They sauntered past, not seeing where he stood in the shadows to one side, their voices lost in the crowd’s hubbub.
Scorio wanted to step forward, to raise a hand and call out their names, but something arrested him. Perhaps it was their humor, their ease; he felt dirty, outside of their world, his hopes of their still retaining some fondness for him dying in his breast.
Instead, he let them pass, then slipped into the crowd behind them, following at a distance, tailing them as they walked idly past the stalls. They were clearly in no hurry, pausing here to purchase skewers of meat drenched in a thick, brown sauce, pausing there for Lianshi to consider a series of gauzy scarves.
Other students greeted them as they walked by, but they were ignored by just as many; Scorio frowned, leaning against a cool column holding up a mausoleum’s portico. Was that some measure of tension he was picking up? Leonis didn’t seem to care, but occasionally he caught Lianshi frowning after one group or another as they brushed briskly by.
It was a pleasure just to watch them. Scorio found himself smiling reflexively when they laughed, straining to hear their quiet conversation as they ambled on. Perhaps this was enough? Perhaps he could simply come out here every Eighthday and follow along behind them, gathering some measure of comfort from their presence as a starving man might watch the wealthy dine at tables he could never dream of sitting at himself?
But then Lianshi glanced back, an idle scan of the crowd, and their eyes met.
Scorio felt a spasm of shock, saw her feel the same, her dark eyes widening, and he neatly sidestepped out of view behind a booth selling endless trays piled up with candied nuts and other colorful treats.
He stood there, breathing hard, not even understanding why he’d stepped away, mind racing. He should leave, he should dart deeper into the crowd, if he stood there a moment longer—
“Scorio?”
Lianshi’s head dipped around the corner of the stall, her fresh braid sliding off her shoulder.
Scorio stared at her, mute, stricken.
She stepped fully into view, and then Leonis was there, his good humor gone, his eyes wide.
The three of them stared at each other, the Graveyard and the sound of the crowd seeming to disappear, fading away so that only they existed, the five yards between them at once no distance at all and yet somehow a million miles.
“Scorio?” This time it was Leonis who asked, his voice a disbelieving rumble, and then he glanced up and down the street and ushered Lianshi forward, out of the crowd’s flow, his expression turning serious. “Is that—but how?”
Scorio felt his eyes prickle. He felt a flush run across his face, felt mortified. They weren’t glad to see him, they were ashamed—of course they were, he looked filthy, dressed in these rags, a specter from their past, he should never have come—
“You’re alive!” And then Lianshi threw herself at him and wrapped him tightly in a hug, squeezing him close.
Leonis gaped a moment longer, and then he, too, stepped in to wrap them both in a massive bear hug.
Scorio couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t process what was happening. His arms hung by his side, he stared out blankly at the distant crowd, and only when Leonis let out a joyous laugh and pulled back to clap him on both shoulders did he come back to himself.
“You—you guys don’t—I mean, I wasn’t sure if I should come—”
“Shouldn’t come?” Lianshi seemed unable to decide whether to grin or scowl. Tears gathered in her eyes, and she wiped them away with the heel of her palm, laughing breathlessly, and then, abandoning any attempt at self-control, hugged him tightly again. “What took you so long?”
“You’re alive.” Leonis shook his head in wonder. “But how? We’ve been grieving your loss since they marched you away. Everyone said there was no hope—but… but how?”
“It’s a long story.” Scorio’s entire body was prickling now, his head swimming with emotion, but over everything else, washing away every other feeling, was a delirious joy. A sense that some fundamental part of his being, his world, had just slid back into alignment. “But you both—you look great!”
Lianshi frowned down at her white robes, then considered Leonis. “I mean, they feed us well.”
“That they do.” Leonis pressed his hand to his stomach. “But you—you look like you’re not quite done returning from the dead. You need money?”
“Leonis!” chided Lianshi.
“What? The man looks half-starved. Let’s buy him a pork bun. Or ten.”
Scorio raised his hands, laughing weakly and shaking his head. “No, no I’m all right, thank you. But…” He trailed off as emotion shook him again, and only then, weak with happiness and relief, did he realize just how lonely he had been. “It’s really good to see you.”
“We need to talk,” said Lianshi authoritatively, linking her arm with his and forcing him deeper into the cluster of stalls. “Let’s find some place private.”
“Hold on,” said Leonis, placing a hand on her shoulder and stopping her in her tracks. “We walk out arm in arm, and everyone will notice. Scorio, why don’t you lead the way? We’ll follow at a discrete distance.”
Despite himself, Scorio felt a stab of uncertainty—they didn’t want to be seen with him? But he immediately crushed that foolish insecurity and nodded. “Smart. I’ll take us somewhere close. You sure you can leave the market?”
Leonis’s smile became grim. “We’re Great Souls, my friend. The city is our playground.”
“For better or worse,” muttered Lianshi.
“Then follow me.” Scorio unlinked his arm and took a few steps before looking back at them, drinking in the sight of their standing there, the reality of them, the fact that they wished to follow, to learn what had happened to him.
“Less gaping, more walking,” said Leonis with a wolfish grin.
Scorio laughed and led the way out of the Graveyard. Out the southern gate, into the avenue, then down a street, through an alleyway, across a busier street, and finally found a blind courtyard in which little tables were scattered under an awning, an acacia tree providing shade from the sun-wire.
A man stepped out from the shadowed doorway to frown at Scorio, gaze flicking up and down his ragged clothing. “Can I help you, sir?”
It was as transparent a get lost as Scorio had ever heard.
“Yes,” said Leonis, walking up behind him. “A table, please. Inside.”
The man’s entire demeanor changed as he took in the Great Soul’s white robes and gold sash. He bowed so low he nearly overbalanced, then hurried backward, almost dancing, pointing at the door as if it might escape Leonis’s attention. “Of course, of course, what an honor! Please, enter, you can use my most august private chamber, a thousand blessings upon you and yours!”
The three of them followed the proprietor inside, which proved to be a cool, spacious restaurant, circular tables clustered before the two front windows, with a doorway at the back opening to a small room with a low table, the surface gleaming waxily under the lamplight.
The three friends removed their sandals and sat cross-legged on the thin cushions. Beautifully painted scrolls hung upon the walls, the art stylized and depicting scenes from nowhere in Bastion: cities atop cliffs, vast emerald forests filled with bizarre-looking fiends, a chasm from which a dozen beautiful women arose dancing, a cloud-swept plain dominated by a huge, cerulean crystal. Leonis placed an order with confidence, not bothering with the menu, and then the proprietor bowed low and left the room, closing the door behind him.
“Now,” said Leonis, leaning forward on both elbows, chin propped on his thumbs. “Explain the nature of this miracle. It’s been months, man, since they threw you through the Final Door.”