To Paxaria: part 7.1

Review: In the last part, Rue found out that the paper Altha had received from the King's Stray was a map, but Altha wouldn't tell her what its full significance was yet. Also, Rue consulted Altha for advice concerning whether she should try to apologize to Idylette for her careless mistake in which she nearly poisoned Idylette's mother, Mysie. The last part left off with Ruelle and Altha still waylaid in the small village they were passing through, staying in the home of a local woman named Elfrida. Ruelle was contemplating whether she should risk approaching Idylette.
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Evening shadows lengthened into full dusk, lamps had been lighted in Elfrida’s house, and Ruelle still had not gotten up the courage to interact with Idylette. Any time she considered it, a cold, prickling dread came over her.

This conundrum still plagued her mind while she helped Altha check on Mysie’s injuries that night. This time Altha employed Ruelle’s help with changing the bandages. Other than when she had made the first poultice for the wound, she had not yet done anything hands-on with a patient. And although it was only normal for Ruelle’s movements to be uncertain, her fear of messing up something else important loomed over her shoulder like a strict instructor scrutinizing every little detail.

“What is that?” Idylette asked behind them when Altha directed Ruelle to apply a healing balm to Mysie’s wound.

Her voice made Ruelle jump a tiny bit. How long had she been watching?

The crease in Idylette’s forehead remained even while Altha explained the herbal composition of the balm and assured her that she knew exactly what went into making it.

“And you made it yourself?” Idylette questioned. “Not . . . her?” She gestured toward Ruelle.

“Yes, I made this one myself,” Altha said, wiping her hands on a clean rag.

Idylette breathed out, visibly relieved.

“Good. I do not want to have any more frights.”

“I assure you that the fright you speak of will be a one-time mistake for my apprentice,” Altha said.

Idylette frowned uncertainly, but she did not pursue the issue. Instead, she seemed to retreat a bit and not hover so closely while the physician and her student finished their work. But Altha sent a meaningful glance in Ruelle’s direction.

Ruelle caught the significance and the implied message.

Go ahead, she could hear Altha saying, Now would be a good time to resolve things with her.

Dread stole a heartbeat from Ruelle, and her mouth went dry.

She should do it.

She really should.

I’ve got to face this, she told herself. But what will I even say? How do I start?

Her mental scrambling proved to last too long, however, and the slight window of opportunity slipped away just like the day’s final fading light beyond the windows.

How stupid of you! she chided herself fiercely.

Yet it had been like this all day. Each time a possible opportunity arose, Ruelle would recognize it, panic, and then find that the moment had passed. Each time she felt a little of both relief and yet regret. Knowing that Altha planned for the two of them to take their leave in the morning only increased Ruelle’s agitation each time she failed to seize her chance.

Maybe I should just not do anything and let her be angry with me if she wants to be, she thought. Besides, it’s her fault if she wants to hold a grudge.

But a sentence Altha had spoken earlier had buried itself in her heart and kept resurfacing in her mind.

The brave never run from their duty.

Ruelle licked her lips – an outward manifestation of her inner turmoil. If she didn’t get this off her chest, she would be so antsy everyone would surely notice. Maybe she’d even do something terribly wrong again.

Standing up straighter, she rolled her shoulders back to loosen the tension in her neck. It didn’t matter if she couldn’t think of the perfect words. She would just have to try her best.

Glancing over, she met Idylette’s eyes – an opportune coincidence. Altha was also busy talking to Mysie, updating her on how her injuries were healing and what kind of care she could expect once Altha and Ruelle left town. The moment had opened right up to Ruelle.

She took a deep, steadying breath, then sidled over to Idylette.

“May I talk to you for a moment?” she said.

Idylette looked skeptical, but nodded slowly.

Ruelle motioned toward the farther side of the room, and though Idylette followed with hesitating steps, she did not offer any opposition.

An uncomfortably charged silence hung in the air between them for an agonizingly long beat of time. Ruelle twisted her hands together, and Idylette looked expectantly at her, waiting.

At last, Ruelle began.

“I just wanted to tell you I’m really sorry for the mistake I made with the toxic herbs. This was my first time ever handling a patient, and everything was rushed, and I was panicked, and, well . . . I hadn’t been paying attention when I collected the herbs earlier because I was in a bad mood. And I just want to let you know I realize it’s my fault, and I want to say I’m so sorry. I certainly will be paying more attention in the future. Just . . . please don’t hold it against me.”

Her hands were twisted together tighter than ever, and her eyes scanned the young woman’s face timidly. The expression she saw there was grave, somber, not necessarily antagonistic – but her eyes held a certain hardness.

“You don’t know.”

Idylette’s voice was hardly above a whisper, but an edge of bitterness tinged it. Her whole face turned dark.

“You don’t know,” she repeated, louder. “To you, my mother was just another patient, another stranger. If she’d have died, you might have been sad, but it would not have been a real loss to you. But you don’t know what it was like for me, to wait in fear, to see my only living family member hurt to the point of death, to look on her fearsome wounds and be in the dark as to what happened, yet be forced to sit there helplessly with the horror of knowing even the healing efforts had been messed up!”

Her eyes narrowed at Ruelle, and she no longer attempted to veil the hostility in her voice.

“You have no idea of how it was for me to stand by and watch my mother’s every breath, wondering whether it would be her last! You do not understand that my life would be over if I lost her! You would walk out of this village no worse for the loss, and though you might be able to bury your faults in the past, your life would not be changed, but mine would be empty forever!”

Ruelle gulped and shrank back.

“I-I’m so-“

“Sorry, yes,” Idylette cut her off. “You already said that. And I’m sure you are, but sorry would not have been enough to bring my mother back.” Now that it was unstopped, her resentment poured forth in gushes, a fountain of bitterness.

Ruelle was completely at a loss for words. Her present discomfort could have reached the moon high outside, but Idylette showed agitation as well, wiping her wet eyes and inhaling deeply to replenish the breath she had just invested in her stinging reproof. The two stood facing off as if the few feet of space between them were a great gulf. Neither was quite able to meet the other’s eyes.

Ruelle’s head flooded with terrible ideas of all the repercussions which might follow herself and Altha if Idylette refused to put this behind her. Would she go so far as to ruin Altha’s reputation among the locals? What if gossip turned into outright slander and swelled beyond the borders of this small village?

“I don’t know what to say,” Ruelle ventured when she finally found her voice, “If you will not accept my apology. I just wanted to try to make amends before I leave. And . . . I wanted to know whether you blamed me.”

Her cheeks burned, and she looked at the floor.

“I do blame you,” Idylette said straightforwardly. “Because it was your fault. You messed up the treatment because you had the wrong herbs. And why did you have the wrong herbs? Because you were thinking only of your own bad mood when you gathered them. Your selfishness could have killed my mother! And even now you don’t understand how her death would have affected anyone but you.”

Idylette’s voice trembled with emotions, not the least of which was anger. Ruelle cringed away. She had never hated herself more.

“But,” Idylette said at length - and her softened tone made Ruelle meet her eyes again – “I will try to find it in myself not to hold this against you as long as my mother continues to get well.”

Ruelle breathed out in relief, though she knew this was not really a perfect resolution. She met Idylette’s eyes and nodded soberly.

“Thank you,” she murmured. “And I will try to find it in myself to think of others more.”

“Yes,” Idylette said with a short nod. “You should.”

If Ruelle had obtained any ease of mind, these following words added a sting which kept the relief from settling too deeply. If she were cleared in this issue, it was just barely; Idylette’s final sentiments ensured this knowledge would hang over Ruelle’s head for the foreseeable future.

With that out of the way, there still seemed to exist a mutual agreement between Ruelle and Idylette to avoid one another as much as possible, and Ruelle was more relieved than ever that she only had to stay here this one last night. But before the lamps were put out, Altha said she wanted to talk to everyone together one more time. Ruelle didn’t like the grave demeanor about her when she said it. Whatever her mentor wanted to discuss, it was serious.

“I did not intend at first to share all these details so openly,” Altha began when the small group was gathered into a tight circle near Mysie’s cot. Though the injured woman was now able to sit propped up a little, she still looked weak and pale, and Ruelle couldn’t help but feel it was significant that Altha included even her in this serious conversation.

“But,” Altha went on, “It has come to a point where I believe a fuller explanation to all of you would be the wisest choice.”

The flickering lamps cast the room in a light which would have felt kind and comforting in other circumstances, but the grim lines in Altha’s face might as well have been etched from the very shadows which still lurked in the corners.

“I have already talked with Mysie to hear what she can recall of the assault and the injuries she received. When I put that together with what I’ve gathered from the rest of you, as well as one of my acquaintances whom I briefly met earlier today, I think I can form something of a picture to show exactly what happened.”

Her eyes fell briefly on each one of them, and Ruelle’s heart thudded with an odd combination of anticipation and dread. Beside her, Elfrida swallowed anxiously. Idylette’s tongue nervously darted across dry lips, and she reached for Mysie’s hand, afraid of what came next.

Altha summarized as much as possible what they already knew concerning Mysie’s incident: the stranger in the far field, the unexplained violence toward Mysie, the poisoned blade, the assailant’s baffling disappearance.

“But now let me fill in the blanks,” Altha said at last. She reached down, and Ruelle noticed for the first time that her bag was on the floor at her feet. Somehow Ruelle knew before she saw it that Altha was retrieving the map.

Just as she’d guessed, Altha pulled out the small parchment and unrolled it for all to see.

“There are several spots on this map which a scout has marked as places of interest. Those marks represent places where there have been reported sightings of orcs.”

Idylette gasped and turned pale. Elfrida looked equally disturbed, but shook her head as if she had suspected something like this.

Ruelle found herself wondering why Altha was openly telling everyone now, when she had refused to share that detail about the map in their private conversation earlier. But she wanted to keep track of everything, so she turned her attention back to her mentor.

“There have been reports of orcs causing disturbance in Etelka and Bexley, our neighbors to the east, for some time. But here in Paxaria, where we have tighter security measures, the number of alleged orc sightings or incidents of unexplained violence have become enough to raise suspicions.”

Ruelle leaned forward and squinted at the map. Now that she understood the significance of the marks she’d seen earlier, she had a new interest in them. In the grand scheme of things, there really were not that many of them, but there were enough that she could see why people would begin to feel the need to investigate.

“And so you think it was an orc that attacked Mysie?” Elfrida asked in an unsteady voice.

“We do not merely think so,” Altha said as she met the other woman’s eyes somberly. “We are as near certain as it is possible to be with so few eyewitnesses.”

“But why?” Idylette ventured. “What reason would an orc have to attack my mother?”

It was an echo of what Ruelle had also been wondering.

Altha’s mouth settled into a grim frown.

“Everything we can see points to this particular incident being a very sloppy, poorly executed ordeal. Again, we can only try to form a picture by putting together the details we have. But the image it suggests is that there was an orc scout lurking on the edges of the farms bordering this village. The fact that it was not yet fully dark outside was the first mistake on their part.”

Ruelle risked a glance at Mysie. The poor woman looked aghast to hear the details of her assault yet again, but she was not trembling or visibly agitated in any other way, and Ruelle thought for the first time that perhaps Mysie was much stronger than she looked. No wonder Idylette feared so much to lose her.

“The most unfortunate part,” Altha continued, “Is that Mysie happened to be walking through that same area, taking the fields as a shortcut back from the home of an acquaintance.”

“I shouted out as soon as I saw him,” Mysie offered, her voice still not strong. “It was so odd and alarming to see a figure with such a strange appearance, and I was out where no one was likely to see or hear me at that time of day.”

Altha nodded sympathetically.

“My guess is that this in turn frightened the scout, who was not meant to be seen and consequently he laid hands on Mysie and proceeded to threaten her. When she resisted, she was met with blows from the orc scout in an attempt to quiet her and drag her off. But her shouts alerted the neighbor, and when the scout knew others were aware of his presence, he thought to knock her unconscious and escape unseen.”

“What about the poisoned blade, though?” Ruelle had to know.

“It would seem that was possibly a desperate measure the orc scout resorted to at the last minute. One well-placed stab or slash, and the toxins which laced the weapon could take her life before proper help could reach her. This would not only give the scout time to flee and remain unidentified, but it also would have ensured Mysie could never tell what took place.”

Altha’s voice grew soft and sad as those last words sank in. She shook her head and stared at nothing, her eyes reflecting something heavy and painful.

Ruelle swallowed hard in the silence that followed.

A fresh awareness that she and Altha had truly arrived at the village just in time settled like a weight into her very bones.

As if thinking along the same line, Elfrida murmured, “And that is why it was such good fortune that you showed up when you did.”

Altha nodded, but added, “The assailant’s fright must have also rendered him hasty with his weapon. His blade left a wound which was deadly indeed, but his use of it was not the clean, accurate technique most effective for . . . the quickest ending of a victim’s life.”

Mysie’s face had taken on a shadowed look of concern, and she seemed to be mulling something over intently.

“There’s something I still do not understand,” she said at last. “I thought orcs were banished from Paxaria long ago.”

“Over a hundred years ago,” Altha confirmed.

“Then how is it that folks have been seeing them here?”

“That is where the real problem lies,” Altha sighed heavily. “No one knows how they are getting in.”