SenWi had no idea what he was talking about at that blurry moment, but she was thrilled that her dear Bran was apparently alive and well. "Some day," she replied, and left it at that.
Garibond nodded and started propping up her pillows. "Let us sit you up a bit," he explained. "You have to get some food in you."
SenWi's face scrunched up, for the thought did not appeal to her, but that only prodded Garibond on more forcefully.
"For the sake of the child in your swollen belly," he said, and SenWi felt his hand touch her there. When she looked down to regard that gentle hand, she saw that she was beginning to show her condition. "A woman with child has to eat," Garibond insisted. "You're feeding two!"
SenWi nodded and didn't resist as Garibond helped her to sit up, and then he put the cup to her lips and let her sip its broth contents. Before long, she had drained the vessel, and Garibond smiled and went out to get her some more.
That, too, she drank, and she was feeling better with each sip of the warm liquid that washed down her parched throat.
"We will get you a solid and hearty meal as soon as you're able," Garibond assured her. "I promised Dynard that I would take care of you, and I'm not about to let your stubbornness get in the way of that."
SenWi even managed a smile, albeit a weak one. Brother Dynard's eyes and thoughts were fixed on the wider world beyond Chapel Pryd's open gate as he swept the falling leaves from the courtyard's paths. It was late morning, and already he had been out longer this blustery autumn day than he had in many weeks.
SenWi was somewhere out there, pregnant and ill. Every fiber in Brother Dynard urged him to run off to her bedside, to hold her and kiss her, to tell her that he loved her, and to help her back to him. Nothing else in all the world, not even his beloved Church, seemed to matter beside that image of stricken SenWi, for though Garibond had assured him in their brief meeting that she was strong and would pull through, Dynard had heard the undercurrent of fear in his seemingly confident tone. SenWi was in trouble, and for her own sake and despite his every desperate desire, Dynard could not go to her.
He was gaining some measure of freedom here, at least. He had only recently learned of the accident in Father Jerak's chamber and the destruction of the Book of Jhest, and while his spirit sank at the great loss to his brethren, and while his heart ached at the thought of his most precious work undone, all that paled in comparison to his fears for SenWi and his unborn child.
Until very recently, Brother Dynard had believed that his greatest contribution would be that book he had so painstakingly transcribed. But now he knew the truth: his greatest achievement would not be measured in copied words but in living flesh, in his child.
He prayed that SenWi would fight through this illness that had befallen her and that one day he would be able to see their child and hold their child.
Ironically, Dynard recognized that the destruction of the book had probably facilitated his best chance in seeing SenWi or his child again. From what he had learned over the last weeks of his increasing freedom, Father Jerak had visibly relaxed since the book had burned. Perhaps Jerak saw in its destruction the threat of wayward Brother Dynard lessened, or perhaps he was just growing tired of his vigilance. Either way, it didn't matter to Dynard, as long as the result put him back where he belonged, in SenWi's loving arms.
Brother Bathelais called to him, and that reminded him to keep the broom moving. He glanced back to his superior, who was standing on the chapel's stone stoop. When Dynard returned his focus fully to his sweeping, Bathelais called to him again, bidding him to come inside.
Dynard moved into the shadows within the chapel door tentatively, for he had caught a hint of anger in his superior's tone. Bathelais, waiting for him just inside, stood impatiently, tapping his foot on the stone, his arms crossed over his chest.
"Yes, brother?" Dynard asked, keeping his head bowed and his gaze to the floor.
"We have received word concerning you from Chapel Abelle," Bathelais explained.
Dynard's gaze came up, eyes wide. Was it possible that his return had attracted the notice of the leaders of the great mother chapel itself?
"Of course we dispatched a courier to Chapel Abelle with word of your return and your surprising cargo, book and human," Bathelais explained. "Your fall from the teaching of Blessed Abelle is no small thing-not as inconsequential as your death might have proven."
Dynard accepted those stinging words without argument.
"The brothers at the mother chapel will speak with you," Bathelais went on. "As soon as winter lessens its grip upon the land, you will travel north to deliver a full accounting of your journeys in the land of Behr. A pity that the book does not survive, for I am certain that it would have proven of great interest to our brethren."
Brother Dynard felt his knees grow weak beneath him, and it took all his control to stop from falling over. "W-when?" he stammered, for all of Bathelais's words beyond that first simple statement had flowed right past him.
"At the first onset of spring," Bathelais repeated, "as soon as the roads are clear."
"How long? I mean…where will I…will I return to Chapel Pryd?"
He saw from the expression of Brother Bathelais that his panicky questions were inciting more than a bit of curiosity, and it was only with great effort that Brother Dynard managed to find some measure of control. Behind the placid facade he managed to paint upon his face, his thoughts were swirling and tumbling. He had to get word to SenWi, had to find some way for her to meet him on the road. How could he not? How could he walk away from this place, from her, from his child?
His child!
If he were to depart in the early spring, the baby would have just been born. How could he leave?
How could he not? he realized a moment later. Even if he turned away from the Church of Blessed Abelle now, he would hardly be a free man, and certainly not free from their suspicion and watchfulness. If he went to SenWi, then SenWi would be found.
"Is there something wrong, Brother Dynard?" he heard Bathelais say, and when he looked at the man, he recognized that the question had likely been asked several times already.
"No, no," he blurted, and he took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. "No, Brother Bathelais, of course not. It is just that I am weary of the road."
"The knowledge you brought back with you from Behr is important to us, of course. If we are to send any more brothers into that vast southern land, as we surely will, then the information you provide may help keep them safe."
"There are fewer threats to us in the southern lands than you believe," Brother Dynard dared to reply, but he did so absently, his mind still caught on the horrible notion of this impending separation from his dear SenWi. In the silence that ensued, Dynard felt the gaze of Bathelais upon him and looked back at him.
"I offer this as your friend," Bathelais sternly said. "When you are before the brothers of Chapel Abelle, you would do well to adjust your thinking more clearly in compliance with the edicts of the Church concerning the people of Behr. You would do well to remember, Brother Dynard, that you went there to teach them, not to be taught by them."
Brother Bathelais stared at him hard a few moments longer, then spun on his heel and stormed away.
Dynard leaned heavily on his broom, needing its support. It wasn't until nearly a week after awakening that SenWi realized just how badly her leg had been injured. The limb would not hold her weight. Even using her Jhesta Tu powers of healing and concentration, SenWi knew that it would be a long time before she walked again, if ever.
That wasn't her primary concern, however. Her body was in such a weakened state that she could hardly find her line of chi, and even less so, that of the child within her. The battering she had taken, from that day she had used her powers to draw the poison from the poor condemned girl on the road, went too far, SenWi feared. Now every day was a struggle-to get enough nourishment in her to keep her child alive, to keep herself active so that her muscles would not atrophy any further, to regain her focus and enough strength so that she could get herself and the child through the trials of labor and birth.