Common Ground
A/N: I do not own the Exalted universe, I just live there part-time. I owe Daniel a big one for letting me borrow Xiao Shan's Father and Sister for this piece. Shiarra, of course, is my own.
Shiarra helped her patient to sit, steadying the bowl so he could drink the broth she had made. His hands shook; Shiarra tactfully pretended not to notice the broth that spilled. Grateful for both the care and the tact, Xiao Shan's Father finished the bowl and leaned back against the pillows. It was easy to see where the Little Mountain had inherited his size. Even shrunken by the Contagion, Father was an impressively built man. Shiarra could still see the remnants of his great strength, acquired by decades of forging jade alloy. And not only strength of body, but strength of will as well--how else could he have endured the disease's ravages?
Father rested and watched his nurse with eyes that had lost none of their keenness. It wasn't difficult; she was a splendid if barbaric sight. The trailing silks she wore seemed more suited to a courtesan's tower than to a sickroom, but she wore them with unconscious authority. Her long sunset-red hair had been plaited with bright feathers, crystals, tiny bells and beads. Her copper skin was marred by a trio of scars on her right cheek, and decorated with whorling silver tattoos on her left arm. An orichalcum tiara rested on her brow; Father itched to examine it. Where most things of power could hold one, two, or possibly three Hearthstones, the tiara had a setting for five. Only one was filled, though--a cool misty blue stone set just left of the center slot glimmered in the candlelight as Shiarra lit a stick of incense to combat the smell of the sickroom.
"There is no need for you to do all that yourself," he said abruptly.
She smiled at him and replied in Flametoungue. She spoke it well, though her accent was odd. "Actually, there is. The charm requires that I care for my patients personally, or it will fail." Her brow furrowed as she fussed with something on the tray. "It's a bit like your smith-craft," she said. "You could have an apprentice pump the bellows, perhaps put the metal in the crucible, but you must mix the alloy, pour the ingot, shape the final product. Besides," she added apologetically, "I don't want to expose anyone unnecessarily."
He heard the subtle tension that crept into her voice. Shrewdly he asked, "How is it that you know the charm against the Contagion? Is it possible that you have encountered this disease before?"
Her hands stopped toying with the trays. One hand came up to cover her lips as the other gripped the table. "Yes," she said quietly. "Yes, I have. I was...not so skilled as I am now, and...there was nothing I could do." Her voice trembled slightly and she would not look at him. "Nothing except to mix the potions that would at least bring painless death." Her lips tightened and he heard the conviction in her voice. "I swore after that that no one else would die because of my ignorance."
A small satisfied smile curved the older man's lips as he settled against the pillows. "Then, I am glad you swore such an oath," he said. "For my family, and this village, as well as myself."
Now she smiled again as she mixed something in a blue porcelin cup. "It would be the same no matter who you were," she told him. "But I am glad to help my friend Xiao Shan. Now, drink this."
"What is it?"
"Something to help you sleep." He did not take the cup and Shiarra sighed. "You will get better with or without it, but you will be out of your bed sooner if you sleep now."
Faced with such logic, he took the cup and drained it quickly, feeling the potion ease him into a dreamless sleep.
The sun had set, and there was still no sign of Justin and Wan Hou. Shiarra deposited the trays in the kitchen and slipped out the back door. Sliding to the ground, she wrapped her arms around her knees and breathed deeply of the fresh air. The wind from the desert was warm and sweet as she gazed thoughtfully at the stars and the slowly waxing moon.
She thought about her brother, her mate, her children. She missed them all. Tug would come, if he knew where she was, if he thought she needed him. She smiled at the sudden image of Tug strapped into Xiao Shan's warstrider, tromping the landscape flat. It was impossible, of course--her brother was mortal, and only an Exalt could use such an artifact. Still, if any mortal could find a way, it would be clever Tug.
Her fingers twitched with the desire to cast the Infallible Messenger. She hadn't spoken to Silver Feathers in months. Would he come, she wondered? Things had been strained between Shiarra and her mate lately. He hadn't wanted her to make the trip at all, wanted to keep her close to him. And she wanted to be with him. Still...there was so much to do, if the Circle was going to make things right, and she couldn't do those things if she was locked away in some tower, be it ivory or stone. After all, she had made that mistake once upon a time. So she had gone, and he had stayed at the Snow Eagle Protectorate with their children. He had been the one to teach them to walk and talk, to see them grow. Shiarra had to think, to add up the months in her mind to remember that they were over a year old now.
Dunuzial and Kazhir, she thought wistfully. I carried them beneath my heart for a year. And now I don't know them at all.
A swirl of cloth and long black hair interrupted her brooding. Xiao Shan's Sister paused on the steps for a moment before gathering her skirts and sitting gracefully next to Shiarra. She said nothing, but Shiarra knew what was on the girl's mind.
"The sickness will get no worse," she said gently. "They should all be out of their beds tomorrow. And then we'll bring five more here. Your brother is learning the charms, too--we'll save as many as we can."
Relief transformed the girl's face from merely pretty to beautiful. "Then, my Father will recover?"
"Yes." Shiarra assured her.
"Thank you!" Sister's voice was muffled as she tried to stifle tears. "Oh, it doesn't seem like enough to just say it-- Please, if there's anything I can do--"
Shiarra shook her head. "Your people will need you. You will have to be your Father's daughter, help them through this crisis. We won't be able to treat everyone--some will die, and their families will want to know why their child, or husband, or mother had to die. Some will blame us, the Anathema, saying that we brought the Contagion. My Circle can't stay--and anyway, you and your Father are the ones they look to. It's going to be up to you to keep them together."
Sister listened soberly to this speech and nodded slowly. "I--I've already talked to Father about this. At first, when we thought he would die--he told me the same thing. Except, there was no hope before, and now there is. I understand." She peered more closely at Shiarra as the other woman closed her eyes and leaned against the wall. "You seem tired," she observed.
"I am," Shiarra murmured. "I'm a very long way from home, separated from people I love by half of Creation. I miss my mate, my brother--I miss my horse. And I don't know when I'll see any of them again."
Sister sat silently for a moment. Finally she said, "I'm not married. And my brother has come back to me. But--you have a horse?"
Shiarra smiled. "Yes. His name is Swift. My father gave him to me when I was ten."
This time when Sister spoke Shiarra could hear the suppressed excitement in her voice. "I--it's not much I know, but--would you like to see the stables?"
Shiarra opened her eyes and sat straight up. "You have a stable? I mean--yes, of course!"
Sister linked her arm through Shiarra's as they stood and guided her over the rocky ground. The stables were warm and dim and smelled wonderfully horsey. Shiarra immediately fell in love with Sister's graceful palfry. In the next stall an iron-gray gelding whuffed curiously into Shiarra's hair, making her laugh as she ran her hands over his legs.
"You know horses," Sister observed.
"I would hope so." Shiarra grinned. "My father was a Marukani. When he gave me Swift, he had never been ridden. My father told me that if I could ride him, I could have him." She sighed happily as she patted the gelding's nose. "It took me all day--but by sunset, he carried me willingly."
Sister smiled. "I was twelve when I gentled my first pony," she reminisced. "A wild herd was grazing near the village--I went out every day with bread and apples and made friends with one of the foals. As soon as he was big enough I climbed on his back."
They were silent for a time, Exalt and mortal, each knowing that she had found a friend in these unlikliest of circumstances. They went from stall to stall, Sister introducing each animal while Shiarra exclaimed with delight. Finally, Shiarra sighed regretfully.
"I'm tired," she said frankly. "I need to sleep. Perhaps--we could do this again tomorrow?"
"Of course." Linking arms again, the two women strolled back to the manse. "Xiao Shan has been telling me stories of your Circle," Sister said. "Perhaps you will tell me a few, too?"
"Of course," Shiarra echoed. "And I'll bet he hasn't told you everything. For instance--" her green eyes glinted with mischief-- "has he mentioned his wife yet?"