III
Her vision was fuzzy, and she couldn't feel anything, but she could make out a human silhouette above her. She was rising up to him somehow…
She was very warm now. A claustrophobic warmth, enclosing on her from all sides.
She blinked her eyes rapidly, growing accustomed to the faint, homey light in the room. She slowly sat up, rubbing her eyes.
When she opened them again, she realized she was in a bed. A rather big bed, with a thick comforter over her. Hers was a small bedroom, furnished only with the bed and a small desk in the corner—though there was a nice closet, too.
She touched her forehead, and found something very cold strapped to it. She reached up, intending to undo it.
"Hey, you're awake!"
The voice startled her. In the doorway stood a tall man, two heads taller than her; he appeared middle aged, with light brown hair and, for once, a clean-shaven face.
She frowned, confused. "Where… am I…?"
"This is my home," the man said. "You're in Valm Harbor."
"Valm…" she murmured. Her memories of the pirate ship came rushing back to her. "Ah…"
He sat at the foot of the bed, smiling at her. "I caught you in one of my fishing nets out by the pier. How'd you get there? Oh!" He shook his head, embarrassed. "Sorry, where are my manners. My name is John. What's yours?"
"I… I…" she stammered. What to tell him?
John's smile fell somewhat. Her words were slow, and she didn't seem to know the answer to his question. "Are you… amnesiac? Do you remember anything from before I found you?"
"Yes… well, no… but… yes."
John crossed his arms, confused. "Could you tell me everything that you remember?"
She nodded, and, very slowly, told him everything: waking up in the Plegian desert, being saved by the merchant, being kidnapped by pirates, riding on the pirate ship, and finally, being attacked by one of the pirates and ending up in the ocean.
"Gods almighty," John said, his expression concerned. "That's astounding. I'm sorry for your plight, dear."
She was panting for breath. Never before had she spoken for so long, uninterrupted.
"So… I have… no name…" she said at last. "I am not Girl… I am not Lass…" She sniffed. "What… What am I?"
"What you are, is a poor girl who didn't deserve any of this." John reached forward, placing his hand on hers. "I'll make you better, dear. You've still got some bruises, and you caught a cold from the water, which turned into a fever. Keep that ice on your forehead, and get some rest." He stood. "I'll whip you up some soup, okay?"
She smiled tearfully, nodding.
When John returned to the room, holding his steaming bowl, he found the young lady sound asleep, her head peacefully lolled to the side.
John smiled warmly, and set the soup on the nightstand next to her before leaving, closing the door softly behind him.
There was a knock at the door, jolting her awake. "C-Come in…"
John opened the door. "How are you feeling?"
"Fine…" She sat up again, yawning. "How… long…?"
"A full day," said John, a small impressed note in his voice. "When's the last time you slept in a real bed?"
"I… haven't," she said softly.
"Ah. That'll do it." He sat at the foot of her bed again. "Feeling sick?"
"I feel… better," she said slowly. She reached up, removing the cold ice from her forehead. She looked aside at the lukewarm stew on the nightstand, and remembered John's promise from yesterday. "I—I'm sorry…!"
"It's fine, don't worry about it!" John said, waving it away. "It was all leftovers, anyway. I'm not exactly short on food." He took the bowl. "Let me know if you need anything."
She pushed the covers off of her and swung her legs off the side, noticing that she still wore her pirate attire as she did so. She wiggled her bare toes, getting feeling back in them. "I am… all right…"
"It's probably for the best if you kept resting."
After a whole month of isolation, she had gotten just a taste of friendship before LK snatched it away from her. She couldn't bear any more time in solitude. "But, I… don't want to… be alone," she said, looking away in embarrassment. What presumptuous words to tell a stranger.
John softened. "Oh, all right. Come out and lay down on the couch; I'll be eating breakfast. It won't be as comfortable as the bed, just gonna tell you that now." Soup in hand, he left the guest room, with her not far behind.
John immediately moved to wash out the bowl. She, as instructed, found the nearest couch and lay down, watching him work.
"So, I'm guessing you don't have a place to stay?" John asked, his back to her.
"No…"
"No home to go to, no family you know of?"
Family. "N-No…"
John sighed, pausing in his work. He glanced over his shoulder at her. "Well… I guess you can stay with me, then. I'm not using the guest room for anything else."
She smiled.
John set the clean bowl down on the kitchen counter, and walked over to her. He sat in a little wooden rocking chair next to the couch, easing into it and letting out a long breath as he relaxed. "Well, you've told me everything you know… so I guess I'll tell you a little about me," he began. "I'm a construction worker: I build buildings, but usually I help out down at the shipyard. I fish in my downtime. I live pretty sparsely," he gestured around the barren living room, "as you can tell; so I've got some nice savings… so don't feel guilty about staying here, because I can afford to take care of a guest."
She nodded.
John looked away. "I… suppose that's the most relevant stuff right now." He looked back at her. "As for rent… Obviously I'm not gonna ask you to do what I do, but some help around the house would be nice." He smiled. "Then we'd be even."
"Okay," she said happily, resting her face into the arm of the couch. "Okay…"
John watched her drift off to sleep again, a tiny smile playing at the corner of her mouth. After a moment, he realized he was staring, and he looked away tactfully with a sigh.
The next morning, John put her to work for the first time.
"While I'm out, I'd really appreciate it if you could clean up the kitchen area," he said. "There's a feather duster in my closet back there, and some soap next to the sink. That's all, really."
She nodded enthusiastically, and John left.
The job was a very simple one. Two cabinets filled with plain ceramic dishes, a small, round table, and the sink, were all that constituted the kitchen.
With less than an hour behind her, the dishes were organized, everything was dusted, and the sink was rust-free.
She took a step back, admiring her work with her hands on her hips: a pose she'd learned from Nina.
Then, her expression soured slightly. Morning sunlight still streamed through the window, and she had nothing left to do. Nothing but sitting and resting.
Her face scrunched up determinedly. "Not… done," she said to herself.
The scraping of keys against the lock pulled her from sleep's grip, and she sat up quickly from the couch, stifling a yawn.
John stepped inside, moonlight following him in. He immediately froze, his brow furrowed in surprise. "Wow, did you… clean the entire house?"
She nodded, beaming widely.
John couldn't resist a smile of his own as he looked around, admiring her cleanliness. He hadn't lived in a house this tidy since… "Wow. I was going to have you clean the rest of it throughout the week." He sighed, taking off his coat and hanging it on the freshly-dusted coat rack next to him. "I'll have to find something else for you to do, I guess…" He yawned loudly, the day catching up to him, and next made way for his spot in the rocking chair. "How was your day?"
"It was… nice," she said pleasantly. Cleaning wasn't especially fun, per se, but she felt a certain measure of confidence in successfully completing a task without direction for once. Moreover, her bed was made, and looking forward to a night wrapped up in it brought a smile to her face.
The smile disappeared when she realized she had no way of conveying her feelings to John.
"Come on, now," John said with a grin. "Why so glum? Today seemed pretty productive for you!"
"It's not… that… it's…" She looked away, unwilling, and not sure if even able, to voice her concerns. "I'm only… um… tired… is all." She stood.
"Okay then," John said. She noticed a measure of pity in his eyes. "Good night."
"Good night…"
So, she drifted to her bedroom.
She closed her door and stared at the bed before her. It was immaculately made (if she did say so herself), and the dim candlelight created a lethargic aura in the room, inviting her in.
But the more she stared, the less willing she was to climb into the bed's warm folds.
As she stood there immobile, a single, inexplicable tear drizzled down her cheek, and dripped from her chin to the floor. It was followed by another, and then another.
With no true explanation why, she found herself sliding down the door, sobbing into her hands without restraint. She drew her knees up to her chest, buried her face into them, and continued, letting her sorrows run unabated.
There was no response to John's knock, so, with a mildly confused frown, he opened the door himself, with the intention of waking her for the morning.
The door halted against something foreign, and his frown deepened accordingly. Enough room remained between the door frame and the door for him to poke his head in, so he did so with curiosity.
To his puzzlement, the foreign object was none other than his guest, who was now slowly rising, having been awoken by her contact with the door.
"Um—" He had no name for her, so he settled with, "—dear? There's a bed right over there."
"I—I know…" she said, slowly crawling towards it and allowing John to fully open the door.
John watched as she came to a stop at the foot of the bed and sat against it, her eyes cast downward and virtually hidden by her bangs.
John sighed and entered her room. He placed his hands on his hips, looking down on her with an almost parental look of curiosity. "What's wrong, dear?"
"N-Nothing…" She turned away, and immediately betrayed herself by wiping her eyes.
"Nothing? I bet." He moved to sit next to her.
For a moment, the two were quiet, just sitting there on the floor, peacefully leaning against the foot of her immaculately made bed.
John broke the silence first. "I seem to wake you up pretty much every time I see you," he said. "You sleep a lot, dear. And you can sleep anywhere, apparently!" He chuckled. "Makes me wonder if amnesia is accompanied by narcolepsy."
She wasn't sure what that word meant, but she giggled along with him anyway.
John sighed again. (If her wit was quicker, she would have told him that she may sleep a lot, but he sighs just as much!) But instead, he spoke. "I know you've only been here for a couple days, but I wish you'd talk to me. You can trust me, I promise."
"I know," she said.
He patted her on the knee. "Then, whenever you want to talk… You know where to find me." He stood, and offered her his hand. "Also, I can't believe I never changed you out of that pirate attire. I'm sorry, but you smell awful, dear. Hahaha!"
She laughed too, and he assisted her to her feet.
He gestured out the door with his thumb. "I have some dresses in the other room. You'd probably fit in them."
She nodded enthusiastically.
John had handed the dress to her on a hanger, and now she stood in the middle of her room, the piece of white clothing hanging from her door.
As she finally rid herself of the clothing that, even now, clung to her with a month's worth of sweat and salty air, her eyes would not leave the dress.
It was very similar to the first clothes she remembered wearing, although her old dress was more of a light green than the stark, pure white of this one. As she dropped her shirt to the floor, freeing her hands, she ran her fingers down the hanging dress. It was so soft, so clean. She had never worn something so beautiful, and she was almost afraid to put it on; she felt almost… almost… unworthy?
But she figured it would be terribly rude to deny John's hospitality, and furthermore, sliding back into the salt-stained pirate's gear was a less than appetizing thought.
She fumbled for a moment in separating hanger and dress, and afterward began her slow entrance into the simple, white, beautiful, perfect dress.
She fit her head through, then her arms, and then the dress slid down the rest of her. She took a breath, loath to look down.
She finally did, however, and the sight of herself wearing something not dirtied by travel and stress was a cathartic sight indeed.
She broke into a wide smile, her hands moving to cover her mouth. The sight moved her to tears; her gratitude was overwhelming, and she swore to herself that she would thank John as much as she was able. She set about making good on that promise, and opened her door.
John looked up from his newspaper, and his smile proved almost as wide as hers. "Your smile is incredibly beautiful," he said. "Why the tears?"
"I… I'm…" She sniffed, but her smile would not waver. "I'm so happy…"
John folded his newspaper and tossed it aside, standing to meet her. He finally looked her up and down. "Gods," he said, impressed, "you pull it off perfectly." He grinned up at her, and winked. "Simple beauty is the right kind of beauty, I think." He clapped his hands together. "Now! How about I whip up some breakfast for the beautiful lady, and then throw away those old clothes of yours?"
She smiled, futilely trying to clear her eyes of tears.
John got a great sense of satisfaction from the sight of her as she ate her cereal. Even now, with several minutes gone, her smile would not leave, and pride welled in John at this accomplishment of his.
"John…" she said quietly.
"Yeah?"
She leaned forward, looking him in the eye with a tranquil curiosity. "Do you have… family?"
"Do I? No," said John. "I'm afraid not. I've never been able to keep a wife, you see. Forty-one years old, and very single." He gestured at her. "Meanwhile, you look to be, what, mid, mid-late twenties? You've got time left to find a husband."
"Husband? No…" She shook her head. "I don't… want one…"
"Is that so?"
"Yes… What I want, is… a family."
"A family…" John murmured.
His eyes glazed with a faraway look, and she took that to mean that the conversation was over; she returned to her cereal.
"I've…" he began, but instantly cut himself off.
"What?"
"Oh, never mind," he said, forcing a grin and leaning over his breakfast. "Silly thought."
She frowned. "Okay…"
When breakfast was over, she offered to do the dishes for him, a notion that he was easily swayed to agree with.
So there she was, humming to herself as she cleaned their bowls thoroughly and one-by-one, when he spoke that dark question.
"Why do you talk so slowly, dear?" asked John. "Can you not speak any faster?"
There it was. Are you dumb? The words hung over her head, regardless of John's intent in the question.
Her work halted, her hand hovering just over the bowl as the water ran. "Because my mind is sluggish. Because it hurts my head to concentrate too hard. Because, if I tried to speak quickly, either my thoughts or my breath would fail me. Because I can't think properly; not like you do."
That was what she wanted to say.
But she couldn't. The words, the thoughts… they wouldn't come, wouldn't focus. Instead, she was forced to settle with: "Because… I must."
She swiftly turned away, back to the dishes. Her eyes were watering, and she didn't want John to see; she had had her fill of his pity. She hastily wiped away her sorrow, and attacked the dishes with renewed vigor.
John frowned, realizing he had struck a nerve. "I'm—" he began.
"You will be… late for work," she interrupted. She gestured at the door. "I will… see you tonight…"
"…Okay." John stood, grimacing as he grasped his coat. What a stupid question to ask. What kind of answer was I expecting? "See you later."
As soon as the door shut, the bowl slid from her hand and clattered into the sink. She fell to her knees, and the same sorrow from the previous night threatened to overwhelm her again.
It succeeded.
Try as she might to entertain herself, there simply was not enough work to do to occupy her mind throughout the day. She explored the house, but there wasn't much to it; she made games for herself, but quickly grew bored of them; she tried talking to herself, but ran into the same speech impediment roadblocks as always.
Slowly, over the course of a few hours, she realized something: John had never forbidden her from leaving the house. Why was she still here, when there was so much to do outside?
So she smoothed out her dress, found her only pair of shoes (sadly, the pirate ones), and reached for the door.
She hesitated, her hand hovering just before the doorknob. She knew for certain that he hadn't forbidden her from leaving, but she still felt as though she were being disobedient. Like she was betraying his trust.
She grimaced, the indecision becoming painful.
She closed her eyes, took a breath, and grasped the doorknob. Anything was better than being alone with her self-pity.
The first thing she noticed upon stepping outside was how different this place was from Plegia Harbor. This was a residential street, and she was certain Plegia had had nothing of the sort; furthermore, although she could smell the salt in the air, she could not see the ocean through the buildings. If she wanted to see it… she'd have to explore.
She took a deep breath, and couldn't resist a small grin. Adventure.
As she walked through the relatively barren residential streets, a fear nagged at the back of her mind. There would certainly be large crowds the farther she got into the city; what if she panicked again? What if, in her panic, she was kidnapped again?
She shuddered. Another month at sea… Not a chance.
She reached the end of her street, and turned the corner, finding herself at the pier. She realized as soon as she did that her street was on a higher level than the pier; she was now on what was more or less a concrete cliff, though the drop couldn't have been more than a few feet.
She froze. There it was. The ocean. Across the pier.
It glittered…
She sat on the ledge, shaded her eyes with her hand, and watched the golden light skipping across the waters. The sun hung low over the ocean, almost blinding her with its radiance—but it was hidden behind the sail of a great ship (a far greater one than the pirates'), which sat docked at the end of the pier. If she looked right and left, more ships were docked all along the harbor, each of varying size and make.
It was then that the bustle of the harbor reached her ears. She noticed giant crowds moving about the pier; dozens of people at a time, maybe, each doing something different.
She watched for a while with childlike curiosity. That man was carrying a box, but that other one was dragging ropes. Those three men, together, were moving a small boat. That man stood behind that window the whole time, shouting about how his groceries were the finest in Valm. Those men over there had funny accents, and spoke all serious-like. Those over there spoke just like the pirates, but dressed better.
She smiled. What a big world. It felt like forever since she'd awoken in Plegia, but she had still seen so little.
"Hey there, girlie! You lookin' for someone?"
She shivered in surprise and fear, and faced the voice. To her relief, the man was relatively clean-shaven and nicely-dressed, meaning he was likely not a pirate.
"I, um… no," she said. "Just… looking."
"Browsing, huh?" He nodded his head. "Well, if you want to browse, my shop is the best place for that!"
Browse? She didn't know that word, but if she was correctly guessing from context, then it meant sightseeing.
She smiled and nodded. "Okay!"
"Atta girl!" the shopkeeper said jovially. He offered her his hand, and she let him assist her to her feet. "Right this way!"
She followed just behind the shopkeeper, still taking in the sights as they walked.
Soon, they arrived at the shop. She glanced over her shoulder, and to her glee, she could still see the ocean from here.
"Come on in," he said, holding the door for her.
She peered into the building, and was delighted to see the walls covered from top to bottom with assorted tools and items. She hummed as she entered.
"I carry only the finest," the man said confidently, heading across the room as she 'browsed.' He circled around the counter and stood in the frame of the door behind it; "If you're ready to buy something, gimme a holler!" And he disappeared into the back room.
She smiled in acknowledgement, and continued her perusal. She brushed her fingers along every item she encountered, smiling slightly at each different texture she experienced. She didn't know what most of the items were, but she would be happy to find out.
"E-Excuse me…!" she said. Her intent was to holler, as per his instructions, but she had never spoken that loudly before, and as such didn't really know how.
Luckily, it was enough, because he poked his head out of the back room. "Yes? Found something to your liking?"
"Um… no, I…" She pointed at a long, pointed stick on the wall. "What's this…?"
"That? That's a finely-crafted steel lance, forged by the best blacksmith in the Harbor," said the shopkeeper proudly. His smile faltered somewhat. "…You don't exactly look like the combat type, though."
She shook her head.
"Well, if you have any other questions," he said, maintaining his cheerful demeanor.
"Um, actually…" She pointed at another weapon.
The shopkeeper sighed, and circled around the counter to stand next to her. He rightly assumed she would have more questions after this one. "That's a steel bow. It's finely made, but I'm certain you don't want one." He pointed over his shoulder. "You know, I have non-combat items over there… Healing staves and the like…"
She ignored him, still looking across the wall of weapons (though she took mental note to check out those staves later). Her eyes settled on something that looked very familiar.
She approached the item, and as she ran her fingers across the leather surface, she recognized it as a book. "Book?" This wall was all weapons, except for this one book.
"Ah, that's actually called a tome, dearie," said the shopkeeper. "Mages hate it when you call them 'books.'"
"Mages…?"
He tilted his head. "…You must be a sheltered girl."
She soured, wondering if that was another jab at her intelligence.
But he explained nonetheless, his attitude still positive. "Mages! People who can use magic. They use their spells through tomes such as that one; that particular tome is an Elfire, the second-tier Fire magic. It makes quite a nasty blaze when a mage uses it, but if you don't know how to use one, you aren't coaxing anything out of it." He gestured. "It also has some very cool-looking illustrations in it, which I assume are some kind of magical incantation or something."
She took the book in her hands and, under the shopkeeper's watchful eye, leafed through the pages curiously.
"Yeah, all that text doesn't make sense, but it definitely looks cool," said the shopkeeper with a grin.
"But…" she murmured, her eyebrows furrowing into a distant concentration. "It does…" She settled on a page, and traced her finger along a circular rune embedded in the page. "It's so… simple…" She tilted her head. "I understand…"
The rune, normally of black ink, morphed into a golden hue. To her surprise, rings of incantation formed around her, and fire burst to life on the wall of weapons.
"Holy crap!" the shopkeeper exclaimed, rushing to find something with which to put out the fire.
She didn't react. She simply stood there, staring into the blaze, a small smile playing on her lips. Even when he pushed her out of the way and tossed a fire blanket onto the flames, she didn't awaken.
"Gods!" came a voice from the door, and she was finally torn from her trance.
It was John, rushing in to help the shopkeeper with the fire. "Why are you here?" John asked of her as he patted out the remainders. "I thought you were at home?"
"She's yours?" the shopkeeper asked indignantly. His jovial attitude was gone. "What the hell, man?"
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," John muttered.
She sensed anger in his voice, and the guilt returned. So, she was disobeying him all along…
"How did this happen?" John continued. Pat, pat; then he stood, wiping his brow of sweat and lifting the fire blanket.
The shopkeeper took his blanket back. "She got her hands on an Elfire."
"An Elfire? How'd she—?"
The shopkeeper shrugged, clearly irritable. "I dunno! She didn't even know what a mage was, how was I supposed to know she was one?!"
"Gods' sake…" John muttered, shaking his head and reaching into his pocket. "I'll pay for the damages."
"And that Elfire," the shopkeeper demanded. "She just used one of its pages."
"Fine, I'll compensate that one use!" John huffed.
The shopkeeper nodded, appeased.
John's hand firmly gripped her arm as he stormed back to the apartment; no more painfully than how the pirates would do it, but it hurt all the same. His jaw was angrily set, with his eyes locked forward.
She started to grow upset. She had messed up, for sure.
John shoved the door open, and finally released her as soon as they entered.
She waited, cringing like a dog awaiting punishment, as he paced through the living room. To her surprise, however, he stormed into the kitchen instead.
He let out a roar and plunged his fist into his cabinet. The wood splintered before his hand, leaving a jagged hole in the door.
John still didn't meet her eye as he raged out of the kitchen. He entered his room and slammed the door, shaking dust from the rafters.
She squeezed her eyes shut and began to cry.
She had been unable to sleep due to her guilt, so she had merely lain down on the couch, her eyes wide open as she reflected on what she had done.
"Goodness. I thought you'd be asleep."
John's voice startled her, and she jumped to her feet. Her contriteness still showed in her eyes.
John waved it away. His fury from a few hours ago was all but gone, replaced by a wan smile. "I'm sorry for… how I was earlier. I'm working on some, uh… some anger issues."
"Anger issues…?"
John nodded. "Yeah, I, uh, tend to really explode when I'm angry." He gestured at the fractured cabinet door in the other room. "As you saw earlier."
She shook her head quickly. "But… it was… my fault!"
John sighed. "I guess I never said you couldn't leave. Plus, how could you have known about any of that Elfire stuff? Nah, don't blame yourself, dear. You're fine."
She averted her eyes. "B-But…"
"Look," John said helpfully, "I guess if you want to feel better, you could help me take out that cabinet door? It's pretty much ruined now."
She agreed, and they moved to the kitchen.
John climbed onto the counter, gingerly swinging the broken cabinet open. "Watch out for splinters," he said. "Took me a while to pluck some out of my hand earlier. There's bound to be more." He lifted the door slightly. "Hey. Could you reach behind the hinge, right there? There's a little switch; detaches the thing straightaway." He shrugged sheepishly. "I, uh… This isn't the first time this has happened, so, uh, I made it easy to remove. Just in case."
She smiled, and reached into the dark cabinet.
As she felt around, blindly searching for the switch, a sharp, sudden pain jabbed into her finger. She retracted her hand from the cabinet, and in her pain, she uttered one of the first words she had ever learned: "Shit!"
"Hey!" John released the cabinet, let it swing shut, and climbed down from the counter. "No, ma'am! You will not use that kind of language in this household, you hear me?"
She nodded, tears in her eyes (in a mixture of both pain and fear of reprisal). He pointed at a seat at the table, and she meekly complied, still holding her afflicted finger.
John took her hand, and, not gently, removed the splinter with his fingers, tossing it aside afterwards. He patted her hand, told her "massage it and the pain'll go away," and took a seat opposite her at the table.
She fearfully kept her mouth shut and complied, rubbing her right index finger. She glanced aside at him, and happened to catch his eye this way; she looked away in a hurry.
"Seriously," John said. "That language is not appropriate household talk." As an aside to himself, he muttered, "I hear enough of that nonsense at work." Back to her, he said, "I guess I shouldn't expect any less from someone stuck with pirates for a whole month."
She pursed her lips, content in letting John believe she had learned that word from the pirates.
After a long pause, John broke the silence with (what else but) a sigh, catching her attention again. "Look at me… scolding you like I'm your parent." He looked her in the eye. "I'm sorry. I know you're too old for that, but I… I just…"
She tilted her head curiously. "You… what?"
He waved it away, and that same forced smile from that morning resurfaced. "Oh, never mind," he said, and she could predict his next words, having already heard them: "Silly thought." This time, however, she had a rebuttal.
"No, no," she said. All her thoughts from that morning flooded back into her, and the words came without effort, for the first time. "I have many thoughts… that I cannot… fully express. …You must speak your mind… because I cannot. Use your privilege… please."
He was frozen. Her words had shaken him to the core; she could tell that at a glance.
John stammered as he spoke. "I… I'm sorry. I didn't…" But he realized that an apology was not what she wanted, so he took a breath and continued. "…Okay, then. I've always wanted a daughter." He threw his hands up in surrender. "There it is. My dream has always been to raise a daughter, to have a family. And you, you're… you're so innocent, and sweet, and beautiful… you're exactly what I would have wanted." He smiled, his eyes adopting the same glazed, distant look from that morning. "You asked, before, if I had a family. Family… something I've always wanted, but could never have." He laughed humorlessly, his gaze returning to the present. "And here I am, forcing it on a stranger. You aren't my actual daughter, and I'm not your father. But I've been treating you like you could be."
She leaned forward to grasp both of his hands. She wore a bright, pure smile. "Family," she said softly. "Family… is more than blood… it is earned."
As John stared into her eyes, understanding hit him. "You… you do want to be family?"
She nodded eagerly. "Yes…! I would… be honored, to be your daughter."
A strange feeling welled up in John. It was similar to that satisfaction he had felt that morning, but… much stronger. "Yes!" he said. His mouth was dry, and the words were difficult to speak. "Okay, then!" Was… was he dreaming? None of this seemed real. "We're… we're family! Hahaha!"
She had seen the pirates become drunk, and she finally understood what they felt like; the happiness in her dulled her senses, warming her entire body. She joined in on John's mirth, and they continued laughing happily at that table for a brief eternity.
Finally, their humor reached a tolerable level, and she released his hands and sat back in her chair, with him doing the same.
He crossed his arms curiously. "So, you… don't have a name?" His tone indicated that he seemed to be testing the waters.
She shook her head.
The distant glaze returned again. He stared down at the table absently, his lips loosely forming words as he spoke: "If… If I had ever had a daughter… I would have named her… Emily." His vision sharpened again, and he looked up at her, a sort of hopeful trepidation in them as he awaited her response.
"Emily." She slowly rolled the name around on her tongue. "Emily…"
What a word. What a name. Emily. The most beautiful sound…
She could tell the wait was agonizing for him; to make him wait any longer was cruelty. "Emily…" she murmured. She slowly broke into a smile. "I… am… Emily."
A weight lifted from John's shoulders, and he released a heavy sigh. "Emily," he said. "That is your name, from now on."
The same elation from before filled her. A true identity to call her own. She wasn't the Girl. She wasn't Lass.
She was Emily.
"Now…" said John. He paused to stand from his chair. "How about we finish up this cabinet, Emily?"
Emily nodded eagerly. "Let's!"
The house was filled with laughter for the rest of the evening. Neither John nor Emily truly understood why they laughed, but they could not stop, possibly for lack of trying.
When the light ceased from the windows, and lamps hardly made up the difference, Emily decided it was time for bed.
"Good night," said John, as he stood in the doorway. His smile was warm. "Sweet dreams, Emily."
"Good… night," said Emily, and closed the door as he left.
Emily turned to face her bed. Its folds were still immaculately made from the previous day; the lights, again, invited her into their somnolent embrace.
Without a moment's hesitation, Emily ripped the sheet from the mattress, and placed herself in between. Snugly fit into her bed—hers; Emily's—she smiled, closed her eyes, and instantly drifted to sleep.
Knock, knock. "Morning, Emily," said the voice outside.
She did not respond for a brief, groggy moment. But she soon remembered, with a happy smile, that this Emily, that was her.
"Emily," she said to herself. The taste of the word was no less sweet. "Me…"
Another knock on the door brought her to her senses, and she acknowledged him with "I am awake."
"Are you decent?"
She frowned. What an odd question. She liked to think that she was a good person, but such an enquiry seemed highly discordant from the current circumstances.
Thus, "…What?"
A brief pause, then: "Are you, er, dressed?"
"Oh…!" She took mental note of that idiom, for future reference. "Yes…"
He opened the door. The first thing she noticed was the hanger in his right hand: another dress, nearly identical to her current one, with the exception of its ocean-blue color.
Emily frowned, looking down at herself. This white one was so nice. "Another one…?"
"Well… yeah," said John, mildly confused. "Normal people change their clothes every day."
"Every day…?" What a depressing thought! She liked this white dress, and was sad to see it go. And what if she became attached to the blue dress, too? It would have to leave as well?
For the first time (and hopefully last, she thought), she found a reason to prefer her lifestyle with the pirates and Martin.
"Well, it's not like I'm throwing it away like I did with your sea-voyage clothes," he said, as if reading her mind. "It just needs to be cleaned."
"Oh…" Well that's not so bad. "Okay…"
John left it on the doorknob for her, and closed the door behind him.
John glanced up from his cereal. "Looking good, Emily."
She smiled. She was unaccustomed to such regular flattery, but she felt it to be well-founded in this case. This dress was indeed very pretty, she thought.
He gestured at the bowl across from him at the table, and she sat to enjoy her cereal. "So," he began, "it's pretty clear there's nothing for you to do around here. I can't think of any chores, and you don't seem to have any other way to entertain yourself. Plus, you're kind of—and I mean this with love—ignorant about most of the world. So," he said quickly, "if you want to tag along, I'd like to bring you to work with me today."
The word 'ignorant' was a pretty mean one, she thought, but quickly forgot after hearing his following words. "Yes!" she said, excited. "I would… love to come."
"Good," he said, and added, "Emily." He winked at her.
Emily beamed.
"…Hey. Earth to Emily."
Emily's entrancement with the sea broke. "Mm-hm?"
John sighed. "Emily, could you please stop getting distracted by the ocean? This is the third time."
Emily frowned sheepishly. "I-I'm sorry…"
"It's fine. Now as I was saying, today I'm going to be working on the hull of this ship." He gestured over his shoulder at the schooner farther down the pier; several other workers were already hard at work removing pieces from it. "It's got some hull damage from a nasty collision with a reef."
"Oh," she said, though she couldn't really see much wrong with the ship; the pirate ship had looked to be in worse shape than this one. Well, she wasn't the expert.
As they approached, some of the workers acknowledged John with friendly nods or waves, always followed by a curious glance at Emily.
"Ah! Glad you could make it." A burly man approached and shook John's hand, grinning amicably. He wore a sleeveless shirt and a small cap; both were already damp, possibly from the humid ocean air. However, a breeze brought his foul scent to Emily, and she determined that it was definitely sweat. And fish; ew.
"'Course," John replied. "Like I'd say no, Merc. A friend in need, and all."
"Haha! Yeah, right. More like 'money calls.'"
John shrugged, grinning mischievously. "You got me."
"So, who's the lass?"
Lass. Emily got a brief chill from hearing the word again.
"This is Emily," John said, putting his arm around her proudly. "My daughter."
"Your daughter?!" Merc exclaimed. This apparently caught the ear of the other workers, as well; they all hesitated in their work. "Since when have you got a daughter?"
"Hey, you're hurting my feelings, Merc," John said, that mischievous smile still there. "You don't know anything about me, do you?"
Merc leered suspiciously at Emily for a moment, before turning back to John. "Ah, whatever. So, what, is it bring-your-daughter-to-work day or somethin'?"
"Pretty much. I just wanted to show her what I do. Maybe she'll learn a few things."
"Haha! Maybe a more colorful vocabulary!"
John soured. "Could you not?"
"Oh, right, I forgot. Mister Uptight, Prim-and-Proper hates cussin'."
"There's a time and a place for it."
"Ah, whatever." Merc started back toward the damaged ship. "As long as your daughter doesn't slow progress, she can do whatever she likes."
John turned to Emily as Merc left. "Emily, you can walk around and whatever, but don't leave my sight. Stay near this ship, okay?"
Emily nodded.
"That means that if you can't see me, you're too far away." He grinned and gestured over his shoulder. "These guys are crude, for sure, but they're all right. If they aren't too busy, they'll probably talk to you if you want conversation."
Conversation meant learning, so yes, she did want that; but those people looked rugged and coarse, and she doubted she had the nerve to approach them. Last time she met a new person, she set his building on fire; the time before that, she was kidnapped by the new people. The only decent people she knew had found her first, not the other way around.
"Okay," she said anyway.
John became serious. "And if they teach you any new words, run them by me before you use them, okay?"
Emily giggled.
For the most part, Emily simply sat on the pier, letting her toes dangle just over the water. She wasn't tall enough to reach the water, unfortunately: she imagined the cool water would feel nice on her toes.
Time seemed to move so slowly. The sun refused to budge from its position on the horizon before her, meaning she still had a long, long day of nothing ahead of her.
She looked back toward the damaged schooner. The men were still toiling away at the behemoth, and hey, there was John, so she was good for now.
Emily sighed and slowly heaved herself back onto the pier and to her feet. She was going to ask John if she could just go home, and maybe try to take a nap.
As she approached the ship, she heard a voice to the side.
"Hey there!" It was a worker on the ship, taking a break from hammering away at a plank to gesture her over.
Emily pointed at herself, confused.
"Yes, you!" He gestured again.
She approached nervously. "H-Hello," she murmured as she neared him.
"Hiya! I'm a friend of John's," the man said, and offered his hand.
Emily shook it, and was surprised at the texture of his hand; she quickly retracted her hand from the uncomfortable feeling.
The man looked down at his grimy palm. "Whoops. My bad." He waved it away. "Anyway, what's your name? I had no idea John had a daughter."
"Em… Emily," she said slowly.
He tilted his head, grinning. "You're a shy one, arntcha? You know, I've known John for a few years, and he's never mentioned having a girl. What's your story, Emily?"
"I'm… um… I'm not… from here," said Emily.
His face fell. "…Oh. I suppose you're… You must be, eh…"
Emily frowned.
He huffed impatiently. "Not gonna make it easy for me, huh? Not gonna finish my sentence?"
Emily shook her head, uncomprehending.
"You must be his ex-wife's daughter," he said at last.
"Wife…?" But John said he was single? That he could never start a family?
He cleared his throat. "So I guess you aren't, then. Awkward." He turned back to the ship, and continued hammering. "Guess I should explain what I was talking about, then. John was married a few years back." He hesitated. "Heh. 'A few years.' It's been more than a decade!" He shook his head. "I'm getting old, Emily! The years are blurring together. Though John's still ten years my senior, heheh…"
"Where… is she?"
He glanced over his shoulder at Emily. "Well, John and I were only work friends at the time, so I've only heard this secondhand. But, way back when, he and his wife got into some kind of argument." He toyed with the hammer thoughtfully. "If I recall correctly… I think it was over whether to have a family or not. John really wanted one, but his wife was against it. This leads to that, and eventually, the two divorce. John's wife leaves town and never returns." He shrugged. "I figured you were some kind of long-lost daughter or something."
Emily shook her head. "No…"
"So you're adopted, I presume?"
Emily frowned curiously. "Adopted?"
The man looked back at her. For a long moment, he simply stared at her, eyes narrowed curiously. "Adopted," he said plainly. "Like… you aren't blood-related?"
She smiled. "Oh!" She nodded. "Adopted."
"Huh."
It was at this point that Emily expected this man to make a jab at her intelligence, or make note of her ignorance at the least.
But instead, he simply turned away. "Good to know, I guess. Nice to meet you, Emily."
"Nice… to meet you, too," she said with a smile.
"Listen," he said, "me and the boys were gonna grab some drinks after work today. You wanna come?" He glanced over at her, met her eye and grinned slightly.
Oh no… Going out again? Certainly John would become angry, and Emily started composing words of refusal.
"Don't worry, John'll be there too." He winked at her, quite certain he had read her mind.
Well, if John was there, then… "Okay," said Emily brightly. "Thank you…"
He waved it away with the hammer. "Don't worry about it. My name's Jeremiah, by the way, but you can call me Jer. Rhymes with 'chair'."
Jer! How wonderful. How Emily appreciated single-syllable names, in spite of her affection for her own three-syllable one. "Jer," she said, nodding.
"Oh," Jer said suddenly, linking his hammer onto his toolbelt and turning to face Emily. "I've got a favor for you. Could you go grab me some water? I left mine at home, so I'll give you some money to buy a drink across the pier."
"Across the pier…" That was definitely out of John's sight, but Jer read Emily's mind once again.
"I'll explain it to John, 'kay? But I'm dying here. Please?" He reached into his pocket and offered her a few pieces of gold. "This should cover it."
Emily hesitantly reached for the gold. "I-I… suppose so." She wrapped her hands around the warm metal, scooping it up and holding it awkwardly.
"Just go over there—" Jer pointed—"and ask for a full canteen." He beamed. "Thanks, dear. You're a lifesaver."
Well. This was certainly a new experience.
Jer's gold was heavy with symbolic weight, and as she walked to the water-bearing shop, she still held it as she had when she accepted it: awkwardly cupped in her hands, held at chest-level. She walked quickly, anxious for every moment she was out of John's sight.
She stepped in front of the store window. To her horror, she couldn't see any shopkeeper, which meant more waiting at the least, and a fruitless trip at worst. "U-Um," she called. "Hello…?"
"Hello!"
A head popped up from over the counter, startling Emily and shaking a few coins from her hands.
The shopkeeper leaned against the counter and smirked at Emily. "What can I fix you with, lassie?"
Lassie. Shudders… partially because of the memories, and partially because a breeze brought the merchant's scent to Emily.
"Um… w-water, please," said Emily, offering her money.
Jer glanced aside, having noticed Emily's approach. He broke into a wide smile. "Ah, just what I needed, Emily! Thanks!"
He accepted the drink from her. She sighed with relief as the leather canteen left her hand; that was a stressful experience that she did not want to repeat. The stares, the leers, the anxiety, the reeking merchant…
Jer finished his long drag from the canteen. "Also, uh… A few other workers saw you do me that favor, and they might've forgotten to bring water, too, so if you want something to do…" Jer trailed off, gesturing at other thirsty workers behind him. "Anyway, I've got a job to do, so see you around, Emily." And he returned to his work.
Emily's heart fell. So many people… So much gold to handle… So many trips to the store.
She carefully weighed her choices. Either deliver the water, get some healthy walking in, learn how to handle money, and maybe meet these nice workers, or… sit, and do nothing.
Welp.
Her face drew a determined expression. It was awkward the first time, but this work wasn't hard! Anything for a chance to get on her feet and do stuff, stuff that was helpful and meaningful. These men were thirsty, and she was the only one who could help! Probably!
"Okay," she said confidently, and strode forward to meet the other workers.
"Huh?" said Jer, having forgotten she was still there.
Emily was panting by her final return from the shop. As the day had worn on, the men had finished their drinks and asked for more. Some of them had even asked for other items, like sweat rags or alcohol. One had even tasked her with purchasing a birthday present for his daughter. (Emily hoped the girl liked necklaces.)
Merc had been kind enough to buy a water for Emily on this latest trip, so before she returned to the schooner to be assigned more inevitable work, she found a few stair steps and sat down to enjoy a moment of passion with her canteen.
She was surprised at the sight before her—one she had not, in fact, seen before. She was facing the ocean, and the evening sky had lit the water a fiery orange.
Emily was amazed. She had seen this view from the bow of the pirate ship as it headed west, but the eastward view was just as breathtaking, and substantially different in ways she couldn't quite explain.
By this point, the blood pounding in her ears had ceased, and her headache of dehydration was starting to abate. It was then that she heard conversation from nearby: she recognized the voices as those of Jeremiah and John.
Though she was tempted to stand and meet them, she felt a certain thrill from being able to listen to them without their knowledge of her presence. Eavesdropping; that was the word!
"Ay, John. Got a minute?"
"Hm? Yeah, sure. What's up, Jer?"
There was a pause, and Emily heard a sigh. It was short and impatient; John's were always long and drawn-out, signaling exasperation instead, so Emily reasoned that Jer was the sigher.
"What do you think? Emily. Your daughter."
"What about her?"
"Where did she come from? Ah, don't pull this you-don't-know-me nonsense; I'm your best friend, and I'd never heard of her. How'd you meet her?"
Another sigh. Now that one was definitely John's. "Listen, it's been a long day. Can't I explain tomorrow?"
"Nuh-uh. If you don't tell me right now, then you're explaining it to everyone at the bar."
"I told you, I'm not going out tonight. I have a daughter to take care of."
"Heheh!" The laugh implied a mischievous grin to accompany it. "Are you, now? I convinced Emily to join us there. She's probably already at the bar with everyone else, and if she's there, you have to go, too!"
"You did what? But she's only—"
John's sentence ended abruptly, leading to an awkward pause.
"Only what? …You don't know how old she is?"
"Okay, she's probably old enough to drink, but she doesn't have the maturity."
"That's just father talk. She'll be fine, and she'll be better if you come with us!" A short pause. "…How does a father not know his own daughter's age? Where did you adopt her from?"
"I saved her. She was floating in the ocean, having been injured from a long fall. She has amnesia, and didn't even know her own name, not to mention her age."
Another pause.
"Amnesia… Damn, that sucks for her."
"Language. Anyway…" John's voice lowered to a whisper, but Emily still had little trouble discerning his words. "It's not just amnesia. You spoke to her, right? You heard how she talks?"
Emily's breath caught.
"Yeah," said Jer grimly.
"It's more than just amnesia. It's brain damage. Whatever it was that stole her memories also stole her ability to think. She acts strangely, has slow reaction time, and doesn't know many things. Speaking doesn't come easily to her, and she is a frail girl."
There was a long, poignant pause. Emily's fascination with eavesdropping had turned to a desperate need to hear what came next.
John continued. "She is young… and she isn't strong. So now do you understand why I'm so protective of her?"
"…Heheheh. John, you know you would've made a great dad, right?"
John didn't respond.
"Okay, then. I see your point, but now hear mine. You brought Emily to work with you so she could see the world, right? Well, the language might be a little rougher when we've got some alcohol in us, but we're full of conversation and stories. Emily could learn a lot by speaking to more people than just her father."
There was another pause, just as poignant as the last.
"Hahaha… Fine, Jeremiah. You win. I'll go to the bar with you and Emily. But we're both going home before midnight, you hear?"
"Okay, okay! Ya stick in the…"
Emily listened to the voices disappear into the distance. Her eyes were wide and unblinking as she stared down into her hands. "Brain damage," she murmured to herself, and realization after realization piled onto her.
She was wounded in the head. She was frail in both mind and body. She needed protection.
She was useless. She wasn't needed. She was the dependent one, always searching for others to protect her.
A feeling welled up in her, the same one from two nights previous, from when she had been unable to enter her bed. The feeling of uselessness, of unworthiness.
Emily. That was her, wasn't it? Wasn't Emily her name? Didn't her identity have value? Or was she human refuse, simply surviving by leeching support from others? Was she as disposable as her previous names, Girl and Lass?…
Alcohol. She had seen its effects before: the pirates would turn into carefree idiots, exuberant and overly friendly. Uninhibited; that was the word. What Emily needed was some of this. Perhaps its effects would ease this pain.
The walk to the bar was numb and aimless. She didn't know the way, but after a half-hour of searching, she found the place by chance.
She stepped into the bar and was immediately snapped to consciousness by a booming "AYY!"
As Jer marched over, greeted her with a tight hug, and led her to a seat at the giant table, Emily noted that apparently all people acted similarly when drunk, pirates or no.
Fortunately, Emily's seat was placed next to John's, so she was far more comfortable than she ever had been with the pirates.
"Emma! Emma, Emma," a drunken construction worker slurred while gesturing lazily at Emily. "You gotta have a drink! Drinks for the new girl!"
"Ayy!"
"Noice!"
"Get 'er somethin' weak, we don't wanna kill 'er!"
A glass of wine ended up cupped in Emily's hands, she having no recollection of how it got there. She stared into the beverage's rosy depths as the drunken men all around her cheered for her to drink it.
Emily was a little hesitant. Despite all her time on the pirate ship, never once had she partaken in their spirits, and she wondered what kind of taste a drink with such powerful effects on the human mind could have.
With trepidation, and a touch of excitement, Emily lifted the glass mug to her lips, and slowly tilted it inward. The workers around her fell silent, watching eagerly for Emily's reaction.
A small sip by the other's standards, but a veritable swig by Emily's, quickly raced down her throat, leaving behind a slightly burning, bitter sensation.
Ah, yes. This taste. She knew it well; it always reminded her of his laughter. A small smile came to her face at the warm feeling. The workers grumbled to themselves, disappointed at the lack of retching or coughing from their victim.
Her smile instantly died. Whose laughter?
The other workers burst into laughter, mistaking Emily's realization for the taste of the alcohol kicking in. With a cheer, many glasses were clinked, and many swigs were drawn.
Meanwhile, Emily desperately tried to grasp at the remnants of that memory. To whom did that laughter belong? She couldn't make out his face, and even the sound of the laughter was gone, but that feeling in her breast was unmistakable; this was a true memory.
"Ah!" She looked back at her wine, her drink that tasted of laughter. The key. She took another drink, much deeper this time, trying to gain any thoughts she could—but the sensation was one-time-only. It now tasted only of burning cherries. She then gave the coughing fit the workers so wanted, and more drinking was had.
Emily fumbled with the glass as she returned it to the table. Her vision was already glazed, and her movements were even more uncoordinated than usual. With much effort, she eventually placed the glass upright.
But after a mere moment, a mug of beer had magically appeared in her hands! How curious! And those men, they were cheering again; was it for her?
She looked down at the foamy drink. Well, no sense in disappointing them. She took a deep swig of the alcohol; her hands slipped on the wet glass as she did so, and alcohol spilled across her face, causing her to choke and drop the glass onto the wooden floor.
Emily fully expected concern from the others, but they simply cheered and bellowed with laughter once again.
She giggled quietly; it was pretty funny, what had happened to her, after all.
More drinks. Again and again. Why did they give her such tall glasses, if they only wanted her to take a sip of each? Well, whatever. She lost count of how many drinks she had had; they all blurred together. They even stopped having flavor as the night went on—just pure alcohol.
All of them were bested by the drink that tasted like laughter.
She set down her most recent drink, and started giggling uncontrollably. There was no reason, of course. But the mirth wouldn't leave; her laughter wouldn't stop. Jer joined in a moment later. A moment after that, Merc. Soon, the entire table was erupting with insane, baseless laughter.
It wasn't long before the night had devolved, and drinks were no longer being passed Emily's way. Everyone seemed to have forgotten about her, with causeless jollity ruling the night instead.
Emily shakily pushed her chair away from the table, and, with wobbling legs, stood. Her cheeks were rosy, her smile permanent, and her woes forgotten. Uninhibited; that was the word.
She hobbled around the table, looking for one worker in particular. She soon found Jer, and tried to tap him on the shoulder; instead, she ended up stumbling and leaning on him for support.
As he looked up at her curiously, waiting for her to give a reason for being there, a number of insecurities crossed Emily's mind. Did he think she was stupid? There was no way Emily was drunk already, but was Jer? His face was pretty red… Wait. Is he glaring at her right now? Is he like, "hey, get off my shoulder, stupid… idiot person?" Well, he didn't say the words, but, um… uh… What was she thinking about again?
Oh yeah! Be smooth. You didn't stumble just now, right, Emily? That's something a drunk person would do. You did that on purpose!
Emily sat on Jer's knee, one hand still on his shoulder and the other on the table to support herself. Her grin was constant, but it grew a little bit as she attempted to slur out words. "Hee hee… You know, Jerrr, I've been kissed by a pirate," she said, and burst into giggles. Jer laughed too. "The cap'n was like, 'hey,' and he…" Emily didn't remember the rest of her sentence, but she remembered what she had resolved to do. She clasped her hands behind Jer's neck and kissed his cheek firmly.
Emily burst into laughter right in Jer's ear, right in Jer's arms. Oh yeah, Jer's arms were around her waist! How cool was that? "Hee hee! That's how pirates kiss," she giggled idiotically.
"Wanna see how the Valmese—" Jer began, but a large pair of hands grasped Emily's shoulders, pulling her away from Jer.
"Wh-What?" Emily stammered, struggling to keep her grip on her object of affection, but Jer's arms weren't around her anymore, and this new pair of hands was much stronger than Emily's.
Emily was roughly yanked onto her feet and marched away from the table. "That's enough for tonight," she heard her captor mutter as they walked. Emily exchanged a longing gaze with Jeremiah, who wanly waved goodbye.
It wasn't until after they had left the tavern, and the cool night air assaulted Emily and stirred some consciousness into her bones, did she realize that her kidnapper was none other than John.
It wouldn't be until the following morning that she would regret any of her actions, so Emily pouted childishly, upset with John for interrupting her moment with the handsome construction worker.
John opened the door to his home and helped Emily hobble to her room. "Time for bed," he said, and lay her down under the sheets.
Emily turned away from John, scowling silently.
John chuckled. "You'll thank me in the morning. You'll find him a lot less handsome when there's no alcohol in you."
"Hmph!"
John sighed, doused her lamps, and left her in peace.
Crippling; that was the word.
Head. Pounding. Stomach. Churning. Words. Punctuated.
John had had the foresight to leave a bucket next to Emily's bed, and yes, she made good use of it that morning.
John glanced up from his coffee and newspaper. It took all of his self-discipline not to laugh at the pitiful sight of Emily; he didn't even try to resist a smirk, however.
"I'm… sorry," she murmured, so softly John could hardly hear. "No… alcohol… ever."
John burst into laughter. She winced at the loud noise. "Hahaha! That's my girl! Have a seat, dear. I whipped you up some breakfast. It's not the best hangover cure, but food is better than nothing. You got drunk on an empty stomach last night, and that's just the worst." He gestured across from him.
Emily just wished he would keep his voice down, but she complied. Her stomach was mostly settled, but the gnawing pain of hunger had returned, and she wolfed down her breakfast with gusto.
"So now you know," John said. He was finally kind enough to bring his voice down to a tolerable level for Emily. "Alcohol's a pretty powerful thing. You don't want to get carried away in a place like that. Tell me, Emily, do you remember last night, or are there any gaps?
Emily's cheeks flushed red when she thought of Jer. "Oh… Oh, no…"
John laughed again. "So you do remember. Well, glad you didn't get too drunk; when you start blacking out, that's when really bad things happen."
"Were… Were you drunk?" Emily asked.
John shook his head. "No. I had a drink or two, but I wasn't going to get drunk when I had a daughter to watch out for."
Emily withdrew, embarrassed. "I… I'm sorry for… the way I acted."
"Heheh. Don't worry, dear. You didn't do anything wrong, and you learned a few things."
Emily looked away, still blushing intensely.
"I learned something, too." John leaned in to stare curiously at Emily. "Last night, after you were drunk, the strangest thing I've ever seen happened." He chuckled to himself. "You got more coherent as the night went on. The more you drank, the longer complete sentences you could speak."
She looked back at him, surprised. "What…?"
John nodded. A hint of an excited smile played on his face. "Yep. By the time you were hitting on Jer—" Her blush returned, more heated than ever—"you were speaking full sentences."
She blinked. "I-I was?"
John nodded. "That means it is possible for you to talk normally. Now, I'm not saying that alcohol is the answer—it never is—but with enough practice, you could probably learn how to talk all by yourself."
Emily's breath caught. The idea was nothing short of a romantic one to her—her dream. Speaking easily, like everyone else…
"That, in addition to your rather limited vocabulary, has given me an idea." John's eyes twinkled. "I'm going to tutor you. I'm going to teach you how to speak."
Emily's hands clasped over her mouth, and her eyes watered. "P-Please…!" she said quietly.
"Of course, dear. We'll start today; at work, stay by me, and I'll teach you words as I work. Tonight, we'll go over more, and you'll practice speech." A thought occurred to him. "Do you know how to read?"
Emily thought of the Elfire tome. "I… think so."
"Well, I'll teach you that, too." John grinned widely. "And whenever you're home alone, you can practice reading, too. How does all this sound?"
"Wonderful!" said Emily. "Just… wonderful! Please! Please teach me!" She leaned forward quickly, to take John's hands, but the sudden movement triggered a sharp pain in her head.
John laughed, causing her to wince once again. "Sorry, dear. Hangovers don't disappear just 'cause you forgot about them."
Emily pouted, grasping at her pounding head.
Emily took a deep breath, reciting the words in her head over and over. She closed her eyes, and even closed the book as well, to prevent herself from cheating.
She then opened her eyes, and met John's. "The Fire Emblem is the national treasure of Ylisse, composed of a fang from the Dragon God Naga. In ancient times, it was known as the Shield of Seals, and its powers were used to seal the Earth Dragons. The first Exalt of Ylisse also used its power to seal the Fell Dragon Grima into an eternal slumber. It is composed of five gemstones: Gules, Azure, Argent, Vert, and Sable. When all five gemstones are merged with the Fire Emblem, it can unlock its true potential for dragon-slaying."
John's hands had been covering his mouth in anticipation, and they now clasped together in front of his proud smile. "You did it," he said quietly. "You read the whole passage from memory, and without any pauses." He outreached his arms, and Emily walked into the embrace. "I am so proud of you."
Emily took a long breath as she melted into her father's arms. She could fall asleep like this.
But she was too excited. It had only been a month, and she could already speak entire paragraphs at a time without stopping! Granted, every word in that chapter had been ingrained into her memory, so it wasn't quite the same as learning how to summon words for herself. But it was a start.
Meanwhile, John merely marveled at the sound of his daughter's voice. He had had no idea of the charisma her voice exuded; hearing her speak lulled him into a state of tranquility. Truly, she had a gift, and she had been squandering it for far too long. He was proud to be the one to let her talent bloom.
"Okay!" John pried himself from Emily's grip. "Today's an important day! We should mark it down." He turned away, reaching for a pen. "What is it, the seventh?"
Emily blinked. "Wh… What?"
John glanced over his shoulder at her. "The seventh? Of April?"
She shook her head.
John sighed. "Still got some gaps to fill, I guess."
What day is it again? Emily thought as she walked. Ah… October tenth, that's it. She nodded at Merc as she approached the work area. "Good morning, Merc. How is the ship today?"
Merc scratched his head as he stared up at the behemoth. "She's a beaut, for sure. This is a mighty-fine warship."
"A warship? Truly?" Emily looked up at the great beast. Entire planks were shattered, and pieces of the mast dangled by threads. "Did it get in a fight?"
"Guess so," said Merc with a shrug. "I've been hearing rumors lately… one of the northwest regions of Valm is getting kinda uppity, tryin' ta take more land and whatnot. You know how these things are. As long as it doesn't come here to the east, then I don't got a problem; damaged ships means more work for me."
"I see," said Emily. "So, where is John? I brought him lunch." She patted her satchel, smiling pleasantly.
Merc laughed. "Bahaha! See, this is why you have kids! Got someone to bring lunch for ya. I ain't got nobody for that."
Emily's smile grew wider. "Oh, don't worry! I brought you one as well." She produced a paper-wrapped sandwich for him.
Merc stared down at the sandwich, then up at Emily, then back at his sandwich. "G-Gee, I… You're just so damn sweet, Emily!" Tears welled in his eyes as he accepted the meal. "Th-Thank you! Er—" He wiped his eyes quickly, and pointed toward the ship. "He's over working on the central mast, thank you for the sandwich, now you should really go talk to him instead!"
He pushed her along, still wiping his eyes. She smiled knowingly as she left.
It wasn't long before a familiar voice caught her attention. "Morning, Emily!"
Emily smiled. "Oh! Hello, Jeremiah."
Jeremiah pried himself away from his work to meet her. He wore a sideways grin, as he always did during Emily's visits. "Listen, I know you're able to say all these syllables now, but I actually do prefer Jer. Easier to say, and makes me sound less highbrow, you get me?"
"Yes, I do, actually," said Emily. Bartholomew. Heehee! "How are you, Jer?"
"Welp, I gotta house, food, and a job to let me keep both, so I'm pretty satisfied," Jer said as he nodded. "There's just one little problem, but I've been thinking of a way I could fix that."
Emily softened. "Jer…" she murmured. "I know where you're going with this, and I'm sorry, but no."
"Oh, come on," Jer egged. "One date, that's all I ask! If you don't like me then, then we don't have to do another one."
"I've told you, I really don't want a husband," said Emily. "I'm… I'm more of a family girl than a romantic one." She shrugged. "I don't want to be with a man, and that's final. No date will change my mind."
"Don't knock it 'til you try it," said Jer. He faced her straight-on and looked into her eyes seriously. "One date. That's it. After work today, you and I go grab a sandwich at the shop at the end of the pier. As friends. And if you don't have fun, not even a little bit, then I'll never pester you again."
The phrase that most tempted Emily was 'as friends.' She hesitated thoughtfully.
Jer could see he had placed her on the fence, so he pressed his luck: "How long have we known each other, Emily? Six months, right? That's a pretty long time."
"Six months isn't all that long, you know," Emily teased. "I've known Merc longer than you."
"By a matter of hours! And don't forget, you came on to me the day we met."
Emily frowned. "That's not fair, Jeremiah. It was my first experience with alcohol."
"Oh really? Remembering 'the drink that tastes like laughter' says otherwise."
Emily rolled her eyes. His good-natured teasing drew a smile from her. "I told you that in confidence, and you'd use it to elicit a date from me?"
Jer threw his hands up defensively, though he still wore that wry grin. "Hey, I'm desperate for that 'yes.' You know what they say: all's fair—"
"—in love and war, yes," Emily finished. She sighed; it was a long and exasperated one. (She had inherited that sigh from her father, Jer noted with amusement.) "…Fiiiiine, Jer. One date, and that's all. Okay?"
Emily saw the relief in Jer's eyes, and that confident smile. (Jer thought he had scored some kind of victory, Emily noted with amusement.) "Well, it's about ti—"
A deafeningly sharp snap resounded from behind Jer, and both he and Emily turned toward the sound.
The central mast was creaking and tilting starboard toward the docks. A worker was still atop the mast, perhaps twenty feet in the air, and clung for dear life as the structure began to collapse, with him on it.
Several other construction workers clustered around the bottom, attempting in any way they could to steady the structure—but its fall was inevitable.
The central mast. A cold chill ran through Emily as she realized who that worker was.
"John," Jer uttered in alarm, confirming her fears. They both raced toward the warship, hoping to save him somehow.
But they were too late. Before they had even boarded the ship, the mast passed its event horizon and began to tumble; the other workers scrambled to get out of the way of the massive wooden structure.
"Everybody get down!"
Jer slid to a stop, but he saw Emily would not follow suit, so he grabbed her by the back of her dress, pulled her off of her feet, and sheltered her body with his own as the mast crashed down onto the docks.
Swaths of the docks were torn apart and cast into the ocean, and the already damaged ship's starboard crumpled under the massive weight. Wood, splinters, and saltwater were cast into the air by the great impact.
Emily was briefly winded by her collision with the ground, and her ears rang.
"…you okay?"
Emily turned, dazed, to the man standing over her.
"Emily!" Jer shook her slightly. There was a look of horrified concern to him that she had never seen before. "Are you okay?"
She slowly grasped what he was saying, and nodded. Gods, this is just like six months ago, she thought. Her thoughts were so slow, and she could hardly speak from shock.
Wait! John!
Her eyes widened, and she pushed at Jer to let her up; he relented, and she jumped to her feet and hurried toward the fallen mast, which now occupied where the end of the docks used to be.
Several workers on the docks were just now rising to their feet to survey the damage, and Emily brushed by several of them as she ran.
She stopped by the mast, and, while feeling many eyes upon her, she searched for John. She soon found him; most of him was under the mast, bruised, bloodied and unconscious.
Without a moment's hesitation, she dove for him, and attempted in vain to pry the mast off of him. Tears of frustration and terror welled in her eyes at her futile efforts.
However, within moments, a dozen other workers joined her, and more continued to come.
"Hey! Emily!" Merc's strong hand grasped Emily's shoulder, turning her to face him. She shook with broken sobs, but he took her firmly by the shoulders. "Listen to me, Emily! I need you to go get help, okay? Go get the knights, or a healer if you can find one!" She nodded rapidly, shaking tears from her eyes. He patted her on the back roughly. "Go!" he ordered, and off she ran.
Merc grimaced as he returned to help move the mast. "Poor girl… She shouldn't have been here to see this."
Emily ran faster than she ever had before. She was soon panting for breath and her frail muscles cried for relief, but she didn't relent. John's life was at stake, and never before had she been so motivated to move.
She hesitated as she reached the end of the docks. Though a crowd was starting to form at the spectacle of the fallen warship, no healers nor knights were in sight.
Her eyes settled on the shop across the street. Healing staves and the like, she recalled. She wasn't exactly sure what to do with a healing staff, and she was still banned from there for that whole Elfire incident half a year ago, but she had no time for uncertainty; she ran for the shop, her other options exhausted.
She burst through the doors, and the shopkeeper glanced over his shoulder with a wry grin. "I carry only the—" His smile fell as he watched Emily dash for the non-combat section. "Wait, it's you!"
To the merchant's further horror, Emily grabbed a Mend staff and immediately ran out of the store. "H-Hey! Wait!"
As Emily ran, she heard his voice pursue her: "Stop! Thief!"
Emily paid it no mind, and continued sprinting. She was almost to the docks, almost within spitting distance of John, but—
A firm, iron glove grasped the back of her hair, much more roughly than Jer had. This time, as she was firmly yanked to the ground, she recognized this hand as belonging to a Valmese knight.
Oh, good! Emily thought exasperatedly, as she struggled against his painful grip on her hair, they aren't there when I need them, but they're right there to inconvenience me!
"Got you, thief!" the knight spat.
"No!" Emily exclaimed, and struggled harder. She gripped the staff tightly as she did so. "My—father—needs me!"
She struck the knight across the cheek with the metal rod, and he flinched and let out a startled cry of pain.
Emily didn't waste an instant, jumping to her feet and rushing back out to the docks. She hazarded a glance over her shoulder to identify her pursuers, and she saw a half-dozen more knights rushing to back up the one she had injured; not to mention that shopkeeper still waddling after her.
Emily looked forward, to the collapsed mast, and ran faster.
Still, Emily was no athlete, so the knights were faster even in spite of their heavy armor. She narrowly ducked under the glove of a soldier, and sidestepped a second one's foot that intended to trip her.
There he was! Emily could see John under the mast, right there, a mere twenty paces before her. She only wished the knights would see as well, to understand why she had done what she did—but no, they seemed single-minded in their determination to capture her.
Ah! She was so close to him, so close, when, at last, a steel glove wrapped around her arm, yanking her to a stop. "Nooo!" she cried, wrestling against the knight: but she could not reach him with the staff, putting her at a severe disadvantage.
There was a motion out of the corner of her eye, and after a wet thwack resounded next to Emily's ear, the grip released her.
She stumbled, surprised at her newfound freedom. She looked up at her savior.
Jeremiah stood there, his fists clenched. The soldier was recoiling from the punch, and the other knights hesitated, their gaze turning from the girl to Jeremiah.
Jer nodded at her. "Help John!"
Merc and several other workers backed Jer up. "You get him, lassie!" Merc said. "We'll hold off these guys!"
The foremost knight scowled. "You are interfering with imperial law!"
"Up yours!" Jer snarled.
"So be it!"
Emily didn't stay to see any more, instead rushing forward to John, who had been freed from the mast in Emily's absence. She quickly crouched over him and raised her staff.
Just like the Elfire tome all those months ago, instinct and habit took over for the healing staff; despite lacking any training, she immediately knew how to operate it.
With a bright green flash, the Mend worked its magic on John. Many of his wounds closed, and his bruises lightened. He twitched as his consciousness began to return.
John's eyelids fluttered. "Nn…"
Emily cried out in relief and joy, as tears streamed from her eyes. She buried her face in John's collar, embracing him tightly as she wept.
John hazily put his arm around Emily to return the hug. "Augh… What… What happened, Em?"
Emily pulled away, but could not summon words, simply hysterically crying and laughing all at once. She dove back into the embrace.
John frowned in confusion, and glanced over Emily's shoulder. Behind her was an even odder scene: all those workers, and several knights, just standing there watching them. The knights sure looked uncomfortable.
John shrugged with his free arm, grinning wanly. "Morning, everyone," he croaked, and elicited a few chuckles for his trouble.
"Listen, I'm really sorry," said the shopkeeper for the hundredth time. "I, I really had no idea of John's condition."
Emily smiled pleasantly. Her adrenaline high had not quite worn off, so her usual focus tactics failed her at the moment. "It's… okay," she said slowly. "You didn't know…"
"No, it really wasn't cool of me! John coulda died if those knights had caught you!" he insisted. "Listen. I'd give you a Silver Card if I had one, but I don't, so I'll just give you a discount any time you come into my store, okay? Oh—and you're unbanned."
"Thank you… erm… very much." Emily inclined her head respectfully.
John rolled into the conversation atop a wheelchair. "Hey, don't worry about that Mend staff. I'll buy it off of you."
"Buy it?! No!" The shopkeeper shook his head vigorously, while gesturing at John and Emily. "It's all yours, for free. It's the least I could do."
"Thanks," said John, and wheeled to face Emily. "I think we should go home, dear. It's been a long enough day already."
"Okay," said Emily. "I-I made you a sandwich…"
Emily opened the door for John, and after a few bumps against the doorframe, John managed to get his wheelchair through.
"Doc said I shouldn't walk on this leg for a while," John said. "Said it might never fully recover, in fact. But as long as I can still walk and use my hands, I'll be fine." He spun around to face Emily and grinned. "Don't worry about me too much, okay, Em? I know how you are: you'll be all protective of me for a while, and end up hurting yourself. I don't want a repeat of last time I had the flu."
Emily sighed. "But you were hurt… You were hurt so badly. You're in a wheelchair right now; how could I not be concerned?"
"Just trust me, Emily," John laughed. "I'll be all right." He turned away. "Now! Could you bring that Mend over here?"
"Um… sure." She grasped the staff she had been entrusted with, and followed John into the living room.
John turned to face her. "So, it turns out you know how to wield staves! That's quite a feat, you know."
"I-It is?"
John nodded, and rested his cheek on his fist. "It's not something that comes naturally. It's something you're taught. I once… I once knew a girl who wanted to be a cleric, but she never got the hang of high-level staves."
"But it was so simple," said Emily. "Just a wave and a thrust, and… ta-dah?"
"See, it's not that simple," said John. "There's a technique to it. Not to mention that that's a Mend staff you're holding. A beginner would start with a Heal staff and work their way up to Mends, and then beyond to Physics, and Recovers, and Fortifies. Naturally, we could never afford any of those, but… But that's not my point. My point is, you used a Mend for the first time, and you used it perfectly. It healed my wounds." He crossed his arms. "If I didn't know any better, I'd ask, 'how do you know how to use staves?' But that'd be a fruitless question, since I've taught you everything you know. It must be something you had learned before you acquired your amnesia." He sighed. "Same as that Elfire tome, way back. You intuitively knew how to use mid-level magic without any education. I wrote that off as sheer chance, but when you also got a Mend to work, that's when I got suspicious. So!" He clasped his hands together eagerly. "That's a roundabout way to say that you have talent with staves, and the potential to learn more. A healer is a very, very valuable position, not to mention useful, as you learned today. I want you to learn more."
"Learn more? How? You can't use staves, can you?"
"Haha! No, no I can't. But by using more staves, and practicing, you can become better. Healers are always needed." He shrugged, grinning. "Maybe this is your calling, Emily."
Emily knew that John knew Emily well. He had handpicked that word—'needed'—the word that haunted her all this time. A reason to be valuable, and helpful, and needed?
Was there ever a doubt she would agree?
"Good!" John said, beaming. "Now, would you run to the shop and buy a few manuals on healing staves? The shopkeeper might refer to them as Arms Scrolls."
"Okay. Oh! And before I forget…" Emily delved into her satchel, and, at long last, delivered her promised sandwich to John.
He grasped the meal in both hands. "Don't you have one?"
"Um, I, uh…" She grinned sheepishly, rubbing the back of her head. "I kinda gave mine to Merc."
"Knock, knock," came a voice from outside, accompanied by actual knocking.
Emily placed her staff on the table and got the door. She broke into a wide smile. "Merc!"
"Hey there, Emily," Merc said, grinning amicably. "Just swingin' by to check on your father."
"Back here," John called from the living room. Emily let Merc in and closed the door.
Merc sat on the couch, opposite of John. "How're the legs?"
John wiggled his toes. "Not paralyzed," he said. "I could probably be back at work within the week."
"No rush, no rush," Merc said. Then, his expression darkened. "I can't believe today actually happened. I've been yellin' at everyone, tryin' to figger out how we could've let this go."
"It's the crewmen on the ship," said John. "They didn't report how damaged the mast was. When I checked it myself, that's when things went to… well, you know."
Merc wore a deep scowl. "I'll rip the bastards apart. You coulda died."
John grinned. "Thanks. Give 'em one from me, wouldja?"
"Bahaha! You've got it. To be honest, I thought you'd be madder."
"I've been working on keeping my temper in check," John said.
"Yeah, well, this is something anyone would get mad at." He gestured at the elephant atop the table. "So, it turns out the lass can heal? That's a pretty big deal, innit?"
Emily smiled.
"Definitely," John said. "We've been sorting through Arms Scrolls for the past few hours so she can learn more."
Merc nodded. "We've had workplace accidents before that could've been a lot less gruesome if we'd had a healer. You're a special girl, Emily."
Warmth flooded through Emily's chest at the words of praise. "Th-Thank you, Merc! That means so much…"
"Think nothin' of it! You saved a good friend of mine today. It's the least I could do."
"And, about the knights, I…"
Merc waved it away. "Like I said, you saved John because of whatcha did! The knights were green and young, and they understood they were in the wrong. Nobody's in trouble 'cause of you, so stop worryin'."
Emily sighed in relief. "Thank you."
He gave her a thumbs-up. "Well, John, hope you get better soon. Emily, good work today. See you around." Merc shook John's hand, then Emily's, and then he left.
The room was quiet for a moment. Emily still glowed from Merc's praise.
John broke the silence first. "We should really have you practice with Heal staves instead of Mend," he noted. "They're more durable and cheaper, so they're better for practicing." He pushed the staff off of the scroll, and tapped the parchment. "Now, we should get back to it, don't you think?"
"Yes!" Emily said eagerly.
Knocking again.
Emily rubbed her eyes groggily as she answered the door. "Who is it…?" she mumbled absently.
Her sleep-addled eyes didn't recognize the silhouette before her, so she was further irritated when they didn't respond for a moment.
"It's me," the voice said quietly.
"Oh." Emily blinked her eyes rapidly. "Hello, Jer. What brings you here at this… ungodly hour?"
"I'm just swinging by to check up," he said cheerfully.
"Mmph… John's asleep," Emily said, as she started to close the door. "Try again in the morning, okay…?"
"Wait!" His hand stopped the door. "I've already spoken with John since the accident. I haven't spoken with you."
Emily threw her hands up, exasperated. "And it can't wait until the morning…?"
"No, I, I couldn't sleep," Jer said. "Can we talk?"
Emily rolled her eyes. "I guess so."
She stepped out into the cool air, and closed the door behind her. She crossed her arms across her abdomen reflexively as the breeze touched her skin. "Okay. What is it, Jer?" She chuckled briefly. "You know I wasn't the injured one, right?"
"I remember when we first met," Jer said, not partaking in the laugh. "The way you used to speak."
Emily immediately soured. "…You know me better than to talk about this, Jer."
"It's important!" he insisted. "Today, after the accident, you reverted. You were talking just like you used to. I needed to come find out that you were back to normal."
"I am," said Emily. "I promise." She touched Jer's cheek. "You're very sweet, Jer, but… it's so late. I should be asleep by now."
Jer did not relent. "What happened to you?" he asked. "When I heard you speaking… like that… I got scared. I thought, for just a moment, 'did she lose her memories again?' It was terrifying, Emily." He took a breath. "I'm not sorry for being concerned about you. I… care about your well-being."
"I know," she said softly. "I know."
Emily closed her eyes and breathed deeply of the night air.
"I… I never truly recovered from… how I was. Rather, I just practiced talking. A lot. Eventually, through repetition, I became disciplined enough to speak normally. But, despite appearances, it still takes conscious effort to concentrate like that. Sometimes… when I'm stressed, or… when I'm upset… it's hard to concentrate, and I can't speak properly." She shrugged, still wearing her ever-present amicable smile in spite of how deeply insecure she felt about this. "That's what you saw today. I was terrified, so… all my discipline, all my concentration on speaking… it just went away. But it's back!" she added quickly. "I've calmed down, so now I can talk again. Okay?"
"Emily…" He sighed, relieved. "I kinda feel bad saying this, but… after I started wondering whether you had lost your memories, I could only think, 'man, it figures that this would happen just when I got her to agree to date me.'"
"Agree to date you?" Emily said, surprised. "I don't remember doing anything of the sort."
Jer's grin disappeared, and his eyes widened in horror. "What? No!"
Emily giggled. "Hee hee! I'm only joking. Listen: Our date will be next week. Okay? The seventeenth. We'll grab a sandwich down on the pier; you promised, remember?"
He grinned widely, shaking his head as he did so. "You snarky little…" Then, he nodded. "Actually, before you go back inside, I, uh, I got you a present."
Jer reached into his satchel and produced a small, leather-bound book. He offered the gift to Emily. "Here."
She accepted it, and leafed through its pages. "Empty…" She looked back to Jer. "What is it?"
"I-It's a diary. Or a journal, if you prefer." He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "I got it for you… so you can write things down. You know… just in case you ever, uh…" He paused. "Or you could just use it as a planner, or something, I don't know… Or a doorstop—"
"Sh." She put a finger to his lips, grinning coyly. "Thank you. It's a wonderful gift, Jer."
She leaned in close, and he turned his face to meet hers—but she placed her hand on his chin, turning him away, and she kissed him gently on the cheek instead.
"Sorry, only a pirate kiss today," she teased. "See you later, Jer."
He touched his cheek, numb to the fact that she had returned into her home. He felt a lingering disappointment that it wasn't more, but… this was a huge step, regardless.
He grinned. "See you," he said to the air, before leaving the beautiful girl's doorstep.
October 17th
Emily pouted somewhat as she chewed the Pier Sandwich, as Jeremiah called it.
He furrowed his eyebrows and stayed his sandwich-filled hand for a moment so he could speak. "What's wrong? Don't like it?"
She paused for a moment, to swallow her bite, before speaking. "I do," she said dejectedly. "But… this puts all my sandwiches to shame."
"Hahaha!" He readied the sandwich for eating once more. "I warned you, didn't I?"
"Heehee! You did, you did." She took another bite. "Anyway, how'd that talk go with John?"
"Er…"
He'd expected anger. Anger he could deal with; he had seen John's rage many times, and so he steeled himself for the bellowing and the "I swear I'll kill you if you touch her" and such that would certainly come.
But John's stare was entirely neutral.
It was far more terrifying.
John raised a single finger, causing Jeremiah to flinch. "Rule one. No means no. If she says no to anything—anything at all—you will not force her to do it. Implicit 'no' counts. I will kill you if you disregard this one."
Ah, there it was. Longtime friends, had known each other for, what, a decade? But Jer still believed him one hundred percent. "Y-Yes, sir."
He raised a second finger. "Rule two. No alcohol for either of you."
"Yessir…"
Another finger. "Rule three. NO MEANS NO." The sudden loudness of John's voice startled Jer. "I cannot emphasize this enough. While you are gone, I will be sharpening my carving knife. I hope I won't have to use it."
"I-I understand, sir."
"And rule four. You kids have fun." John smiled pleasantly.
John shuddered. I'm not a kid, but I sure felt like one back there. "I-It went fine."
After a peaceful moment of eating, Jer swallowed his food and placed his remainders on his plate. "So, Emily. Tell me a little about yourself."
Emily hesitated, surprised by the question. She hastily finished her mouthful and cleared her throat. "W-Well, there's not really much to tell that you don't already know. I… have amnesia, so probably more than twenty years of my life are just gone, irretrievable. I've had one memory, ever, from before, and it was nothing more than a subconscious sensation." She tapped her chin thoughtfully. "As far as new memories… You know all about John… I'm pretty sure I told you about the merchant?"
Jer nodded. "And you covered the pirates, too. So… I guess I know you pretty well, huh?"
Emily laughed. "And I'm not very secretive, at that. Anyway, I guess that leaves you."
"Guess it does." Jer leaned forward, resting his chin on his knuckles. His brow furrowed thoughtfully. "Hmm… Let's see… I've lived in Valm all my life. I was raised on a farm, so that was what I always wanted to do. Own a farm, that is. But my father insisted I leave home and see the world, get work somewhere else first; so I did, and came to the harbor.
"I got into construction and repairs when I met Merc about… twelve years ago? Damn, it's been so long. I've been working with him ever since. Now, John was already working there, but he and I didn't really become friends until I'd been there for a few months." He snapped his fingers. "Yeah! Eleven years, that was the number. I've known John for eleven years."
Emily smiled mischievously. "Is this going to be a long story, old-timer?"
Jer looked mortified. "O-Old-timer?! I'm thirty-one! I can't be more than… six years your senior!"
Emily giggled. "Oh, stop. I'm only teasing." She gestured. "Please continue."
"Right…" He sighed. "Anyway, the dream is still to live on a farm. The way I see it, whenever I settle down, I'm going to move inland and raise my family there, just the way my dad raised me and my siblings."
"Siblings?" Emily asked, but her mind was already wandering.
Life on a farm, hm? She imagined the setting from books she had read: a small house, large fields, hot days, cool nights… Some cows, maybe? …Or were those only on ranches? Whatever.
She tilted her head, a tiny smile growing. A quiet, solitary farm, nothing but her and her family. She imagined her children running about, causing trouble… She tried to calm them, but they only really ceased their troublemaking when Father walked in. "Kids, listen to your mother," she imagined Jer saying.
Her smile died. I-Is that what I want? Jer? …Is it too soon to think these things?
"…So yeah, those are my two brothers." Jer leaned back and crossed his arms. "That's my family."
Emily cleared her throat as she snapped to. She hoped she wasn't blushing. "U-Um, good, good," she said. "They seem nice."
Jer chuckled. "Yeah, they're alright. Testosterone-addled idiots, but what're you gonna do."
"Mmhm, yep." She bobbed her head. "So, these sandwiches, am I right?"
The sun was low on the western horizon. If the two had been able to see the sea, they would likely marvel at the orange skipping along the waters. As it was, a line of houses blocked their view; everything was still tinted the same warm color, however.
"Um."
Jer hesitated, and he turned to face his date. "What's wrong? Your house is right down the street."
Emily nodded. Jer noticed a slight red hue to her cheeks, and his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What's the matter, Emily?"
She didn't respond. Her expression was entirely neutral, with that blush being her only giveaway.
"Do you want me to leave you right here?" he asked. "So you can walk the rest of the way?"
She didn't respond in any way.
Jer hesitated for a moment as he awaited an answer. Finally, he threw his hands up, defeated. "All right, then. I'll let you go."
He took one step in the opposite direction before stopping again.
"…You had fun, didn't you?" he said slowly, anxiously.
She responded at last, but only with the smallest of nods.
Jer put his hands in his pockets and grinned at her. "Fun enough to earn another pirate's kiss?"
She was back to unresponsiveness.
Jer took a step closer to her. "Answer me, Emily. Please?"
But he noticed something. Her blush had intensified.
Jer watched her suspiciously. "Maybe… more than a pirate's kiss?"
She turned slightly redder, but otherwise did not react.
Jer remembered his conversation with John. He reflexively rubbed his neck. "I don't know if you're saying yes or no, Emily. I can't know unless you tell me."
But she refused to speak.
Jer huffed impatiently. "Fine. Good night, Emily. I really did have fun." He turned away.
He didn't make it another step before he felt a gentle tug at his sleeve.
Jer turned around, and Emily dropped her grip on him. Her expression was still unreadable, and she avoided eye contact.
Jer threw his hands up, exasperated. "Emily, what's with this shyness all of a sudden? …Wait, no. This isn't shyness, this is indecision." He pointed an accusing finger at her. "You don't know what you want. You want me to make the decision for you."
She cast her eyes downward nervously.
Jer acknowledged her latest show of expression. "Hit the nail on the head, did I? Well, I can't. I can't make that decision for you. It's now or never, Emily: what do you want right now? Should I stay or should I go?"
Jer fumed silently, placing his hands on his hips and tapping his foot as he awaited her answer, which never came.
"Fine! I've made my decision. No. I'm going home."
He turned away, and immediately turned back. "It's our first date, anyway! That's the sort of thing established couples do."
He turned away again, and actually made it two steps this time before storming back over to Emily. "Don't give me any of this 'but we've already known each other for so long' nonsense, either!" he said loudly. "A-All that time doesn't count, because we weren't together then!" He shook his head. "Even that kiss on the cheek last week was over the line, so… so…"
Emily was still. Her heart pounded loudly in her ears.
Jeremiah panted. "...Gods, you're so frustrating, Emily! Why can't you just…?"
He promptly took her by the shoulders, drew her close, and pressed his lips against hers.
The sudden movement startled Emily, and she grasped Jer's forearms to steady her balance.
What a sensation! What feelings! How… how unique!
What an adventure this was!
At the same time, Emily couldn't help but tremble with fear. Was she doing it right? His mouth seemed to be open and moving, but she was too frozen to budge her lips. Were there gender differences when kissing? Should her hand grip be as intense as his? Gods, she was just standing still and letting him kiss her, meanwhile he actually seemed passionate about the moment.
But… this was Jeremiah. She found herself trying to stand on her tiptoes, to get on his level; her arms wrapped around his neck, and his moved to her waist. Regardless of any of these insecurities, she could be certain that she was safe with him.
Could you imagine? Emily thought to herself. I could've been doing this with Dobus by now if he'd had his way. What an experience THAT would've been!
She accidentally snickered at the thought, which broke off her kiss with Jer. Her nervousness compounded the humor she found in the situation, and she found herself giggling uncontrollably into Jer's shoulder.
Jer didn't exactly know what to make of this situation, and wondered if he should feel insulted, but nevertheless joined in on the chuckle.
Eventually, Emily stopped laughing, and waved away his inquiries. "I'm… sorry," said Emily slowly. "I… er… Thank you…"
"You're welcome?" said Jeremiah, without realizing what he was saying. "Ah, I mean… Oh, forget it."
"Um… Um…" Gods, her mind was a total blank. She gestured over her shoulder absently, remembering something was that way.
"You want to go home now?" Jer asked. His hands fell from her waist, and after a moment of concentration, she did the same, dropping her arms from his neck.
"Y-Yes!" she said suddenly. "Home."
Jer broke into a wide grin once he realized her plight. A great sense of manly satisfaction filled him at the thought that that kiss was enough to defocus Emily. "Do you want to wait a minute to compose yourself?"
She slowly processed his question, and once she deciphered what those words meant, she nodded. "That… um… would be… best." John seeing her in this condition would likely spell doom for Jer, she realized.
Jer sat against a nearby house and patted the ground next to him, offering her a seat. She obliged.
Both Jer and Emily were quiet for a long moment, each grinning quite stupidly.
"So, Emily," Jer asked.
"Hm?"
"What do you think my chances are for getting a second date?" he said coyly.
"Eh…" She waggled her hand in a 'so-so' gesture, whilst grinning playfully.
"Oh, you little…" he began, and they both laughed briefly.
Emily cleared her throat, focusing. "Um… How does… How does tomorrow sound?"
"Tomorrow sounds wonderful." He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek before standing, and helped her do the same. "Where do you wanna go?"
"Anywhere." Her eyes alit with an adventurous glee. "Take me someplace new."
"Someplace new…?" He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "That's a tall order, but I'm happy to fill it."
Emily hopped on her tiptoes, excited. "I can't wait! I can't wait to see you tomorrow, Jer."
"I can't either," said Jer. "But for now… we've gotta get you home before sun sets, or your dad will skewer me."
He was right.
"Cutting it a little close there, Jeremiah," said John as they arrived. His eyes were narrowed suspiciously, despite the fact that Jer had pointedly put an arm's length between him and Emily. Without his eyes leaving Jer, he addressed Emily: "Did you have a good time, dear?"
"Yes!" said Emily, walking into the house. "We'll be going out again tomorrow as well."
John's glare intensified. "Is that so?"
Jer wriggled in place uncomfortably.
"Oh, ease up on him, please," Emily said, touching John's shoulder. "You know Jer. He's a good man, don't you think?"
"Yes," said John dangerously. "I know him all too well."
Jer loosened his collar and looked away. He became very conscious of the many guy-stories he had told John and the others at the bar.
After an intense pause, John said, "Well, he's lucky I couldn't find my carving knife." He turned around. "Night, Jer. See you at work tomorrow."
"S-See you," said Jer, and to his relief, the door slammed shut.
He closed his eyes and reminded himself: Emily's worth this.
March 2nd
"Is it not—? Here, let me see."
John slowly lifted himself from his chair, propped himself up onto his good leg, and limped over to Emily. He brushed his fingers along the Mend staff, and frowned at what he saw. "Yep. It's just about out of juice. I'd say it probably has one more use in it before it breaks."
"Breaks? Oh no!" Emily said, upset. "B-But it's such a useful staff… And it comes with so many memories!"
John smiled wanly. "Truth be told, Emily, I'd rather not remember how you got that staff, and I'm sure you'd agree."
How she got the…? Oh! That ship's mast… Gods, that was so long ago. She found herself agreeing with John: this staff was almost a testament to the horrors of that fateful day last October.
"I'd say it's time for its swan song," John said cheerfully. "Sure, it's been instrumental in helping you learn healing, but its time has come." He gestured. "Swing it one last time. Keep in mind how staves are when they break, though."
Oh yes. Emily had burned through enough practice Heal staves to know of the deafening crack emitted by a staff as the last of its magic escapes it.
Emily gestured carefully, already wincing in expectation of the sound. John glowed in a bright green light, and then, in spite of all Emily's preparations, the staff scared her half to death by snapping into two jagged pieces.
She shook her head quickly to try to stem the ringing in her ears. "Gods above, that's awful," she said. "It gets me every time."
John laughed. "Well, anyway, speaking of remembering: wait here a moment, would you, Emily?"
"Certainly." She smiled pleasantly and watched him disappear into his room.
After a brief moment, John returned, carrying a long, thin, blanket-covered item. He limped to his chair and placed the item across his lap, before addressing Emily with a warm smile.
"Do you know what today is?" he asked.
Emily frowned, and checked her journal from her satchel for confirmation. "Today is… the second of March." She returned her book to the bag and looked back up at John. "Why?"
"Indeed," he said, "March Second. This is the one-year anniversary of when I found you floating along the pier, having just been abandoned by the pirates."
"One year?! Has it truly been so long?" Emily asked, surprised. "I can hardly believe it."
"For me, it's the contrary," said John. "I feel as though I've lived a full life with you… yet this is only the first year of many."
Those words filled Emily with warmth. "I…"
"So," John interrupted, "in lieu of an actual birthday for you, I've decided that March Second, henceforth, shall be your birthday. It seems only appropriate."
"Y-Yes, yes it does," she said. Her heart rate jumped slightly in excitement and newfound anticipation. "So…those blankets, they conceal a, um, birthday present?"
John beamed. "Yes indeed." He offered the item to her, and she stood to accept it.
She placed it on the coffee table, and, with mounting excitement, began to unravel her present.
A glint of gold revealed itself; soon after, she had uncovered the upper half of the present, and realized what it was.
With even greater haste, she extracted the remainder of the gift from its packaging, and tightly grasped her new item with awe.
"A Recover Staff," she murmured, admiring the ornate, lunar-shaped head of the tool. "I… I can't imagine…" She turned to John. "How much did this cost?"
"Don't you worry about that," John chuckled. "I just couldn't think of a better present for you."
"W-Well, for good reason!" She faced the work of art again. "This is the greatest thing you could ever purchase for me…!"
She placed the Recover on the couch and hurried into John's arms, laughing melodically. "Oh, Father, thank you! I love you so much!"
John blinked and reciprocated the hug. His surprised face melted into a smile. "Emily… You've never called me Father before. Nor have you told me you loved me…"
She pulled out of the embrace. "Well, I do, Father!" she said, in a seemingly defiant tone. "I love you, and it is a great disservice to you that I have never done either of those things!"
John shrugged. "Better late than never," he teased, and embraced her again.
After a peaceful moment, John gently nudged her to disentangle herself from the embrace.
John sat forward as Emily returned to inspect her staff. "Anyway, you've got a date today, right? When's Jer supposed to get here?"
"Soon," said Emily. Her excitement compounded; she had nearly forgotten! "Any minute now, I would imagine."
'Any' minutes later: a knock at the door.
"There we go," John said, and slowly answered the door for her. "Heya, Jer."
"Heya," said Jeremiah with a grin. "Emily home?"
"Yep, just give her a minute."
"Sure thing."
Emily soon appeared at the door, wearing her beautiful smile for Jer. "Good morning, Jer."
"Good morning," said Jer. He looked her up and down. "Love the dress."
Emily smiled. It was the same compliment as ever, but as she brushed her hand against the sun-colored fabric, she still glowed at the praise. She knew that whenever Jer said something, he meant it.
"Oh, and happy birthday," Jer added, tossing in a wink for her benefit. "I got you something."
"R-Really?" Emily said eagerly. How many people were in on this whole 'birthday' thing? "What is it?"
"It's a surprise! Here's a hint, though: it's at our favorite restaurant, where I'm taking you for your glorious birthday lunch." He offered his arm to her, and nodded at John. "See you later, pops."
"Agh." John rolled his eyes. "I don't know how many times I've told you not to call me that. You're lucky I never could find that carving knife." He waved the laughing couple off. "Anyway, have a good time, you two."
"Farewell, Father," Emily said, as she linked her arm through Jer's. "Have a great day!"
"You too, sweetie." The door closed.
Jer raised an eyebrow at Emily as they began to walk. "'Father'?" he asked.
"Yes," she said. "I can hardly believe I haven't called him that before today."
Jer shrugged. "Me neither. Guess now I'm a little more irritated that I can't call him 'pops'."
Emily laughed.
Jer stopped before a small building, pulling Emily's attention from the ocean. "Here it is!"
Emily scrunched up her face in thought as she observed the face of the restaurant. "I don't know this place… I thought you said we would go to our favorite restaurant?" She blinked. "Come to think of it, what is our favorite restaurant? The place by the pier closed back in December."
There was a twinkle in Jer's eye—showing a combination of mischief and pride, if Emily judged it correctly. "Heheh. Just you wait."
The building was small, damp; it was clearly new, however, given the brightness of its wood planks that had yet to succumb to the mildew this coastal climate facilitated.
Emily looked around the nearly-empty room. It would be some time before word got out about this hole-in-the-wall, even if their food was as good as Jer implied.
"Here you are!"
Two plates of food found their way to the table. "One for you, and one for the beautiful lady. Please enjoy! Also—" The elderly waitress winked—"Happy birthday, sweetie."
"Th-Thank you," said Emily, but her eyes were focused on her meal before her. "This is…"
"The legendary Pier Sandwich, back in all its glory," said Jer dramatically. He seemed on the verge of ecstatic laughter. "It's back!"
Emily laughed with glee. "Goodness, I haven't had this since… I don't even remember!"
"This'll always remind me of our first date, personally," said Jer. "One of the best days I've ever had."
Emily smiled, placing her hand on one of his. "The same for me."
"But this isn't all," said Jer. "I got you a present. A more tangible one."
"Really?" she said, her curiosity piqued.
"Well, it's no Recover staff, sadly," said Jer, "and John wouldn't let me buy you a Bolganone, so… Here."
He proffered a small box, which she accepted without hesitation.
Emily slowly opened the box, and, in awe, lifted the golden necklace within.
Jer winced. It only just now occurred to him that the box could easily have been misconstrued as bearing a ring instead. Seeing the way she had taken the box from him without even a moment of thought compounded his doubts: was it a ring that she had wanted?
Ah, but she broke into a wide smile, so Jer knew: Emily hadn't made that connection, and was simply eager to accept her second ever birthday gift.
He let out a breath, looking aside. What was he so worried about, anyway?
"It's beautiful, Jer! Thank you so much!" She clutched his hands tightly, the cool metal interfering with her grip. "I love it!"
"I love you too," said Jer.
They both hesitated. Goosebumps ran down Jer's spine. Th-That's not what she said.
"You do?" Her smile was gone, but her eyes were still wide with surprised curiosity.
"Uhh…" Jer suddenly knew how Emily felt on occasion. His mind was a total blank.
"You said you love me," she murmured. "D… Do you?"
"Y… I… Yeah," Jer said uncomfortably.
She frowned. "Huh. I thought saying 'I love you' was a family thing."
Jer rolled his eyes as the tension left him. "Ugh, you're hopeless, Emily," he laughed. "Yeah, there's family love, but… but this is a whole different thing. Romantic love—you know?" Jer paused. "It's kinda like family love, I guess. It's when you like someone so much you could see yourself being… well… family with them."
"Oh," she said. She began to gather conclusions from context clues. "So… I suppose that is a very serious thing to say."
"Uh… yeah."
There was an awkward pause. Neither seemed to want to move.
Emily broke the stillness by starting to attach her necklace. She wore a small, mischievous smile. "Well, I see no reason to refuse your offer. Very well then, Jer." She finished clasping the device behind her neck, and leaned forward, very nearly diving right into her sandwich dress-first. "I love you, too."
Jer, quite literally, had no words to say. He simply mirrored her lean-forward and kissed her, successfully caking his shirt in part of the Pier Sandwich.
Emily smiled gently as their lips met. So this is what a birthday feels like? Well, I am quite sad this is only an annual occasion.
They pulled away, and Emily laughed as Jer realized what a mess he'd made of his sandwich. She placed her finger on her chin thoughtfully as she watched him salvage his damaged meal. What a day. Saying 'I love you' to two men in one day? She giggled to herself. Emily, you mischievous girl.
She found this thought so strange and humorous that she could not help but voice it. "Hey Jer, have you ever said 'I love you' to more than one person before?"
"Hm? Yeah," he said absently, still picking pieces of the surprisingly-fragile bread from his shirt.
Emily found herself startled for a moment. She hadn't realized it at the time, but she hadn't expected any answer other than 'no.' "R-Really? You have?"
Jer stopped mid-dab. He, again, had misunderstood the intent behind her statement. "N-No… that's not what I meant."
"Well then, what did you mean?"
"…Ah, man." He squeezed his eyes shut, kicking himself for the sins of his stupid mouth. This was not the time to talk about this. "I meant that… I've… I've told someone I love them before."
"Like… romantic love?"
He nodded, his lips pursed tightly.
Emily wasn't sure if she wanted to hear any more, but her curiosity got the best of her, so she pressed on. "U-Um… Who was this?"
"I just wanna start by saying this was a long time ago," Jer insisted quickly. "I hadn't even met John yet. Also, I was young, so if you think I'm stupid at any point, blame it on teenage me."
She hummed in quiet laughter. "Go on."
He let out a relaxed breath, glad he had eased some of the tension back. "Okay… Well, there was this girl, this neighbor, I'd known since we were both pretty young… We were ten, eleven maybe, when we first met. Well, later on, I come of age, I start thinking about girls—you know how boys are, I'm sure—and I thought, hey, you know who's cute, Rose is. Oh, and her name was Rose."
"Pretty," said Emily simply. Her chin was clasped in her hands; a tiny smile played on her face as she listened.
"So Rose and I dated for a long time." He shook his head, laughing quietly. "A long time. Four, five years? Sweethearts, people would say. You can imagine how I must have felt about her. I really did love her, or I thought I did at least." He shrugged. "I was young. What did I know?" He shook his head. "Anyway, that ended when Rose's father had his farm foreclosed upon, and they had to leave. The next year, I left my father's farm for Valm Harbor, and, well…" He shrugged, grinning. "Here I am, almost thirteen years later. The end." He reached for his mangled sandwich, and he took his first bite at last. "Mmm… To be honest, I think today was a pretty inappropriate day for me to tell you that story."
Emily shrugged. "I don't know… I thought it was kind of sweet."
Jer smiled, at least as soon as he swallowed his bite. "Well then, good on me for telling it." He gestured at her sandwich. "Dig in! Story time's over."
Emily was the happiest she had ever been. A loving father in John, a valuable companion in Jeremiah, and a comfortable life in the bustling Valm Harbor.
It was only a matter of time before it all crumbled, one piece at a time.
June 8th
Emily frowned with concern. That look in Jer's eyes…
She placed down her Pier Sandwich, likely the fiftieth one she and Jer had shared since her birthday back in March, and stared at him seriously. "Jer, tell me what's wrong."
Jer's eyes snapped back to the present, and he forced a smile for Emily. "Hm? No, no, nothing's wrong." He gestured. "Please, enjoy your dinner. I'm just not feeling very talkative today."
Emily's eyes narrowed suspiciously, but she did as she was asked for now.
Emily's obedience failed her the moment they left the restaurant. She stopped Jeremiah just outside, released his hand, and placed both of hers on her hips. "All right, Jer, talk to me."
"Ah…" He looked away, scratching his head anxiously. "I, ah…"
Emily noticed Jer's hand hovering next to his right pocket. "We've been together far too long to keep secrets from each other, Jeremiah," she said. "Please, talk to me."
Jer sighed, and he slowly faced Emily. The dread in his eyes frightened Emily. "Man, I… I probably should've told you this days ago. As soon as I found out…"
"Found out what, Jer?" She touched his sleeve anxiously. "Tell me."
Jer sighed again, this one much more drawn out. Emily recognized that he was searching for words, so she hesitantly waited for him.
"I… should, um… probably just show you." He reached into his pocket—his left one, surprisingly—and from it, he produced a small letter. "Here."
Emily accepted the item. Her hand trembled slightly as she grasped the letter, trying to make out words on the seal.
"V-Valmese… Valmese Army?" She looked up at Jeremiah. "What does this mean?"
Jer gently freed her of the letter and returned it to his pocket. "Emily, I've been conscripted. Drafted."
"Drafted…" She had to dig into her vocabulary for that word. "Oh… Enlisted into the army?"
Jer nodded, smiling wanly. "Yeah. There's this… emperor guy from the northwest. He's apparently been traveling across Valm, conquering and… uniting, I think was the word, uniting the other provinces. You know—emperor stuff." He shrugged, evidently hoping for nonchalance. "And… I'm able-bodied, so I've been… forced, you could say, into the army."
"Okay," Emily said nervously. "Wh-What does this mean?"
"It means I'm leaving," said Jer. "I have to. I have to report to Fort Steiger by tomorrow."
"Leaving?!" Emily exclaimed. "F-For how long?"
Jer's face fell further than she could have expected possible. That… that was despair that she saw in him. No doubt about it; she used to make the same face on particularly lonely days on the pirate ship.
"I don't know. Training is three months, and Naga knows how much longer I'll be serving, or where." He took a breath, and his hand shifted to his right pocket again. "Honestly, Emily… I have no idea when we'll see each other again."
Emily was frozen to the spot. "Wh… Wh…" she stammered, but she did not know where to guide her sentence. She simply stood, and waited, and watched Jeremiah's right hand.
His hand slipped into his pocket, and there it lingered for an uncomfortable moment. Emily could only hear her own breath and her own heartbeat.
His hand began to lift from the pocket, and for a brief instant, Emily caught a glimpse of something small and dark—but Jeremiah dropped it back into his pocket, and he left the pocket empty-handed.
Emily grasped at a sentence at last: "What—What was that?" Her hand wavered as she clumsily pointed at the pocket. "In your pocket?"
"Hm?" Jer said, his go-to response for forced casualness: that is, his tell for when he lied. "Oh, that's nothing. Gotta deliver this little thing for… for, uh, Merc."
"Liar!" Emily reached for it, and Jer recoiled from her grab, surprised by her sudden vehemence.
"E-Emily!" he hissed, glancing around. "You don't just do that in public!"
"T-Tell me what's in your pocket," she said. Her eyes were starting to water. "Please."
Jer looked heavily conflicted. His eyes were cast away, and his hand once again returned to his pocket. "…Okay," he murmured.
He pulled his hand from his pocket, revealing the mystery item to be nothing other than… a small, black box.
It was quite familiar. Emily tried to place the last time she had seen such a thing.
After a brief moment, her eyes widened in realization, and her hand touched her necklace. "Jer, is this a present?"
"W-Well, it…" Jer began, but Emily would have none of it.
"Is this supposed to make me feel better?!" she snarled. Jer was instantly surprised by the venom in her voice. "Is it?! Because another necklace isn't going to win you anything! Or, or it's a bracelet, maybe? No! You can't make up for leaving me by—by buying me things! I'm not some… some…" Emily began to panic as she forgot what word she was searching for. Oh, Naga, not again! "I-I'm not…"
Jer found this as the opportune moment to interrupt. "Emily."
"What!" she shrieked. "What, Jeremiah?!"
Jer offered her the box. "Just…"
She crossed her arms, silently refusing for a long moment. Streams ran from her eyes as she stared at the offensive item in Jer's hands.
Finally, she hesitantly reached out and accepted the box. Jer's hands fell, and he moved them to his hips and began to pace nervously.
With trembling, uncoordinated fingers, Emily gradually opened the box, revealing a miniscule piece of jewelry within.
"A ring?" she asked. She looked up at Jer skeptically. "H-How is this… supposed to, to… change my mind?"
Jer continued to pace, throwing an anxious glance her way every now and then. "Rings… are symbols of, of… th-the unity between a, uh… a man and a woman." He raised an eyebrow, hoping she would not require further explanation.
The unchanged look in her eyes, however, suggested otherwise, so Jer steeled himself and said the words.
"It's a symbol of marriage." He stopped, looking down on her with apprehension. "Like… you and me, married."
Emily's thoughts were still sluggish, so Jer practically watched her journey through each step of realization. She ended with her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide and watering. "J-Jer, are… are you…" She looked down at the ring, mouthing, 'Wife…'
Jer cringed. "Yeah, I got that ring so I could propose… so… you could come with me. You could live off-base, and I could see you on odd weekends, and… if I left for war, I'd have someone to come home to." His following laugh was high-pitched and extremely nervous, and was accompanied with a hand running through his hair. "Because I don't have any family! I've got an empty house here, and an emptier farm that used to be my father's. And wouldn't you know it, Emily, I love you, and I'd love for you to be with me."
Emily had nothing to say. Literally, her mind offered no words to acknowledge Jer's. She could only stare at the ring, at the promise Jer had made.
Jer solved the problem for her. He reached out, wrapped his hands under hers, and with them, he closed the box. He then slid the box out from her shaking fingers, and in another instant, the promise was back in the pocket from whence it had come.
"But it wouldn't work," Jer said softly. "I love you, Emily, but I couldn't provide for you like your father can. He and I have already discussed this at length. With me, you would live a spartan life, with an uncertain future. And what if we had children? No…" His hand patted his pocket. There the promise was, and there it would stay. "It couldn't happen."
So Jer forced a smile, offered Emily his hand, and said, "Today was very fun. It was a long day, and one I would happily choose as my final day in Valm Harbor. But now I must take you home."
Emily was numb. She saw the hand before her, and without thinking, she shakily reached for it, ineptly lacing her fingers through Jeremiah's.
"That's my girl," Jer said softly. He gently pulled her closer, wrapped his arm around her shoulder, and began to walk her home.
It was on the walk home that Emily regained her senses, but she had no words to say to Jer. She simply trembled as she fought tears, and refused to meet Jer's eye, though she did not resist his comforting arm on her shoulder.
Jer recognized this, and made no attempts at conversation.
Suddenly, they stopped, and Emily stumbled as her next step was cut short by the tightening of Jer's grip on her.
"We're home," Jer whispered.
Emily turned, and, sure enough, there was the old, oaken door she was so used to. For the first time since the previous year, Emily saw no comfort in this door; all it represented was the future.
As soon as she walked through that door, Jer was gone from her life.
"Emily," Jer said. At long last, she turned to face him, ineffectively trying to wipe a tear from her eye as she did so. "This is goodbye."
Emily said nothing. Her arms were crossed over her abdomen; she felt as though she may vomit.
"I love you," Jer said. "Please, never forget that."
She nodded, still refusing to meet his eye.
Jeremiah grimaced. "I… I'll miss you." He gave a small, curt wave. "Bye, Emily."
Emily cleared her throat of tears. "J-Jer," she murmured.
He stopped. "Hm?"
She met his eye. "I'll be… waiting," she said.
Jer broke into his wide grin she so adored. "I don't doubt it," he said. He reached out, and she did not hesitate in taking his hand.
The two looked each other in the eye, linked by their hands, for an all-too-brief eternity.
Jer's eyes softened, and his grip began to relax. "Bye…"
She nodded, sniffing. "Bye…"
He gave her hand one last, tender squeeze, before he turned away, marching off into the unknown.
Emily's arm returned to its position, and the urge to vomit rose once again. She took several long minutes to compose herself; many breathing techniques she had acquired from John while learning how to speak also applied here.
In, out. In, out. Peace…
The creaking sound of her home's oaken door startled her. "Good evening," came a voice from the intruder.
A Valmese soldier, clad in red armor, stepped out of her home. Emily brushed some hair over her ear and forced a pleasant smile. The man tipped his helmet at Emily and kept walking. He was soon out of sight.
Emily didn't miss a beat. She rushed to the door, flung it open, and hurried inside; her heart pounded the whole way.
John sat on the couch, staring curiously into the folds of a letter. He glanced up at Emily as she entered, his brow furrowing appropriately at her dynamic entrance.
Emily's breath caught. The back of the letter bore that same Valmese seal.
"No," she whispered breathlessly. "N-No…"
She ran over to John, swatted the letter out of his hands, and crudely embraced him, crying into his shoulder.
"No! D-Don't go, Father! You can't! You can't! It can't be just me! I won't be able—I can't—"
"Emily!"
John took her firmly by the shoulders, pried her off of him, and placed her in a sitting position next to him. He then leaned forward, still winded from the accidental blow she had inflicted on his diaphragm, and placed his arms on his knees. He plucked the letter from the ground and presented it to Emily. "Here," he said. "Stop worrying."
Emily tried to read the letter, but the words were jumbled together and her vision was impaired by the tears in her eyes. "I… I can't…"
John sighed and gently took the letter back. "It basically says I can't be drafted," he said. "It's the leg. I'm not of able body, apparently." He chuckled. "I could probably throw around most of those other recruits, but I ain't complaining. Anyway, the letter's pretty hilarious. All, 'you have been denied the privilege of serving' and stuff. Like I care!"
Emily nervously giggled, in spite of herself. She tried wiping her eyes.
"You've had a rough day, dear." He helped her up. "Let's get you to bed. I'll grab you some handkerchiefs."
She nodded, accepting his comfort while rubbing her eyes like a child.
That night, she slept heavily. She was even too tired to write in her journal before going to bed.
No dreams.
June 9th
John carefully opened the door, uncertain of what he would find in Emily's bed. Anger? Fear? Naga forbid, self-abuse? What he did not doubt, however, was that there would be tears.
He was wrong.
She sat cross-legged in her bed, her pencil tucked behind her ear, a tuft of hair curling around it. Her green eyes were focused intently on the journal in her lap; she chewed on her thumbnail thoughtfully as she examined the text before her.
John frowned suspiciously. "Emily…?"
Noticing his presence, she looked up at him and broke into her characteristic warm smile. "Good morning, Father!" Behind her eyes was an enthusiastic twinkle that meant she had an idea.
"Good morning," he said warily. He knew Emily too well to mince words by playing along, so: "What's with the attitude?"
She raised a pointer finger. "I've figured out how to make things work. With me and Jeremiah, I mean."
John's eyes narrowed. "You aren't going to try to go with him, are you? He already left."
"I know!" Emily said, her smile faltering. "I know he did. But I've thought of a way I could go with him without being a financial burden." She perused her notes in the journal. Without looking up, she inquired, "Father, I've become quite good at healing. I've successfully used even my Recover before. And I remember something you and Merc told me last October, when we first found out my talent. You said, 'healing is a very important skill,' and Merc talked about some work injuries that could have been avoided with the help of a healer."
John's features began to curl downward into a scowl. He did not like where she was going with this.
Emily lowered her journal and beamed up at John. "So I've decided that I am going to enlist alongside Jer. I may not exactly be able-bodied, but I already know how to heal, so there's no way they could turn me down."
"No!" John said immediately. His hands were clenched into fists. "Absolutely not. I will not consider it."
Emily expected this response, so she resumed. "But! A battlefield is where a healer is most needed. Think of the lives I could save! The families who wouldn't have to lose their loved ones! I could really make a difference if I joined the army."
"What did I just say?!" John snapped. "I will not consider it! You are not going to enlist, Emily. End of discussion."
He whirled away and departed for the kitchen.
Emily threw her covers off, grasped her journal, and followed him, her expression becoming more distraught. "But Father! This is my purpose! To heal, it's—it's a part of me!" She pressed her palms against her heart, pleading. "This is what I am meant to do!"
"No!"
John turned around, towering over her. She immediately recoiled, intimidated, but quickly regained her composure. "Why not?!" she snapped.
"Because I said so!" John shouted. "I am your father, Emily, and you will listen to me!"
'You are not my father!' was the first thought to cross Emily's mind, but she felt the words too cruel to speak—and they felt untrue regardless. "I want to be with Jer! I love him! This is the only way that we can be together!" She put her foot down. "I'm a twenty… something… year old woman, Father! You cannot stop me!" She kicked herself for tripping over her words, and hoped it did not diminish her point.
"You don't understand what a healer is!" John said. "A healer is not simply this altruist with the power to save lives. No, a healer is a weapon." His eyes were laced with anger and concern. "Emily… Calm down, and let me explain."
Emily didn't realize how rapid her breathing was, and took efforts to compose herself. She nodded at John: a gesture to continue.
John began to explain. "Before the advent of powerful healing staves—thousands of years before even the Hero-King's time—there was a rule of war. 'Don't kill the medic.' Healers would use slow-acting healing salves and simple crutches and bandages to heal wounds, so an injured soldier would likely return to the battlefield within a few weeks, maybe even months. The purpose of a healer was, indeed, simply to spare the lives of dying people. Therefore, it was a war crime to kill someone with intentions so pure.
"However, that changed with the introduction of modern healing staves. In a matter of seconds, a healer could renew an anything-short-of-mortally wounded soldier to fighting shape. This meant that healers would now reside on the front lines, able to heal soldiers just as soon as they suffer an injury. Wars would become those of attrition: the only way to win would be to wait for the enemy to run out of staves, and then the actual combat could ensue. Fighting alongside a healer was standard, as they could prolong the fighting ability of an entire unit. So with this, the old rule of 'don't kill the medic' came to an end. In fact, it was inverted: the tactically sound decision became 'kill the medic first.' Ask any tactician: in a situation where enemy healers are involved, it is always prudent to eliminate them first before moving on to the rest of the opposing force." John crossed his arms. "A cleric is the most dangerous weapon on the battlefield, Emily. Your life is in incredible danger if you join the army: and imagine if Valm learns of your ability to use tomes?"
John sighed, long and deep and thoughtful. "You want to be with Jer, but I want to be with my daughter. And if you go out there," he pointed at the door, "then you will die. I will be robbed of you, and so will Jer, and so will everyone else who loves you." He took a step closer to Emily and slightly widened his arms, inviting her into a hug. "Please, Emily, if you ever listen to me, let this be that time."
Emily was still numbly processing his words. Bags seemed to grow under her eyes as the seconds went by, and soon, she found herself in John's arms, sobbing without restraint.
John ran his fingers through her hair comfortingly. This was the reaction he had expected before, and it felt terrible to finally be proven right.
Over the course of the next month, friend after friend disappeared, until finally, the last of Merc's crew—Merc himself—was recruited by the Valmese Army. Likely still in the business of repairing warships, but no longer in the Harbor.
Emily could never bring herself to visit that sandwich shop again. Every place she and Jer had visited, she could no longer bear the sight of.
The Recover Staff lay hidden in John's closet, gathering dust. Valmese soldiers roamed the streets, and Emily could no longer afford to practice staff work; they would draft her in an instant if they learned of her skill.
The only constant was John.
Times were tough.
Times were about to become tougher.
July 14th
"Heyyyy! John, my boy!" The Valmese soldier gestured at Emily, a dark leer joining his grin. "Who's the lass?"
John blinked, surprised. He slowly smiled back and shook the soldier's hand. "Sirus? Is that you?"
"You bet, brotha!" the man said proudly. "How long's it been? Five years? Ten?"
"Maybe," John said. "What brings you here?"
Sirus grinned. "I'm in the army now! I know I always told you back when we worked for Merc that I'd enlist, and you never believed me, but here I am!" He gestured widely, encompassing the four soldiers behind him. "I'm a corporal in the Valmese Army! This is my squad! Say hey, boys."
The boys said "Hey."
"That's great," said John. "Well, it's good to see you, but we were about to make dinner, so…"
"Oh, oh man, I'm sorry," Sirus said, shaking his head with an embarrassed chuckle. "I didn't mean to beat around the bush like that. We're actually being quartered in your home."
John paled. "What?"
"Quartered," Sirus said slowly, mockingly. Whether this was playful friend-mocking or antagonistic mocking, Emily could not tell. "We're gonna be staying in your home for the next week or so."
"Wh…" John murmured. From his expression, Emily gathered that this was a bad thing.
Sirus rubbed his hands together. "So, you mentioned dinner?"
Emily and John were very quiet. John had made a point of sitting next to Emily and leaving the seat on her other side free. Meanwhile, Sirus chatted away, his spoon always hovering over his soup; the other four Valmese listened intently, chuckling at his jokes and nodding at his many jingoistic notions.
"Yeah, we're, like, shipping out in waves," he said. "Oh! That accidental pun. 'Waves.' Heheh. Anyway, the first wave already left, taking most of the fleet with them, and we'll be joining them when the next batch of ships arrives. Gonna go over to the east continent and crush 'em, or uh, unify them I mean, just like we did with Valm." He shook his head. "Man, you should've been there at training with me, John. The Emperor was actually there one day, making a speech! You should've just heard him talk. It would just all make sense." He gestured at himself with his fork. "We're the chosen ones, man! The Valmese! Walhart's gonna unite the entire world, and then there'll be peace, like… forever! Once those insects to the east stop squirming under his boot—especially Ylisse, they've been givin' us the most trouble—the whole world will be… like… one. One big country. Could you imagine it?"
John wore an amicable smile as he halted his spoon for just a moment. "Sounds like just warmongering to me, Sirus. And I hear about his strong-over-weak mentality; sounds a little Ashnardian, I think."
"Yeah, yeah, but like, what if Ashnard had it right, you know?" Sirus said. "I mean—sure, he's a bad guy in all those stories, but his whole idea about the strong trampling the weak, it just makes sense. It's natural."
"The lives of the weak aren't forfeit because of circumstances outside their control," John said. "Look at me. Crippled leg; can't fight in a war. Granted, I could probably kick your butt anyway…"
The five soldiers all laughed, appreciative of the jab.
"Man," Sirus said, "I'm just telling it wrong. If you heard Walhart say it, you'd understand, for sure." The other four bobbed their heads in agreement.
John shrugged. "Maybe. Anyway, how have you been, outside of army stuff?"
"Pretty good, pretty good," Sirus nodded. He suddenly smirked. "But not as good as you! You never answered me, John—who's the girl?"
John smiled, putting an arm around Emily. "This is Emily," he said proudly. "My daughter."
The other four just nodded along, but Sirus spit out his soup in surprise and began to laugh. "Hahaha! Since when did you have a twenty-something-year-old-daughter?! I've known you for way too long to not know about her."
"I'm a private person," John said simply.
"Naw," Sirus said, shaking his head quickly, "naw, she's not your daughter. What is she, adopted?"
John sighed. "Yes, she is."
"BAHAHAHA!" Sirus smacked the table in his laughter. Emily and John both watched him with a mixture of curiosity and confusion, and smiled a little in spite of themselves. The other four chuckled along despite not getting the joke.
Sirus's laughter slowed down, and he wiped his mouth of spittle as he continued, still grinning. "So you found yourself a daughter, huh? I remember you were a family man, whatever that meant. I remember Lyra."
John noticeably stiffened.
"So you found yourself a replacement, did ya?" Sirus asked, gesturing at Emily. "So, you two do it?"
Though the meaning of the words escaped Emily—even now, she would often find gaps in her vocabulary every now and then—the others understood full well, and even Sirus's squad made defensive exclamations about the inappropriateness of Sirus's statement.
"Wha—Hey, hey!" Sirus exclaimed, putting his hands up against the verbal onslaught from all directions. "I was just askin'!"
John's knuckles were clenched white. "Sirus, that's disgusting."
"Tch. Man, I don't get you," Sirus said. "You got yourself a hot young girl, not even related to you if that matters, and you take her as your daughter instead of your wife? Wasted opportunity, I'd say."
"W-Wife?!" Emily exclaimed, surprised. How vile! John? No!
Sirus shrugged, took a long drag from his glass of water, and before setting it down, he said, "Hell, if I had a daughter or sister, I wouldn't waste my time. Get while the gettin's good, I say."
"Ah, that's just what people think when they don't got no siblings," one of the soldiers said. "It's diff'rnt when you got family. I tell you, I've got eight sisters, and I ain't attracted to a one of them."
"That's 'cause they're all ugly as hell, just like you!" Sirus said loudly, and the five soldiers erupted into laughter.
Emily winced at Sirus's mild profanity. She glanced aside at John, who seemed just as uncomfortable as her, though his uncomfortableness seemed to result in rage rather than shyness.
"Father," Emily said softly, "I'm feeling ill. I'd like to turn in for the night, if you don't mind."
"Of course," John said. "You'll be staying in my room. I'll help you move your things."
John extracted the mattress from her bed and started to gather sheets while Emily began to carry each of her hangers, folding each piece of clothing over her arm one by one.
"Sirus will be staying in here, and the other four will be in the living room, on the couch and chairs and floor," John explained. "You'll be staying in my room until they're gone."
"Okay," Emily said. She briefly hesitated, then resumed gathering her clothes. "Um… H-How do you know Sirus?"
John huffed. "He and I worked with Merc for a couple of years. We were never that close as friends, but for some reason he still asked his lieutenant if he could stay with me. I bet he thought we were closer than we actually were; he's pretty lacking in social skills."
"I could tell," Emily chuckled. "What a disgusting thing he said…"
"Indeed," said John gravely. "He was an orphan, so he doesn't really understand 'family.' I suspect that's also why he worships Walhart the Conqueror so much; he's like a father figure to Sirus, I'd imagine."
"That doesn't explain his companions' similar devotion."
John shrugged, conceding the point. "I know little about these political affairs. Perhaps Walhart is as charismatic as Sirus says. Or maybe they just play along; for all we know, they were drafted."
Emily thought of Jeremiah. Had he heard Walhart speak? Was he brainwashed, too?
She squeezed her eyes shut. She had worked far too hard and for far too long to overcome that sadness; she would not have it engulf her again.
"Anyway," John said, "we should set up your sleeping arrangements. Just keep in mind that they're here temporarily; make the best of it, okay? Sirus isn't all bad. I trust him as far as I can throw him, but as long as you keep him at arm's length, make friendly. Please?"
Emily nodded. "I like to think that friendliness is one of my strong points, Father," she said, grinning.
"Haha! Right, right."
July 15th
Emily jumped, startled, at the sudden pinch on her leg. She yelped in pain and surprise.
Sirus bellowed with laughter, leaning back in his chair at the table. "Gods, you're a beauty, Emily!" He turned to his squad sitting around the table. "Did you hear that? That was the sexiest scream I've ever heard!"
Sirus had no time to react to the dough roller swinging down onto his wrist. He recoiled, grabbing the wound and glaring up at his attacker. "Agh! Ow! Wh-What the hell, John?"
"Language!" Another swat from the roller onto Sirus's shoulder. "Yeah, I've still got those anger issues, and I'm more than happy to take them out on you if you step out of line! I suppose I should probably lay down some ground rules, though Naga knows how obvious this one is." John pointed at Emily, who still looked rustled from Sirus's unwarranted grab. "My daughter is off limits. I don't want touching, I don't want romantic advances, I don't even want friendly flirting. If you speak to my daughter, you speak to her like you would to anyone else. I swear to Naga I'll kill you. Got it?"
He stared directly into Sirus's insolent eyes, asserting his dominance. Sirus averted his eyes, nodding, and John grunted in satisfaction.
The rest of the day was fairly thoroughly uneventful. Under John's watchful eye, Sirus showed forced respect to Emily, and the other four followed suit.
However, Emily saw the dark glances Sirus would throw at John behind his back, and the shared looks between him and his crew.
She hoped John hadn't made an enemy.
The house was much quieter for now. The five soldiers were out drilling, leaving Emily and John alone in their home.
Emily's thoughts wandered as she washed the dishes. Something Sirus had mentioned the previous day nagged at her, and now was the time to voice those concerns.
She set the plate in the sink, dried her hands, and slowly approached John, who sat in his chair, reading the newspaper.
"Father," Emily stated, sitting on the couch, "um… could we speak?"
John glanced over his newspaper at her, and then he folded the paper and set it aside. "Course. What's up, Em?"
Emily took a breath. This conversation was a long, long time coming; more than a year ago, Jer had planted this concern in her mind, and now, armed with a name, she could finally pose the question she had always wondered since she had met her father for the first time.
"Who, erm… Who is Lyra?"
John froze. For a moment, he was silent. "Lyra… Lyra…"
Emily anxiously folded her hands in her lap, awaiting his explanation.
"Lyra… more than ten years ago… she was my wife." He glanced up at her, expecting a reaction—but Emily had assumed as much. The mysterious ex-wife, finally given a name. "Gods, this was an eternity ago… We met in my early twenties, and were married before I was twenty-five. She was beautiful, and smart, and kind. Was blonde, like you… Was a healer, like you. Girl of my dreams."
A heavy weight grew in Emily's heart. "…But she left…"
"Thirteen years ago," John continued, "we decided, enough was enough, we'd been married for four years, and neither of us were getting any younger: it was time to have children."
Emily remembered Jer's recounting of the tale. "But Lyra didn't agree?"
John blinked. "What? Yes, of course she did. She proposed the idea, in fact."
Emily frowned. So Jer had been wrong.
She suddenly noticed something. John's eyes… that distant glaze on them…She recognized that look from an eternity ago. 'If I'd ever had a daughter'… Oh, gods…
"She was pregnant," John said absently. "We learned later… the baby… the baby was a girl. Real family… for me." He shook his head, unblinking, staring at nothing. "We decided on her name before she was born… We named her… named her… Emily."
Emily.
When the Letter Killer threw her overboard, she had been shocked.
When John was injured, she had been shocked.
When Jer left, she had been shocked.
This was something else. Something… vastly more horrific.
Emily's eyes were blank, no life to be found within.
Emily. The REAL Emily.
She stared down at her hands.
A crude facsimile… a replacement for the original… That's all I am.
Emily. That was her, wasn't it? Wasn't Emily her name? Didn't her identity have value? Or was she as disposable as her previous names?
There was no alcohol to save her this time.
It was true. Her identity was as meaningless as the others she had discarded.
She was not Emily. Emily was John's true daughter.
John took a long, deep, agonized breath. It was so substantially different from his usual sigh that it pulled Emily's attention. "I was there… holding Lyra's hand. And Emily, my child… I held her, for a few brief moments." He shook his head slowly. "But my daughter was gone… And she took her mother with her. There was nothing anyone could do…"
A long, silent pause. She didn't dare speak.
"The house was so empty," John murmured. "Empty…"
Empty…
Emily…
She understood why. Why John had named her this way. A replacement, for such a great loss. She could not fault him for this mistake of his, and she would not discard the identity he had so generously given her.
But she could not forget.
The rest of the day was silent.
July 16th
"John, the water isn't running."
John frowned. "What?" He stood from his chair and followed Sirus over to the sink. He tried the handle a number of times. "Hm." He ducked under the sink, all eyes now curiously following him. "Yep. This part's broken. Must've gotten fragile from rust, and somebody kicked it or something."
Sirus rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "Yeah… Sorry about that."
John rolled his eyes, but he was grinning. "Ah, no big deal. I'll just run down to the store and grab a replacement; shouldn't take longer than twenty minutes."
"Well, let one of my guys buy it for you," Sirus said. He pointed at two of them. "Soldiers get a discount. Least I could do, since I'm the one who broke it."
"Oh!" said John, surprised. "I didn't know about the discount." He grinned, patting Sirus on the shoulder. "Thanks."
"No problem," Sirus said, grinning back. "Glad to help."
"Be right back, Emily," John called, waving at her. "Looking good today, by the way."
She looked up from her book and forced a smile for him. She reflexively smoothed out her white dress. "Bye," she said. "I'll keep the couch warm."
Chuckles all around, and then John left with two of the soldiers in tow.
Sirus returned to the living room, where Emily and the other two soldiers sat; after a moment, Sirus moved to John's chair.
Sirus sat down, letting out a long exhale. "This chair is comfortable," he noted. "Maybe I should've slept in it the last couple nights." He laughed, catching Emily's eye. "Right?"
She smiled pleasantly, nodding, before returning to her book.
For a minute, there was silence. Sirus tapped his fingers on the chair arm impatiently, one soldier stared off into space, and the other pretended he knew how to read the book in his hands.
Finally, Sirus broke the silence. "Welp!" He stood up. "I think that's about long enough." He nodded at his other two soldiers, and they stood as well, following him.
Emily frowned as she watched them walk to the back of the house. "Where are you going?"
Sirus glanced over his shoulder. "Hm?" He grinned. "Just gonna check out John's room. Haven't seen it yet." He gestured with his thumb. "Mind showing me around?"
Emily blinked, nonplussed, but closed her book and stood anyway. "Okay, I guess. There isn't much to see, though, it's just a room." She would probably have to divert them away from the hidden Recover staff anyway, so it was best that she gave them the tour.
"I'm really into architecture, though," Sirus said. "So, yeah, the layout of the room is pretty interesting to me."
Emily thought, for a moment, that she had heard sarcasm in his tone, but she disregarded the notion. Why would he lie about something so trivial, anyway? "Oh! Well, I'm no architecture buff, but I could help you." She felt some excitement run through her as she approached Sirus. A chance to be needed for a while, plus a friendship moment with Sirus? A win-win.
Sirus held the door for Emily, allowing her to enter. She stood in the middle of the room, looking around for something to talk about.
Sirus waved both of his soldiers off. Had Emily been listening closely, she would have heard, "Guard the front door."
Emily turned around, smiling. "Well—"
Her smile died as she saw the look in Sirus's eyes. The downward-pointed chin, with the malefic eyes glaring up at her, and the wide, sadistic grin… What was this?
"The strong dominate the weak," he hissed. "This'll show John for humiliating me… I'm gonna enjoy this."
Sirus charged at her, and she was suddenly reminded of Letter Killer, and a powerful sense of primal fear overwhelmed her, and she barely had time to bring up her hands to defend herself before he tackled her onto the bed.
She frantically tried shoving him off as she began to panic in surprise and confusion. Her breathing was rapid, and his was right in her ear, that hissing, offensive breath—
"G-Get… Get—off!" Emily sputtered, giving Sirus another shove. Sirus growled in irritation, and released her with one hand.
The hand returned in the form of a fist, colliding with Emily's cheek and stunning her.
Emily's ears rang as the pain in her cheek grew. She tasted blood. Why? Why? "Agh!" She felt pressure of his hand on her leg. "St-Stop it!"
Sirus began to laugh maniacally. "Gods, you're so beautiful! So untouchable, so sacred! The white you wear… it just perfects it!" He bent down, sinking his teeth into Emily's shoulder.
She cried out in pain. "It h-hurts! Stop!"
"HmhmhmhmhahaHAHAHAHA! So delightful! So this is what a daughter tastes like? Well," he dragged his lips across her shoulder, up her neck, and finally ending at her ear, "let's have you make one of those for me, why don't we?"
Her eyes widened as the implications of his actions finally hit her. "N-No… No, no…. Please…"
"Sorry, but 'no' is out of the question," Sirus sneered. "If I wanted 'no,' I wouldn't have sent my men to kill John!" He dove down again, and Emily felt his hands on her dress, and his mouth on her neck, and oh gods, this still hurt… And fighting, fighting… it did nothing…
Sirus's mouth pried off of her neck. "T-Taking too long!" he stammered breathlessly, excitedly, and he moved upward to press his lips against Emily's.
"Mmph!" She struggled harder than before, anything to get that mouth away from hers. But he held her in place with his hands, gripping her shoulders. No, that wasn't all they did… they were fumbling with the straps of her dress, trying to…
Oh, gods, this could not be happening.
Sirus finally pulled away from her, his dark grin returning. "Pray to the gods for help," he hissed. "Pray to Naga! Do it! I want to hear you call Naga's name!"
Emily was shaking with tears, wishing she was not so damn fragile, wishing she could be stronger, wishing for… anything but this. Even the pirates never…
'Don't take advantage of Lass, you hear?'
Oh, gods! This was what Dobus had meant!
This was the lowest form of humanity, right before her! This man with no morals, this man who would… who would do such a thing!
"Well?!" Sirus snapped, irritated that Emily refused to satisfy this whim. "Say the words! Pray! I want to hear them fall flat before your gods' deaf ears!"
Emily choked back a sob, pursing her lips tightly in silent refusal.
"Fine!" Sirus bellowed, and began to wrestle with the dress more intently. "You'll be praying before we are done, for sure!"
She shivered with terror and closed her eyes tightly. No matter what he does, he will hear no words from me. I'll not make a sound for him. Naga, if you can hear me… please ensure my silence.
Sirus's irritated expression morphed into a satisfied one, and though Emily refused to look down, she could feel his hands stop moving, having apparently found purchase.
"Ready for the main—" he began, before suddenly stopping.
There was a wet, slipping sound, and something splattering across her dress. She flinched, fighting back a terrified whimper.
Emily slowly opened an eye, and gasped in horror at the sight: a narrow blade sticking out of Sirus, hovering hardly an inch before her nose.
Sirus wheezed for air, staring numbly down at the red-stained blade. Blood spatters tainted Emily's white dress.
For a moment, all was still except Emily's chest, heaving with panicked breaths.
Then, the blade slickly retreated from Sirus's diaphragm, and he fell sideways off of the bed.
Emily's hands covered her mouth as tears streamed from her eyes. "J-John," she whispered.
John did not face her, still looking down at Sirus, who lay in a gasping heap next to the bed.
"I told you I would kill you," John said impassively.
Sirus coughed blood onto the carpet, wearing a shaky grin the whole time. "Y-You son of a bitch," he panted. "You j-just killed a servant of the C-Conqueror… You're gonna die, John. Heheheh… You're gonna d-die…"
John knelt down, wiping his weapon on Sirus's shirt. "I never did lose this," he said quietly, showing Sirus the weapon. "I always keep my carving knife on me. Now you know why."
"Heheh… Heheheheh… That's…. pretty good," Sirus rasped, giggling manically as blood dripped from his nose and lips. "P-Pretty… good… heheh…"
Sirus's head lolled to the side, eyes still open, as his chest gradually stopped moving.
John stood quickly and took Emily's hand. "We have to—"
Emily interrupted him by leaping to her feet and into John's arms, bursting into terror-filled tears.
John's sympathy knew no bounds, and he wished he could kill Sirus a dozen times more for what he did, but they hadn't the time. "Emily. We have to leave. Grab your bag."
Emily obeyed, immediately rushing into the living room. She hesitated, covering her mouth, at the sight of the two butchered Valmese soldiers next to the door—but then she did as she was told and looped her satchel over her shoulder. After a moment, John followed her into the living room, carrying the blanket-masked Recover staff under his arm.
"Emily," John said calmly. He reached for her, taking her by the shoulder. "You're going to have to listen to me very closely for the next few minutes, okay? We are on the run now. Three Valmese soldiers are dead because of me, and regardless of their actions, I—and you by extension—will be held responsible. Those last two will be after us." He noticed one of the straps on her dress was undone, so he redid it as he spoke. "The only thing we can do is flee, and that means you have to do everything I say. Promise?"
"P-Promise," she stammered, nodding. That item under his arm, though, was large and easy to spot. "B-But the Recover staff… Can't we come back for it…?"
"Emily." His voice was stern. "We aren't coming back. We never can."
Emily's breathing quickened. Oh gods, oh gods…
John nodded, forcing a smile. "Don't worry, dear," he said, running a hand through her hair. "You'll be just fine. I guarantee it."
She smiled tearfully, resting her cheek on his hand for a moment.
He leaned in close, brushing aside her bangs to kiss her forehead; but he hesitated, his face hovering inches from Emily's. "What in the…"
Emily frowned, confused. "What's wrong…?"
John brushed her bangs back down, his hand fell, and it was back to reality: all smiles disappeared. "…N-Nothing. Let's go."
Everything was hell as soon as they stepped outside. Villagers ran this way and that; several soldiers rushed past John and Emily without even acknowledging them.
"What's going on?" Emily said, watching the panic unfold; John hastily pulled her along by the wrist, moving quickly in spite of his limp.
"It's something at the pier," John said, constantly looking over each shoulder as he walked. "I heard someone mention a resistance faction. Anti-Walhart, I assume."
"So… friends?" Emily asked hopefully.
John frowned. "Gods, I hope so. That's our best option right now."
Emily's face fell anxiously.
Valm Harbor was a blur of sounds, motion, and noise as they hurried along toward the pier at the fastest pace they could manage short of running. Emily's thoughts were muddled, but she still felt in control; she repressed thoughts of Sirus for now. That could come later.
"This way." John led her into a side alley to avoid a large group of Walhart's men. "Not much farther."
"HALT!"
Emily flinched at the sound. Memories of last October rushed to her, at those men chasing her, at John's injuries…
John looked over his shoulder. It was the last of Sirus's soldiers, both wielding lances. John didn't have the drop on them this time.
John grimaced, released Emily's wrist, shoved the Recover staff into her arms, and reached into his pockets, drawing his carving knife. "Emily, run," he commanded.
"Wh-What?"
He gave her a sharp look. "You promised." He winked. "I'll meet you at the pier later, okay?"
Emily stared into his confident eyes, a look of worried fear in her own. Suddenly, all doubts she had had about him diminished; her insecurities about Lyra, and about the real Emily, were gone, if just for a moment.
"I'll be waiting," she said, for the second time. "I love you, Father."
He smiled warmly. "I love you too, Emily. More than you could ever know." He placed his hand on her cheek. "Now… Run, as fast as you can, to the pier. The resistance will help you."
Emily nodded, wiping away tears. Without another moment's hesitation, she obeyed her father's command. She ran.
John watched her go for a second, before turning back to the two soldiers. He let out a long, deep sigh. If there's ever a time or place for it, it's now. "All right, you sons of bitches," he growled. "Who's first?"
Emily was running, and crying, and unable to think but for the direction she ran.
She knew. John was a strong man, but he could not take on two lance-wielding soldiers.
Her father was dead.
And those soldiers would never pay for what they had done. Sirus would be remembered as a soldier of the kingdom, slain by peasants, not as the… the monster he truly was.
She shook her head, wiping her tears on the Recover staff's wrappings, as she continued to run. She could not think about that now! She had to find her way to this resistance group—her only chance of escaping the Conqueror's tyranny…
"HALT!"
Emily slid to a stop, her breath growing more rapid. Two soldiers in front; two more in back. Surrounded, and nowhere to run.
She looked down at herself. Blood-spattered… carrying a large, unknown object… panicked… She was the embodiment of suspicious.
The soldiers closed in, weapons at the ready. "Drop the thing!" one ordered.
Emily's hands were clenched around the staff, and her thoughts were too muddled with fear to hear the command. Every part of her wanted to flee, but she was frozen.
"Prolly another one of Say'ri's goons," another soldier said gruffly. "Let's put 'er down, Corporal."
"Yeah, I think so too," the corporal of the squad said, nodding. "We'd best inflate our kill count anyway. We're falling behind the power curve."
"You got it. I'll do the honors."
One of the soldiers stepped closer, lance at the ready. Emily squeezed her eyes shut, clutching the Recover staff to her breast.
Then, a voice from behind Emily: "Oy! Look over there!"
The soldiers all hesitated, following the voice. Emily refused to open her eyes, but she heard the rest of the encounter:
"Hey! Who are you people? You're interfering with—Nngh!"
A metallic slam.
"Wh—Rebels! Kill 'em, boys!"
Metal clanging, loud grunts and clashes; within moments, silence.
Two hands took Emily by the shoulders, and she yelped in fear, opening her eyes.
"Hey! Calm down! Let's go, alright? Hurry now!"
And now, Emily was walking as fast as her feet could take, with other footsteps behind and a few more people in front, and a strong shoulder guiding the way.
Wait—the wrong way.
Emily started to become conscious of her surroundings. She was in a dark alley, surrounded by—
She shook the arm off of her. "W-Wait, wait!" she said, trying to gain her bearings. "This isn't… This…"
Her saviors all stopped. "Hey," one of them said, in a familiar voice, "you should at least be grateful. We saved yer life, Lass."
Emily squinted at the speaker. "What…? Tank…!" She looked around. "Nina…? Barty… Mustache man…!"
The Mighty Mustache scratched his head, mouthing 'Mustache man…?' The others grinned at Emily.
"Welcome back, Lass," Nina said, beaming from ear to ear. "It's been a while, huh? We've gotcha. You're safe now. But you've gotta follow us—we're ditching the Harbor."
Emily blinked. "B-But the… resistance faction…!"
"The resistance's gone to hell," Barty said gruffly. "Almost all of Say'ri's party, killed, and Say'ri herself was cornered last I saw 'er."
Emily was breathless. Her hopes, her father's hopes, gone?
"So yeah, we're outta here," said Mustache Man. "We're as dead as her if we keep helpin' the resistance. We're settin' sail for Ylisse, and ain't turnin' back 'til things calm down."
Emily had already confronted the thought of John being dead, but this was only the nail in the coffin. If she left Valm with these pirates, she would certainly never see John again.
But what was her alternative?
"Guys, this reunion is great and all, but we've really gotta go," Nina urged. "Lass, come on! I promise, this is for your well-being." She jogged over and grasped Emily's wrist, which still firmly clutched the staff. "Trust me!"
Emily looked into Nina's eyes. "O-Okay," she said softly. "Okay…"
Nina grinned, and then faced the others. "All right, boys, to the ship!"
And they ran.
