was out there. Check in and see if she’s still alive. Seems like a good thing for the Archivist to do. And sure, I could check on her via floating island since she’s on the eastern stop, but that’d be nine days in transit to her and then another twelve or thirteen waiting for the floating island to come back around to take me to the Village. Seems better to combine the trips if I can.
I was caught off guard by how quickly Pat’s mood darkened when I mentioned Iole. He agreed that checking on her was the decent thing to do if I could locate her. But then he added a warning that I shouldn’t bring her up while I’m explaining what I need a boat for.
I asked why not. Why anyone would have a problem with me seeing her. Did I miss something? Was she in fact exiled or outcast?
Pat shook his head. Said it was nothing like that, but word might reach Theo, and that was the kind of digging for answers that the other oldest man had warned me against. Theo had already warned me once, and might actually do something if I ignored him. Likely nothing direct or physically harmful, but he’ll find a way to make digging hard for me. Make sure there are no spare boats. Encourage people to visit the library to keep me too busy to leave. Give the mediators the idea to put together a large event that needs recorded at an inopportune time for me. That sort of thing.
I recalled the missing capy that almost prevented the floating island expedition and kept Vernon from joining us. Probably best I don’t mention the recent trips to the cathedral to anyone outside our group then. Maybe encourage them to do the same next time I see them.
I asked what he knew about Iole.
He said nothing I wouldn’t likely find out on my own by meeting her.
The silence returned for a few minutes.
Patting his knees and putting on a brighter face, Pat worked his way up onto his feet and asked if I cared to keep going or turn around and head back to the Village.
I said it’d be a shame to waste the nice day.
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