"A magical person," Garibond explained, "more so even than those brothers with their gemstones. Your father went to her land to convert her people to his religion and wound up seeing the truth in SenWi's beliefs." He presented the book to Bransen. "It's all in here. All the secrets."
"M-m-my…fath-fath-fa-ther?" The boy trembled, tears flowing more freely. What are you saying to me? his thoughts screamed at Garibond, though he knew that he would never find strength to voice the words. You are my father! You! Not anyone else! How can you say these lies? Why do you wish to hurt me?
"SenWi knew that you both were dying," Garibond went on very slowly, making sure that Bransen was hearing him past the obvious turmoil his revelations had brought. "So she used her magic to give you what was left of her own life, so that you could survive."
Bransen seemed to simply melt then upon the bed, his tiny body bouncing with sobs, and assorted shrieks issuing forth from his tortured mouth. Garibond rushed to him and held him and let him cry it all out. For more than an hour, he sat with the boy, gently patting him and telling him that he loved him and that it would all be all right. For more than an hour, he told Bransen that he was old enough to learn of these unsettling things, and promised the boy over and over that he would understand just how special he was when he heard the full story of his mother and father.
Finally, Bransen composed himself enough so that Garibond could pull him back up to a sitting position, and then the older man truly began the story. He told Bransen of his younger days with Bran Dynard, of how Bran had entered the Church of Abelle but Garibond had not. He spoke of Bran's travels to the strange lands south of the southern mountains, relating all the stories Bran had told to him of the Behr and the Jhesta Tu. His good eye sparkled when he talked of Bran's return to Pryd Holding, SenWi at his side, determined to enlighten his brethren about the beauties he had learned among the Jhesta Tu.
"That first day back was trouble, though," Garibond said in more somber tones. "Your father and mother came across a woman who had been tried and convicted before Bernivvigar."
Bransen shuddered at the name.
"He condemned her to death, and so she was bitten by a deadly snake and hung up to die slowly and painfully out along the southern road. Powries were there with her, dipping their caps in her blood!"
Bransen sucked in his breath, eyes going wide, fully caught in the tale now.
"But your mother and father fought them away," Garibond said, his voice showing his eagerness in injecting some real drama into the story and to paint Bransen's parents in the heroic light they deserved. "And then your mother-what a special lass she truly was!-used her mystical powers to cure the poor girl. Aye, but in that, she brought the poison into her own body, and it was that same poison that so hurt you, and her, in the end. Your affliction is because of generosity, my son. That might make it seem harder, I suppose, but to my thinking, it makes you no less a hero than your mother."
"Is-is-is she st-st-still…a-live?"
"The poor girl? Well, I've no idea, to tell the truth. If she's not, then it has nothing to do with that day, ten years ago. She left here of her own accord, walking with strength. And all because of your mother."
Bransen sat quietly and let that sink in, then turned a curious look up at Garibond. "B-b-b-but…my…fa-fa…"
"Your father?"
Bransen nodded.
"He was sent away by Father Jerak. Jerak did not much like your mother, for her powerful religion threatened him, I think. He didn't want to hear what your father had to tell him. So he sent your father away, to the north, to Chapel Abelle on the Gulf of Corona."
Bransen's curious look didn't abate.
"I don't know," Garibond admitted. "We never heard from him again. He may be up there at Chapel Abelle to this day, but Father Jerak's been telling me that he never got there at all. I do not know what to believe, Bransen.
"And I cannot believe that I told you all this in one sitting!" Garibond went on a moment later. "But you had to know-and you have to know that this changes nothing between us. You and me, we're family. Father and son, as far as I'm concerned. And don't you ever say to me again that you should die." He poked a finger threateningly at Bransen's face. "Don't you ever!"
Garibond couldn't hold the scowling pose, and he fell forward, wrapping Bransen in a tight and loving hug, and he held him there for a long, long time. Garibond watched Bransen closely in the hours following their talk. He had placed so much on the shoulders of the frail boy-too much, perhaps.
Bransen, whose face was far too numb to show any but the most extreme emotions, seemed to move about with his typical posture and demeanor, giving Garibond few clues. He kept going back to the thick book, however. He'd stand beside it and run his fingers over the cloth cover, staring down, as if he were trying to somehow connect with his mother through those mystical pages.
"Do you know what a book is?" Garibond asked him on one such occasion.
Bransen jumped back from the tome, startled by the unexpected remark, and shifted to look curiously at Garibond.
Garibond smiled to reassure him, then walked over. "A book," he explained, gently pulling open the cover of the tome. He watched Bransen as he did, and was surprised at how the boy's eyes lit up, and at the sudden look of curiosity that crossed Bransen's face as he leaned in closer to see the gracefully curving letters.
"Your father penned it, one line at a time. It took him years." As he spoke, Garibond ran the tip of his index finger under the first line of the text, right to left as SenWi had taught him. When Bransen tentatively moved his hand toward the enticing letters, Garibond took him by the wrist and placed his fingers on the soft page. "Each of these lines is a letter," he tried to explain, and he scrunched up his face, wondering how in the world he might even begin to explain what a letter might be. He took Bransen's hand more firmly and moved it across one complete word, then spoke the translated word, "foot," out loud.
Bransen stared at him, then nodded and looked back at the page.
Garibond was tired from his long work that morning and even more from revealing so much painful information to Bransen. He wanted nothing more than to eat his supper and go to a well-deserved night's rest. But he could not deny the look on Bransen's face and, given his fears that he had overwhelmed the boy with sorrowful news, he understood his duty here.
Besides, after a few more minutes, after settling on the bed with Bransen sitting beside him, the book across their laps, Garibond found himself invigorated by teaching. He went through each of the letters, as SenWi had done with him. He pointed out and spoke aloud all the familiar words he could readily find on a page, then read complete sentences.
Garibond remembered SenWi's plea to him, that he teach the Book of Jhest to her child. He considered the high hopes, the promise held by the coming baby, and he had to fight back tears over and over again.
For now he considered the futility of this exercise. What might he really teach this idiot boy who could barely manage to walk and talk?
But Garibond quickly pushed those negative thoughts away, even managing a wide and sincere smile when Bransen stuttered out the word for arm. This exercise wasn't about the boy, the lonely older man soon realized, but for him. This was a way to reconnect with those lost to him, to hear again the voice of Brother Bran Dynard and that wonderful wife of his.