“I’m not sorry he’s dead, Gran,” Ashinji countered. “I’m just sorry it happened the way it did.”
Gran spent a few moments fussing with his blankets. He lay back and let her, knowing she did it more for her comfort than his. He felt as weak and helpless as a newborn-a sensation he thoroughly disliked.
“Gran, when I was unconscious, I think I dreamed you were calling to me, pleading with me to return. I also dreamed I saw Jelena.”
“Those were not dreams, Ashi. I did call to you. As for you seeing your wife, I’m not surprised. It’s very common for those wandering the plane of spirit to seek out loved ones, especially if there has been a separation on the material plane.”
“I saw her twice. The first time, she was with another man. I could see they had feelings for each other.”
“I’m so sorry,” Gran murmured.
“No, I understand, Gran. Jelena has accepted my death and has moved on with her life. I would want her to do just that. She’s too young to spend the rest of her life alone. It hurt, though…”
He fell silent for a time, eyes closed, meditating on the perversity of his fortunes. “I saw her again,” he continued. “She held a baby-our baby-in her arms.” He smiled. “Seeing my child for the first time…that’s what made me want to come back, Gran.”
As Gran opened her mouth to reply, the infirmary door swung open to admit Magnes. Jelena’s cousin crossed the room in five long strides, a broad grin on his face.
“Ashi, you’re awake! When did this happen?”
“Just a short time ago,” Gran answered. “What brings you back to the yard so soon? It seems like you’ve only just left.”
“I came back to tend Mistress de Guera-she’s down with one of her headaches.” He pulled a chair around to the side of the bed and straddled it. “I’ve got some news,” he said, looking at Gran and lowering his voice. “I’ve set the plan into motion. Your mistress has agreed to finance the mobile clinic for the Eskleipans. Construction will begin within the week. I estimate it’ll take about two weeks total for the entire project, including provisioning.”
“This is very good,” Gran said, nodding enthusiastically, but her expression soon darkened. “Two weeks. Not a lot of time, yet too much, considering the stakes,”
“What are you two talking about?” Ashinji looked puzzled.
“Escape, Ashi,” Gran said. “We’ve been working on a plan while you’ve been sleeping.” Briefly, Magnes related the details.
“I’ll just have to be ready,” Ashinji declared. He paused. “What about Aruk-cho?” He rolled his head to the side, directing the question to Gran. He did not worry the yardmaster would betray them at the last moment; rather, he feared the akuta would extend his assistance to the point where his position at the yard would be jeopardized. The very last thing Ashinji wanted was to see Aruk-cho ruined.
“Aruk-cho will be ready. All he needs is a few hours’ warning,” Gran replied. “If you’re concerned about him getting into any trouble, don’t be. I promised to shield him and I can.”
“Are we really leaving here and going to Alasiri?” Tense with excitement, Seijon’s voice piped a little too loud in the afternoon stillness of the infirmary.
“Hush, child!” Gran scolded. “You can’t speak about any of this! All our lives depend on secrecy. If the mistress were to find out…”
“She won’t from me,” Seijon promised solemnly.
“Gran, I trust Seijon completely,” Ashinji said. He smiled at the hikui boy and received a grin in return.
“Two weeks, then,” Magnes repeated. “Now, let me check your wounds, Ashi.”
With Gran’s assistance, Ashinji rolled onto his side and lay as still as he could while Magnes unbound and examined his wounds. Even though Magnes probed as gently as he could, Ashinji found it impossible not to flinch. After Magnes had declared himself satisfied, he re-bound Ashinji’s torso with clean bandages.
“Are you hungry?” Gran asked. “I can send Seijon to the kitchen for some soup, that is, if you think you can handle it.”
Ashinji shook his head. The mere thought of food caused his stomach to roil in rebellion. “No, not just yet,” he whispered. “I think I need to sleep for awhile longer.”
“Have some tea, then, at least,” Gran insisted. “You need the moisture.” Ashinji nodded in assent and Seijon scampered off to fetch the tea.
The sounds of late afternoon drifted in through the open windows. Voices raised in animated conversation, the bleat of a goat, the dull clack, clack of wooden practice blades striking against each other-all served as a reminder to Ashinji that life in the de Guera yard went on essentially unchanged, and it mattered not a whit whether he lived or died.
He felt grateful to be alive.
Seijon returned shortly, carrying a tray laden with a teapot and four cups. Gran stood up, took the tray from his hands, and set it on a small table beside Ashinji’s bed.
“I’ll stay with you, Ashi, while you sleep. I’ll be right here the whole time,” Seijon declared, flopping down in the chair recently vacated by Gran.
“I feel much better, knowing that you’ll be watching over me, Little Brother.” Ashinji’s heart once again swelled with affection for the boy.
“The patient is in good hands, it seems,” Magnes said, winking at Gran, who tried her best to look disapproving, but failed dismally.
“Child, you’ve been sitting by Ashi’s bed for three days straight!” she exclaimed. “When was the last time you ate anything, eh? When was the last time I ate anything for that matter?” she muttered as she poured the tea.
“I’m not hungry,” Seijon responded, “an’ I’m not leaving.” His voice rang with youthful defiance.
“Huh! Suit yourself, monkey!” Gran’s eyes flashed, then softened. “I’ll go to the kitchen later and bring you a little something anyway. You can eat it or not; I don’t care.” Even in his bleary state, Ashinji could tell Gran cared very much.
With Gran’s assistance, Ashinji drank almost a full cup of the lightly sweetened herb tea, then lay his head back on the lumpy, moss-stuffed pillow. The room grew soft and fuzzy around its edges.
Just before he slipped into sleep, an image of Jelena appeared before his mind’s eye. She looked up sharply, as if startled, and her lips shaped his name.
He tried to answer, but he hadn’t the strength.
Chapter 39
"Hee hee! It’s grand, Tilo, just grand!”
Brother Wambo made no attempt to contain his glee. He performed an impromptu jig, his skinny arms and legs flailing like a manic scarecrow come to sudden, comical life.
Laughing, Magnes exclaimed, “Brother Wambo, if I had known you could dance like that, I would have suggested the temple put on recitals as fund raisers!”
The new Eskleipan mobile infirmary had been delivered that morning from the wagon makers’ yard, and all the inhabitants of the temple had gathered in the rear courtyard to admire the order’s latest project for serving the poor.
“Brother Tilo, we have you to thank for this marvelous thing,” Father Ndoma wheezed, his rheumy eyes squinting against the midday sun. In the harsh light, the old man’s skin looked like ancient leather stretched taut over a frame of sticks. The head of the Eskleipan Order had been unwell for several months, and it had lately become obvious that he would not last out the summer.
“I appreciate your kind words, Father, but the person we ought to be thanking is Armina de Guera. It was her gold that paid for this wagon,” Magnes replied.
Father Ndoma nodded. “Yes, yes, of course. We shall send a formal letter to the good lady expressing our gratitude.” A fit of coughing wracked his frail body and sent him sagging into the arms of Jouma the chirugeon and Ayeesha the midwife. Wambo shot Magnes a worried look.