I stumble upon the place where Aston sits to find him alert, tense in his place. He's holding a throwing knife against the palm of his hand with his thumb: ready. Their voices can be distinguished now, but their dialect is almost too heavy for me to understand.
"ChrIIISE it's fuck-ed heavy!"
"Lessee you complain with a week'sa meat in yer gut."
"Oh bull live me brudda, I'll gladly have my fill tonigh."
"Oh nore yawone!"
Two men can be seen dragging a moose between the trees, passing less than twenty yards to the far side of Aston, straight for the fires of the castle. They must be rather absorbed, or I'm sure they'd have eagerly investigated my crashing. A lazy, old hunting dog lays on the kill, which is on a makeshift sled. The back of the dog's eyes reflect moonlight as he eyes me. To her left, the hunters' supplies and bows are tied, hanging from the securing ropes. Aston motions me slowly closer.
I exhale a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. He's okay. I step carefully, closing the distance between us while making as little noise as possible. Once I reach his side I crouch down, putting myself between him and the bickering men, and drop my pack and the stick I brought to use as a splint on the ground beside him. I silently whirl my cloak off of my shoulders and cover as much of the both of us as I can. The light colors we are wearing are much more easily picked out than the drab green of the cloak among the foliage.
I lock eyes with him and put my hand over his which is palming the blade. I turn to look out around the edge of the cloak. The men still seem oblivious to our presence but that damn dog is looking at us. All it needs to do is bark and this gets much more complicated. I hold my arm up, palm out, and wave my hand once in a shallow arc. What looks like a heat shimmer is left hanging in the air. Sound is just a movement in the air-simple to block. It won't completely isolate the sound, but the shield I've left will at least help muffle the sounds of Aston's shallow breathing and the shuffling as I tie up his leg. I watch them and wait, trying to decide whether to try to move him now or to wait until the coast is clear.
The dog suddenly perks up at the sight of the mirage. It must've growled or something, because one of the men can be heard rebuking the dog as he suspects the dog is taking early supper with the moose. The dog turns its attention to its still oblivious owners for a moment before looking back in our direction, but her gaze flicks around off-center. We've been lost in the dying dusk for now. Aston looks at me intently, eyebrows up.
I look back to Aston with an almost guilty expression on my face. Whether it's a good thing for him to find out about me or not, it can't be helped now. I can't risk us being found. There will be time for questions later, right now I need to get him to safety.
I grab the stick I brought and lash his broken leg to it tightly. This will help keep it somewhat immobilized as we move. I grab my pack and his, stuffing it inside and slinging it over my shoulders. I put his uninjured arm around the back of my shoulders and get my legs under me, ready to help him to his feet. I wish I could spare him this, but we need to move. He would just have to use me as a crutch for now. I hope I'm strong enough to hold him up. The going will be slow but we need to put as much distance between us and the castle as we can tonight. I look to him, waiting for the signal that he's ready to move.
Aston sighs deeply. He grabs a rope, places it over his shoulder, then grabs my hand. He takes a breath so deep, I would think he's trying to make himself lighter.
I whisper, "Ready?" Finding my center, I brace my legs, and heave upward as I rise from a squat, taking as much of his weight as I can. It's a struggle to get him to his feet. Sometimes I wish I weren't so scrawny.
Aston stands solely on his left leg. His rope has a noose loop in it. He must have tied it while I was gathering. He hooks the rope around his right foot, then pulls the rope over his shoulder and fastens it to his belt in the front. With his leg now further secured into a slightly bent position, he swings his left arm around my shoulder. He gives a heavy, testing lean and a very slight impressed expression at my sturdiness. His eyes read trust, pain, and readiness.
That trusting expression causes me a jab of pain-he's come too close to dying for me twice today, and he still knows nearly nothing about me. How will I explain my Gifts to him? But now I need to concentrate on balance. A fall would be excruciating for him right now.
We begin to make our way northwest, a straight beeline away from the castle and away from the path and clearing I found earlier where people are less likely to be wandering. The going is incredibly slow, it takes all of my strength to keep him upright but I don't let the strain show on my face for fear he will try to spare me some of the weight and hurt himself further.
His shuffling, swinging steps are uneasy on the uneven ground. I keep my eyes low, watching for sticks and stones in the way. After a distance I ask, "How are you holding up?"
Through gritted, concentrated teeth, "Up." After a hop and a grunt, "Still up."
He's pale, but not more than he was. It's getting darker now. Soon, our dancing walk is neither quiet, easy, nor guided by sight. After nearly a half hour of walking, there's a loose stone-pile wall. On the other side is a short drop. A wind starts to pick up against our backs.
"There's the wind I heard earlier..."
Dammit. The wall is just big enough to be a problem. There's no way I can get him over those loose stones without him ripping his stitches open at best, or falling and having that already broken bone come through his leg. If I can get him just beyond that, the natural ditch will form a windbreak. I can build us a makeshift shelter at the bottom and we will be somewhat protected-both from the wind, predators, and eyes.
I don't have time or energy left to clear a path through these stones for him by hand, and I can't see how far the wall stretches. Enough is enough-Aston is suffering, and I need to get him down for the night. I take a deep resigned breath, hold out my palm and concentrate.
I can't look at Aston as I whisper a few words in my tongue. I squeeze my eyes shut with concentration, then focus all of my energy on a repelling shot aimed low at the stones on the ground. The burst from my hand is enough to roll most of the rocks away in a foot wide path, just enough for us to shuffle through. I turn to see his reaction, afraid of what I'll find.
Aston's eyes show neither shock nor surprise, but are occupied with concentration and a determined numbness. I find the far side of the wall just as I had hoped: a slight drop provides a perfect, private shelter. Some pits against the wall are perfect for a fire. There is even a large, weathered branch. Aston, however, looks around with a slight hint of disappointment.
I'm a little shocked at his lack of reaction, but almost grateful. At least he isn't accusing me of witchcraft. Without acknowledging what just happened I begin the slow descent down the embankment, careful to keep him from tripping. Luckily the slope is gentle and the going not too difficult.
My breathing is heavy and I've started shaking-I'm feeling just a little light headed from moving the rocks. I was already exhausted from our hard walk. But, he still needs me. It isn't time to rest just yet.
Slowly, I lower him into a spot near the fallen log, and ease him onto the ground where he can rest with his back against the trunk of a tree. My arms and shoulders are burning and glad to be rid of the weight. His eyes are closed and he's panting, but conscious. It's time to try to make it more comfortable.
"Just hang in there for me a little longer. I won't move you again, I promise. Can you do that for me?" Without waiting for an answer and making him speak, I drag myself back up on my tired legs and grab the hatchet from the pack. I find a pine tree not a hundred feet from our new camp and start hacking off branches, gathering ones that are thick and full. After assembling an armload, I break off four more poplar branches for myself, stripping the twigs and leaves and taking out my knife to put a large notch in the top of each one.
Carrying my load back, I use the tip of the hatchet to gouge a small hole in the ground a few feet on either side of Aston. After driving the notched poles into these as far as I can, I lay a final branch into the notches between them-much like a roasting spit over a fire. Finally I lash the whole thing to the tree behind him. Aston offers no comment as I construct the shelter around him. To finish it off I begin laying the long pine boughs against the stand I've made, forming a triangle over Aston's body. I layer them, one over the other, until I'm reasonably well assured that it will keep off most of the rain if the weather turns bad and will block the fire from the breeze. It is a very crude way to make a shelter, but it will at least make it a little warmer. I stand still a minute, catching my breath and looking critically at my handiwork.
"Hey" Aston says, somewhere between softly and weakly.
"Sit down a moment. I'm having a hard time carrying myself around, I can't imagine how hard it's been for you. Besides, you haven't had anything to eat today but apples." He's digging into the pack for the meat.
"No, I haven't even started the fire yet..." I begin to protest, but my head is swimming. If I pass out, Aston will be helpless. I had been pushing myself as a sort of penance-I was determined to do everything in my power to make this right. But if I overdid it, it would only make it harder for him. Hesitantly I sit down beside him.
"I'll just eat something quickly if you want. It's stupid to even be worrying about me right now." As far as I'm concerned, between the two of us, I wasn't the one who warranted concern at the moment.
"No, you will not eat quickly, you will eat enough. You look like you're going to pass out any second." Aston hands me a wrapping of meat. "These are from your exile pack, a little fresher, less salted. I had an apple, but..." He mimes falling and grimly slaps his good leg with his good arm. He gives a small laugh. He takes the hatchet from you and gives his own jerky a hearty, encouraging bite.
I sigh. "Have it your way, then." I rip a chunk off with my teeth in a not particularly lady like way and give him a look. "Satisfied?"
Although the hand gesture Aston makes is slow and soothing, lowering his open palm from eye level to the ground, the word almost sounds like a friendly order. "Relax."
My only answer is to roll my eyes and take another bite. Actually, the food tastes pretty good after eating nearly nothing all day. The lightheadedness and dizziness is starting to go away after just a few bites, and I can feel some warmth returning to my limbs. I look at the meat from my pack, the same stuff they gave me when I woke up. Was it really only just this morning that I woke up, not knowing my own name? It feels like an eternity ago. I imagine Aston feels the same way. Just this morning he had a home, a purpose, and his health, and now he had none of those things. All of which was still entirely my fault. All of a sudden I can't finish eating.
"We should at least have a fire." Before he can protest I get up and leave the shelter, grabbing twigs and fallen branches. I snap apart limbs over my leg, and amass a small pile. I'll take the hatchet to those bigger logs after I get this lot burning. Returning to the shelter I take out the flint and tinder from Aston's pack. I don't look at Aston as I build the fire. Once it's established I take my own pack and begin laying out the herbs I've gathered, working in silence, continuing to avoid his gaze.
Aston is grateful for the fire, and takes a break from the painful process of feeling his upper leg to assess the damage.
"You seem to have remembered a lot, I'm glad. I, on the other hand, have a terrible memory and can't seem to remember why you'd be upset with me."
I can hardly believe what I'm hearing. For the first time I'm flustered.
"Why would you even think that? What reason would I have to be upset with you?" Was he completely crazy? Was this his way of toying with me?
"Whoa! Calm down. I'm just wondering what's wrong because you've been the most helpful, caring person, but I still feel like you're distant or giving me the cold shoulder or something, I don't know."
"Stop saying things like that!" I almost yell it. His kind tone is almost more than I can take. "I haven't helped you, I've gotten you exiled from your town and nearly killed. You're in pain, you can barely walk, and I can't even really help you. Every 'helpful' thing I've done for you was just enough to keep you alive, none of which would have been necessary if you hadn't met me, or if I had controlled myself in the market, or if I hadn't tried to run. I watched you fall-I was so sure you..." I can't continue. My throat closed up.
"It's not your fault I committed myself to a doomed idea, Gala. I knew that eventually everyone would figure out what I was doing and I'd be exiled as one of the Abandoned myself, or would be killed when one of my guests lost it. My body will heal, always has. Forgiveness will come. You have mine if you feel you need to forgive yourself. If you're worried about owing me or... penance... or the like: you saved my life. And from the looks of things, you may be doing it a lot for the next season or two."
"You don't understand. When I thought you had died..." The memory of that awful, stomach dropping moment-Aston's face, registering surprise as he disappeared over the wall, falling in slow motion, out of reach and beyond help—it's too much for my carefully constructed composure to bear. The last of my strength leaves me as I break down and sob. I feel more alone than ever.
"Gala, you are the reason I'm alive." His hand finds its way to rest on my knee.
My first instinct is to pull away from the contact but I don't. His touch is reassuring. My face is still buried in my hands.
"I thought you were dead." The pain of that memory is still raw. My voice is a whisper. I can hardly bring myself to admit it out loud and acknowledge the pain that that moment had brought me.
Aston's hand raises to give me a reassuring pat, but… misses. His hand swings wide on the way down. Aston tries to hide his puzzled tone as he continues his efforts vocally.
"Gala, I am not dead... I know... I know I'm not in..."
His body pitches and his leg kicks out but he catches himself. His tone lowers to a vulnerable pitch.
"Sorry I just need a minute..."
He closes his eyes and itches his right one with the back of his hand, which he notices is unwrapped and starts to fumble, searching for something to cover his mark.
"Aston, what's wrong?"
My eyes are wide with concern as I take his hand and stop his searching. I take the piece of cloth from around my own neck and begin to unwind it carefully around his hand. All of the other cloth has gone to bandages for him.
"You don't need this anymore. There's no one out here to see."
"Habit? Maybe?" He opens his eyes briefly, I see them slide out of focus and he closes them again with a grunt.
"Sorry, dizzy." He rubs his right eye again.
I'm on my knees in front of him in a second.
"Look at me."
Aston opens his left eye slowly. Then his right eye, even more bloodshot than before. His hand rises to hold on to me, like he needs the balance, but his hand again falls short of my arm.
I put a hand on either of his arms to help hold him steady and pull my face close, studying his eyes. His pupils are two different sizes. Dammit. I was afraid this might have happened. He hit his head way too hard. I would have to wake him every few hours. I had seen people like him fall asleep after a head injury and never wake up. As long as I'm here to make sure that he keeps breathing through the night, he should be alright... But I won't be getting any sleep tonight. He would be out of danger by tomorrow if the night passes without incident-but tonight is going to be rough on us both. The important thing is to keep him comfortable and alert. I finish wrapping his hand and tuck the edge in securely. If it brings him comfort, there is no harm. I decide the best way is to keep him talking.
"So, you're a tailor by trade?"
"I didn't have much of a choice. No other place would hire me after I was... marked. It's funny, people at first thought I was using my guests to buy for myself, but when you don't change your clothes for a few years, people begin to crust...I'm sorry: trust. Eve hiring me also really helped earn my favor back... I should write her when we get... wherever.."
Aston reaches for the bag, but his hand again closes in the air inches from it. He tries again, closer, his knuckles brush the pack and he finally grabs it. He lays it against his leg with a sigh.
"Tell me truly. Am I... okay? I feel like a ghost trying to grab things and passing through them. I know I'm not dead, but I..."
"Shhhhh. Please don't worry yourself."
I was going to avoid talking about his injuries so as not to worry him, but it's clear that he will only worry more from not knowing. I decide being honest would most reassure him. He was a soldier; he's surely no stranger to injury and pain. If I don't sugar coat it, there's a better chance that he'll believe I'm telling the truth. My tone is sober and straightforward.
"From what I can tell, you have a broken leg, a dislocated shoulder and ankle, broken ribs, and the wound in your side. It also appears that your head took some damage in the fall, as is to be expected. You can expect to be dizzy and disoriented tonight, and I wouldn't be surprised if you run a high fever. Tonight may be difficult, but you should feel a little more comfortable tomorrow. But you are going to be okay. None of your injuries should be irreversible." I smile.
Aston nods, at first normally, but gets dizzy and checks himself, finishing slowly.
"Reckon I won't be getting much sleep tonight. I don't think I could get comfortable enough."
He goes to rub his eye, but stops himself. Starts idly fishing for food again. The stark fire light makes him look older. And worried.
"When will we set my leg?"
"Don't worry, I'll help you sleep. I just can't let you sleep for long, I'm afraid. Here, let me at least heat that up."
I take the pack from him and fish out more of the meat and lay it on a rock beside the fire, giving it a chance to warm up slowly. "In fact, I'll start something now."
Digging back into my bag I pull out the chamomile blossoms I found, along with the sage and a few others. I then take the extra water I collected and divide it into two, keeping one portion in the canteen and stick the metal container right into the ashes of the fire to boil. The rest I pour off into one of the skins and set aside. While I wait for the water to boil I take out the burdock and juniper and pull the blade out of the sheath on my leg and begin the familiar task of slicing, crushing and grinding the herbs into something I can use. It feels good to have my hands busy, and it feels even better to sit.
"I'll set your leg for you whenever you feel up to it."
"Depends on what you're making. Doesn't look like whiskey." Aston laughs softly at a memory, trying not to shake too much. "Check out the leg soon, as far as I can tell it should set well with a little coaxing, but you know what they say about self-triage. We'll set it later tonight to help me stay awake. Like I'll need the help."
I laugh. "No, I don't know what they say about self-triage. No one who had me around ever needed to try. And since when is whiskey an acceptable substitute for medical care?"
"Since it's cheaper than potions and grows natively in every castle."
I laugh again. "I honestly don't know how any of you ever come back alive. And I would much sooner put whiskey on your wounds than down your throat if I had any. I can't truly speak to its medicinal properties, though-I've never had alcohol myself."
"We usually did a fair combination of the two. One for wound, one for mouth. Two for wound, one-two for mouth. Trust me, we were in no pain. Besides, there were more breaks than cuts. The catapults were not safe to use and the receiving end was more mauling than lethal. You'd have to be good to survive the sword or bow, so fewer faced them."
"It doesn't sound like any of you would have been able to swing a sword straight half the time. So, how did you fight? You manned a catapult?"
"Hahaha...no, not after my accident" He nods to his shoulder. "I was much more covert actually. I wield a mean knife...and a strong liver. I was usually up and bright before dawn."
"Accident?"
"Catapult pulled my shoulder out. They couldn't count on me to lift the load into place. A fellow agent discovered later, after I was reassigned, that my shoulder wasn't fully set and... fixed it... I'm sorry, you're making food."
I pause my chopping and laugh. "You really think that fazes me? I've seen and treated much worse. I'm far from squeamish. And this is nearly done." I had a pile of neatly shredded leaves and roots in front of me, and I was pleased with the result.
"Where you putting those?" Aston inquires of my herbal dicery.
I gesture at the different piles in turn with my knife. "These are going to be made into a compress, it's mostly burdock and juniper. They are both antiseptics, and it will help keep your wound clean and dry while the bandage is on it. There's also something in it for the pain. This is for muscle aches, I'm going to make a batch to save for later-and this is going into the boiling water. Have you ever had chamomile tea? I added some things of my own, but all it really does is calm nerves and help with sleep. You should be a bit more comfortable. It'll be a little bitter, I normally add honey... I've made up everything I can think of that we might need, using what I found... It looks like the water's done."
The only thing I didn't tell him about was the small, unassuming looking pile I was keeping off to the side-valerian, lemon balm and goldenseal. My own specialty cocktail, incredibly potent. This would knock him out within minutes, should I find it necessary.
"Tea is on." I wrap the red-hot canteen in a rag and offer it to him. "This'll help. How does it taste? Do you want it a little stronger?
Aston hums in sudden protest, the best he can do with the hot liquid in his mouth.
"Yeah...this definitely needs a minute to steep and cool." He hand it back to you and runs his tongue across his burnt palette.
"Well, maybe you should think before you fire it down then!" I smile. "How do you feel now?"
"How'm I doing? With that mild burn I think I've covered every way to get hurt today." He laughs sadly. "Who knows what fate tomorrow will hold?"
"Rest. That's what you're going to be doing tomorrow. And yes, I don't think you've spared a single body part from injury today." I take a moment to flip the meat over. "So, that's how you learned to throw knives? To make up for your shoulder?"
"No, I taught myself. Playing in these very woods when I was younger. Developed it waiting for Abandoned by the stairs. War just told me what to aim it at. My shoulder told my superiors they should've paid more attention."
"Here, this should be warm enough. Don't burn yourself again." I hand him a strip and take one myself.
Aston tests the meat before taking a slow, thoughtful bite. How like him to appreciate the little things.
"Don't let your tea get cold, it'll be nasty." I don't take any myself; I need to be alert.
Aston sips the tea carefully. "...I thought you said it was bitter..." He takes a sizable gulp.
"You like it? There's more when you've finished that if you like." I offer another strip to him, holding it up just to the right side of his face.
Aston doesn't respond to the gesture at all. "I'll gladly have more when I'm done nursing this one." He turns to place it close to the fire and jumps when this causes your offering to graze his cheek.
"...Aston?"
He hadn't seen my hand at all. I stop what I'm doing and kneel directly in front of him. I hold my hands palm up, spaced with one on either side of his head, just inside his peripheral vision. I look like I'm surrendering to someone. "How many hands do you see?"
"Why d-You have your right hand out to my le-" as he points his gaze shifts from your eyes to your left shoulder. Ever so slowly Aston reaches to his right. Upon feeling your wrist his hand quickly moves over his eye. His left eye expresses the surprise he feels. He's experienced too much to be horrified.
"...I...I'd like to amend my previous statement about the extent of my injuries..."
