For the first time in a good many years, Tir decided that they would stay in the village for longer than a few weeks. It came as a pleasant surprise. Gremio was not tired of traveling with the young master, for he knew that to stay long among a group of people only caused misery for Tir, but it was a nice change that he could get up in the morning, go to market or the inn and be familiar with everyone.
Why they were staying at this particular village, Gremio didn't know, but Tir had seemed to like the Grasslands better than most places they had visited. The Grasslands were full of simple, hard-working people, honest to a fault, and kind simply because they had not really learned how to be deceptive. This village was a tiny little one located next to the Karayan clans. Its people had mingled considerably with the Karayans; most of them were dark-skinned, with light, clear eyes and a stubborn earnestness that made their little village fairly prosperous in the scheme of things.
Their hosts were such people. They had taken Gremio and Tir in without complaint, without having to be asked at all, after their funds were grown too insufficient to continue staying at the inn. They lived in a small but comfortable house with a small field of vegetables in the back. The boy, a quick little teenager with a good half of Karayan blood in his veins, tended the field, while his mother, tall and pretty like the Chishans, wove goods for market. Her name was Jenna; she was near Tir's age; her son's name was Yvain. Gremio reckoned him to be around the same age Tir had been when he had received the Soul Eater.
Gremio helped out by working at the inn, feeding travelers his hearty stew, which inevitably led to extra coin for the innkeeper and for himself. Tir fished, as he always did; it was a continuing fondness for him. On his good days, he helped Yvain with the vegetables. Gremio had taught him to raise them so they were strong and healthy and good-tasting, and Jenna had commented with surprise that they seemed to be better when Tir grew them.
When he got up in the mornings, Gremio would always hold his breath before turning over in his bed to see if Tir were still in his own. If he was still asleep, they were staying. If he was awake, his bags packed, they were leaving. Every morning, he counted the days and marveled that they had been able to stay for so long without Tir's Rune paining him. This morning was the forty-third. Next to him, Tir snored lightly, one hand outflung and touching the floor. Gremio rolled out of bed, groaning slightly--his joints were getting creaky--and stroked Tir's hair away from his face before he readied himself for the day.
Jenna had given him a crude slab of glass for his mirror, nothing like what he'd had back in Toran but still useable. Underneath the mirror was the basin. He filled it with water, unsheathed and wet his knife, and started to carefully take off the night's growth of hair. He liked to shave early, before Tir woke; if he did it in front of Tir, the young master's eyes were always an uncomfortable itch on his back, watching, weighting. For some reason, shaving had always fascinated Tir, even as a little boy. He'd sit on the floor and beg or cry until Gremio consented to let him watch, his little face lighting in happiness as Gremio took his hand and led him into the bathroom. Gremio ducked his head, and had to shave around the lines his smile created.
He washed his knife in the basin, then re-sheathed in and put it back on the bedside table, and began to dress. His clothes, Gremio thought as he lifted them critically, were getting old; he'd have to tat them, and he'd spied a growing thin spot on Tir's beloved bandanna. He'd fix those later tonight, then, when he got back from the inn. He slipped on his trousers, his shirt and his shawl, then hunted for the scrap of leather thong he used to tie his hair back. Predictably, it was gone. Jenna had a small cat--Frances--and he and Gremio were mortal enemies. This was one of Frances's favorite games. Gremio looked around the room, opening his nose to the cursed smell of cat, and glared down the hall. "That damn cat," he muttered.
In his bed, Tir stirred. "Gremio....?"
"Nothing, nothing, Young Master," he said hastily, keeping his voice low. "I'm sorry. Go back to sleep."
The lump in the bedcovers moved; then Tir threw back the topmost cover and looked at Gremio over his fringe of hair. "Is it Frances again?" he asked around a yawn.
"Mmm." Gremio ruffled his bangs. "It's getting long again. Do you want me to cut it, this evening?"
Tir brushed it back and held out a lock for measuring, eyeing it with a practiced eye. "No. It hasn't gotten in my way yet." He sat up, stretching his arms to the ceiling.
Gremio snuck a look at his shirt as the young master got out of bed and wobbled around the room to look for his pants. It was tattered. Tir didn't take very good care of himself; he hadn't even *told* Gremio about that huge hole... Sighing, Gremio handed him his trousers. "Here, Young Master."
Tir took them with a distracted air, and sat down to ease into them. "What are you doing today, Gremio?"
"What am I doing?" He spied a dark brown, poking out from the table-cover, and got down on his knees to feel underneath it. "Uhhh... I promised Master Nim I would do some work at the inn... cooking... then I was going to fix some of our clothes... Ah-ha!" He pounced on the hair-tie and started peeling the cat-fur off of it. "That cat would make a good stew, don't you think, Young Master?"
Tir laughed, startled. "Frances? That's terrible, Gremio."
Gremio crawled back out from under the table and pulled up his hair, tying it tightly with the leather. Tir was still seated on his bed, hands supporting his chin with a wistful expression directed at Gremio. Gremio turned away from it, to fiddle with a pile of dirty linens he'd promised Jenna he'd clean later. "Why, Young Master?" he asked over his shoulder. "What are you doing today?"
He knew all Tir's mannerisms, and could picture his casual shrug. "I don't know. Fish, I suppose."
"That's good. That bass you caught tasted wonderful."
"Mmm." Gremio turned back to see Tir gaze down at his hands. His right hand was uncovered; under the black, raised tattoo of the Rune, the skin was red and inflamed, raw and painful-looking. Then Tir was covering it with his other hand and sitting up straight, flashing Gremio a cheerful smile. "Well, all right, then. I'll catch you a big fish so you can cook it for supper tonight, all right?"
Gremio smiled back. "That sounds wonderful."
****
It had rained the night before, and the road to the river was muddy, gunk sucking at his boots as Tir trekked down to the riverbank with his fishing rod and a can of bait. Tir was very glad he'd exchanged his sandals for his boots; he'd originally gone out in the sandals, but Yvain, watching him from the field, had called out that the path would be muddy. "Best put on some good shoes!" he'd yelled, indicating the mud splattered all over his bright trousers. "It'll be good fishing, though!"
He found a dry spot far from where he usually sat. His favorite spot was situated under the trees, on a small cliff where he could better throw out his line. This spot was a dry, hot area, its trees having been destroyed years ago by a lightning storm. Tir grimaced and fished out his headband to wrap around his head; at high noon, the sun would be unforgivable.
The bass, he thought, fixing a squirming worm to his hook, had been a lucky catch. There weren't much fish in this river; most of them were caught upstream, by the Karayans, though some generous soul occasionally had the sense to let a few swim downstream to supply this village. He'd stayed here for more than forty days, fished every day, and had only caught ten or so fish--most of them small. Plus, Tir hated seeing the fish writhe and squirm on the end of his line, lips gaping, eyes clear and glinting with what he could almost imagine to be a form of terror. He almost always threw them back.
He felt sorry for the worms, too. He gave the one on his line a little nudge, watching it squirm in response; then sighed, dragged it off, and tossed it back into the river. The turkey from his sandwich would make fine bait, as always.
When the sun started to rise and his pants and shirt started to stick, Tir dragged off his boots and socks, rolled up his pants, and dipped his feet into the river. He let out a long sigh and fell on his back on the sand, pillowing his head on his arms. The sky was a clear, bright blue, clean of the rain and stormclouds that had dirtied it for the past few days. It was almost the color of the Toran sky, only bluer. He liked the Grasslands. The people were like the sky: clear and uncomplicated. Their governments were simple, their battles clean, their children healthy and happy. Gremio liked it, too, which was really why he stayed; Tir had been itching to go into Harmonia for years, but Gremio....
Gremio....
Tir sat back up and scratched his hand vigorously. It'd burned last night like he'd pulled a potful of scalding water onto it; he'd thought, one time, that blisters were rising on his skin, and he'd dragged off his glove to feel his hand. Except for the Rune, which burned malevolently under his fingers, everything had been fine.
The Soul Eater was tired. The Soul Eater was bored. The Soul Eater wanted to move on.
Not yet, Tir told it every night. Gremio is happy, Gremio wants to stay.
Just a bit longer.
****
Jenna cooked supper that night, since Tir hadn't caught a fish. "Absolutely not," she'd scolded Gremio when he offered to cook. "You are guests. Besides, you cook almost every night now. I hardly think my son recognizes my cooking anymore, he's too in love with yours!"
She spread dinner out on the table--well-cooked, pink, steaming meat with Karayan hot sauce oozed liberally on it; fresh vegetables from the garden; and sweet fruits, "Specially from the trader from Caleria," she said, spooning a handful of the fruits onto Tir's plate. "Eat up, Tir. Have you ever had Calerian fruit?"
Tir bit into it. It was sweet, but tough and chewy and sour at the middle. "Mmm," he said dutifully.
"I love Karayan sauce!" Yvain poured more of on his meat. It was the color of his skin, dark like coffee beans. "Mom is always saying she'll take me to Karaya, but she never does."
"It's a wonderful little village," said Gremio. "And they make wonderful stew."
Tir smiled into his napkin.
"How was fishing, Tir? I know you didn't catch anything, but did you have a good time?" Jenna asked.
"Oh, of course." Tir reached across the table for the salt, earning himself a disapproving look from Gremio, who'd taught him table etiquette. "I love to fish. And that river is so lovely. I don't think I'll ever get tired of it." The river was too cold and its bottom was full of mud, not silt like the one at Banner.
On his hand, the Rune stirred.
Tir felt his smile freeze. "Excuse me." He pushed back his chair and hurried out of the house. Outside, he gulped in the hot hair and yanked off his glove, letting the Rune breathe. The Soul Eater hated the heat. "I can't help it!" he whispered to it fiercely. "We have to stay...."
"Young Master?"
Tir turned to see Gremio framed in the doorway. His guardian's expression was knowing, in that awful way people have when it's something they don't want to know. Like his father's face. Like Ted's face. Tir drudged up a smile and said, "What's wrong, Gremio? I just needed some fresh air." He tilted his head. "What, can't you eat anything but stew?" he teased.
Gremio's face relaxed into a relieved smile. "I was just checking to make sure you weren't sick."
Tir shrugged, turning away from him. "Not sick. I guess that Karayan sauce did get to me, though."
"It's hot, isn't it? But it's very good. I should get the recipe from Jenna." Gremio came to stand beside him. Tir turned his head to look at him, feeling, as he always did, that stir of the uncomfortable; Gremio's face in the moonlight was like a painting done in monochrome, skin porcelain white, shadows under cheekbones and lines black as ink.
Gremio's eyes met his, bright blue gaze washed out by the moonlight. It was like, Tir thought, a Toran painting--that light blue covered by a sweeping fringe of inky-black eyelash, like a river covered in leaves. "Young Master?" Gremio murmured. "What are you thinking?"
The skin at the back of Tir's neck twinged as Gremio's hand brushed across it. Tir rolled his shoulders, brushing him off, and Gremio's hand fell back to his side. "Nothing," he said, smiling into Gremio's eyes. "It's a nice night, don't you think?"
Something indefinable moved in Gremio's expression. "Yes. A beautiful night." His lips curved, slowly, into a frown.
Tir reached for his arm, concerned. "Gremio? Is something wrong? Did I say something...."
"Oh, no." Gremio shook his head. "Nothing's wrong, Young Master... as a matter of fact, I feel... very strange... very, very strange, indeed...."
Recognizing the words, Tir backed away in slow horror. "Gremio--Gremio, don't you even think about it!"
Gremio raised his waterskin and squirted Tir full in the face. Spluttering, Tir wiped the droplets away from his eyes, splattering them onto the ground near his feet, but Gremio just gleefully squirted him again.
Tir ran out of range, wiping his face and glaring at Gremio. "How dare you!" he said accusingly. "You haven't used that trick on me in years!"
Gremio shook his head and laughed. "Oh, Young Master, the look on your face!"
"This--" Tir pointed his finger. "This is *war,* Gremio! You'll not escape tonight without being thoroughly soaked!" He turned and darted off into the woods, grinning as he heard Gremio behind him, calling out his name in a muffled voice. Gremio had no idea where he was going--but Gremio would follow. Gremio always followed.
Tir ran to the riverbank, nimbly avoiding the patches of mud, and crouched down near some trees, listening to the sounds of Gremio crashing through the woods, cursing and calling out his name. Finally Gremio emerged into a patch of moonlight, right near where the river merged into the beach, and stood with a dubious expression on his face, looking around for Tir. Grinning, Tir crept to the river, cupped some water in his hands, and flicked them out at Gremio. The water caught him in the chest and Gremio yelped and turned around. "*Young Master!*" he said, folding his arms over his dripping shirt. "How terrible of you to scare me like that, truly--"
Tir splashed him again, and Gremio's eyes narrowed. "Oh, Young Master," he breathed. "You're right, this is *war.*"
He kicked some water at Tir and Tir rolled out of the way, nearly breathless with laughter. Gremio wet was a priceless sight, as Gremio prized nothing more than being warm and dry. He saw Gremio coming towards him out of the corner of his eye and swept up another handful of water, waiting until Gremio was over him to throw it into his face. Gremio fell onto the ground, spitting out dirty sea water, and Tir rolled on the ground and laughed and laughed.
"Young Master!" He heard the sigh in Gremio's voice, and it only made him laugh harder. "*Don't* think you've *won,* Young Master--"
"Haven't I?" Tir gasped out. "I don't see you going near the river any more, at any rate! Oh, Gremio, you're so funny."
"Funny!" Tir's breath left him in a surprised whoosh as Gremio grabbed him under his arms and hoisted him to his feet, letting him see Gremio's satisfied smile. Then Gremio had tilted him up and over on his shoulder, and Tir started struggling fiercely as he realized where they were heading.
"No!" he shouted, starting to laugh again. "Gremio, you can't go in the river, you'll get soaked--"
"Yes, but I'll win, won't I?"
They waded out to the middle of the river, until the water was up to Gremio's legs and was just beginning to rise up to Tir's nose. Then Gremio dropped him, and Tir fell into the water with a mighty splash. He surfaced, gasping and wiping water off his face and spitting it out of his mouth. Gremio was grinning at him. "Bastard!" Tir said, splashing him in the face.
"Do you yield?" Gremio asked haughtily, holding out his hand.
Rolling his eyes, Tir took it. "All right, I yield, Master of the River. You won." He smiled, and hooked a leg around Gremio's ankle, and twisted. Gremio toppled underwater.
He was already halfway up to the bank and nearly crying with laughter when Gremio surfaced.
"Young Master!" he called, splashing water futilely. "That was cheating, Young Master."
Tir dropped onto the bank, getting sand all over his clothes, and laid his head down on his arms, watching Gremio wade out of the river. Gremio looked like a waterlogged cat, dripping, his hair plastered to his head and looking completely displeased about it. He stood on the riverbank and wrung out his clothes, then sat down beside Tir.
"What was that?" Tir asked, nudging his knee playfully. "You'll dry off in this heat soon, anyhow."
"I know," Gremio sighed, wringing the water out of his mussed ponytail, "but I feel better about it. Oh, Young Master--your clothes--we'll have to wash them."
"And yours. You started it, Gremio."
Gremio smiled and ducked his head down. "I haven't heard you laugh in so long, Young Master."
Tir frowned. "What do you mean? I'm not--unhappy, Gremio, there's just not much to laugh about...."
A hand dropped onto his gloved one, fingers interlacing with his. Gremio tilted his head to the moon, its light turning his face again into that painting--that cold, remote, untouchable painting. Tir shivered. "The Soul Eater pains you," his servant said. "I know it does. And I'm... oh, Young Master, I'm sorry I'm so selfish. If you want to move on... I'm ready."
In the back of his eyes, something burned. Tir squinted, and took in a deep breath. "I don't want to move on. I want you to be the selfish one for once, Gremio. I don't mind... to think... for me to think that I'm always acting over your desires, your interests, Gremio--"
"You're not!"
"We'll stay," Tir said over his protests, and pressed Gremio's fingers through his glove. "For just a little longer. Okay?"
Gremio turned to look at him, and his face was back to normal, pale and lined and beautiful. "Young Master--" he said doubtfully.
"I'd like to teach Yvain how to use a staff," he continued, "and how to do the vegetables. Or maybe he could learn the bokken? Or the axe, you could teach us both how to use an axe. I would like that. Gremio." He reached around Gremio and touched his back where his axe hung, ever-present. He found the rough words carved into the handle, that even without touching he could read. *I will protect my master.*
Gremio's eyes darkened with his smile. "If it's your desire, Young Master."
"It is," Tir said, returning the smile. *I only want to make you happy.*
****
Why they were staying at this particular village, Gremio didn't know, but Tir had seemed to like the Grasslands better than most places they had visited. The Grasslands were full of simple, hard-working people, honest to a fault, and kind simply because they had not really learned how to be deceptive. This village was a tiny little one located next to the Karayan clans. Its people had mingled considerably with the Karayans; most of them were dark-skinned, with light, clear eyes and a stubborn earnestness that made their little village fairly prosperous in the scheme of things.
Their hosts were such people. They had taken Gremio and Tir in without complaint, without having to be asked at all, after their funds were grown too insufficient to continue staying at the inn. They lived in a small but comfortable house with a small field of vegetables in the back. The boy, a quick little teenager with a good half of Karayan blood in his veins, tended the field, while his mother, tall and pretty like the Chishans, wove goods for market. Her name was Jenna; she was near Tir's age; her son's name was Yvain. Gremio reckoned him to be around the same age Tir had been when he had received the Soul Eater.
Gremio helped out by working at the inn, feeding travelers his hearty stew, which inevitably led to extra coin for the innkeeper and for himself. Tir fished, as he always did; it was a continuing fondness for him. On his good days, he helped Yvain with the vegetables. Gremio had taught him to raise them so they were strong and healthy and good-tasting, and Jenna had commented with surprise that they seemed to be better when Tir grew them.
When he got up in the mornings, Gremio would always hold his breath before turning over in his bed to see if Tir were still in his own. If he was still asleep, they were staying. If he was awake, his bags packed, they were leaving. Every morning, he counted the days and marveled that they had been able to stay for so long without Tir's Rune paining him. This morning was the forty-third. Next to him, Tir snored lightly, one hand outflung and touching the floor. Gremio rolled out of bed, groaning slightly--his joints were getting creaky--and stroked Tir's hair away from his face before he readied himself for the day.
Jenna had given him a crude slab of glass for his mirror, nothing like what he'd had back in Toran but still useable. Underneath the mirror was the basin. He filled it with water, unsheathed and wet his knife, and started to carefully take off the night's growth of hair. He liked to shave early, before Tir woke; if he did it in front of Tir, the young master's eyes were always an uncomfortable itch on his back, watching, weighting. For some reason, shaving had always fascinated Tir, even as a little boy. He'd sit on the floor and beg or cry until Gremio consented to let him watch, his little face lighting in happiness as Gremio took his hand and led him into the bathroom. Gremio ducked his head, and had to shave around the lines his smile created.
He washed his knife in the basin, then re-sheathed in and put it back on the bedside table, and began to dress. His clothes, Gremio thought as he lifted them critically, were getting old; he'd have to tat them, and he'd spied a growing thin spot on Tir's beloved bandanna. He'd fix those later tonight, then, when he got back from the inn. He slipped on his trousers, his shirt and his shawl, then hunted for the scrap of leather thong he used to tie his hair back. Predictably, it was gone. Jenna had a small cat--Frances--and he and Gremio were mortal enemies. This was one of Frances's favorite games. Gremio looked around the room, opening his nose to the cursed smell of cat, and glared down the hall. "That damn cat," he muttered.
In his bed, Tir stirred. "Gremio....?"
"Nothing, nothing, Young Master," he said hastily, keeping his voice low. "I'm sorry. Go back to sleep."
The lump in the bedcovers moved; then Tir threw back the topmost cover and looked at Gremio over his fringe of hair. "Is it Frances again?" he asked around a yawn.
"Mmm." Gremio ruffled his bangs. "It's getting long again. Do you want me to cut it, this evening?"
Tir brushed it back and held out a lock for measuring, eyeing it with a practiced eye. "No. It hasn't gotten in my way yet." He sat up, stretching his arms to the ceiling.
Gremio snuck a look at his shirt as the young master got out of bed and wobbled around the room to look for his pants. It was tattered. Tir didn't take very good care of himself; he hadn't even *told* Gremio about that huge hole... Sighing, Gremio handed him his trousers. "Here, Young Master."
Tir took them with a distracted air, and sat down to ease into them. "What are you doing today, Gremio?"
"What am I doing?" He spied a dark brown, poking out from the table-cover, and got down on his knees to feel underneath it. "Uhhh... I promised Master Nim I would do some work at the inn... cooking... then I was going to fix some of our clothes... Ah-ha!" He pounced on the hair-tie and started peeling the cat-fur off of it. "That cat would make a good stew, don't you think, Young Master?"
Tir laughed, startled. "Frances? That's terrible, Gremio."
Gremio crawled back out from under the table and pulled up his hair, tying it tightly with the leather. Tir was still seated on his bed, hands supporting his chin with a wistful expression directed at Gremio. Gremio turned away from it, to fiddle with a pile of dirty linens he'd promised Jenna he'd clean later. "Why, Young Master?" he asked over his shoulder. "What are you doing today?"
He knew all Tir's mannerisms, and could picture his casual shrug. "I don't know. Fish, I suppose."
"That's good. That bass you caught tasted wonderful."
"Mmm." Gremio turned back to see Tir gaze down at his hands. His right hand was uncovered; under the black, raised tattoo of the Rune, the skin was red and inflamed, raw and painful-looking. Then Tir was covering it with his other hand and sitting up straight, flashing Gremio a cheerful smile. "Well, all right, then. I'll catch you a big fish so you can cook it for supper tonight, all right?"
Gremio smiled back. "That sounds wonderful."
****
It had rained the night before, and the road to the river was muddy, gunk sucking at his boots as Tir trekked down to the riverbank with his fishing rod and a can of bait. Tir was very glad he'd exchanged his sandals for his boots; he'd originally gone out in the sandals, but Yvain, watching him from the field, had called out that the path would be muddy. "Best put on some good shoes!" he'd yelled, indicating the mud splattered all over his bright trousers. "It'll be good fishing, though!"
He found a dry spot far from where he usually sat. His favorite spot was situated under the trees, on a small cliff where he could better throw out his line. This spot was a dry, hot area, its trees having been destroyed years ago by a lightning storm. Tir grimaced and fished out his headband to wrap around his head; at high noon, the sun would be unforgivable.
The bass, he thought, fixing a squirming worm to his hook, had been a lucky catch. There weren't much fish in this river; most of them were caught upstream, by the Karayans, though some generous soul occasionally had the sense to let a few swim downstream to supply this village. He'd stayed here for more than forty days, fished every day, and had only caught ten or so fish--most of them small. Plus, Tir hated seeing the fish writhe and squirm on the end of his line, lips gaping, eyes clear and glinting with what he could almost imagine to be a form of terror. He almost always threw them back.
He felt sorry for the worms, too. He gave the one on his line a little nudge, watching it squirm in response; then sighed, dragged it off, and tossed it back into the river. The turkey from his sandwich would make fine bait, as always.
When the sun started to rise and his pants and shirt started to stick, Tir dragged off his boots and socks, rolled up his pants, and dipped his feet into the river. He let out a long sigh and fell on his back on the sand, pillowing his head on his arms. The sky was a clear, bright blue, clean of the rain and stormclouds that had dirtied it for the past few days. It was almost the color of the Toran sky, only bluer. He liked the Grasslands. The people were like the sky: clear and uncomplicated. Their governments were simple, their battles clean, their children healthy and happy. Gremio liked it, too, which was really why he stayed; Tir had been itching to go into Harmonia for years, but Gremio....
Gremio....
Tir sat back up and scratched his hand vigorously. It'd burned last night like he'd pulled a potful of scalding water onto it; he'd thought, one time, that blisters were rising on his skin, and he'd dragged off his glove to feel his hand. Except for the Rune, which burned malevolently under his fingers, everything had been fine.
The Soul Eater was tired. The Soul Eater was bored. The Soul Eater wanted to move on.
Not yet, Tir told it every night. Gremio is happy, Gremio wants to stay.
Just a bit longer.
****
Jenna cooked supper that night, since Tir hadn't caught a fish. "Absolutely not," she'd scolded Gremio when he offered to cook. "You are guests. Besides, you cook almost every night now. I hardly think my son recognizes my cooking anymore, he's too in love with yours!"
She spread dinner out on the table--well-cooked, pink, steaming meat with Karayan hot sauce oozed liberally on it; fresh vegetables from the garden; and sweet fruits, "Specially from the trader from Caleria," she said, spooning a handful of the fruits onto Tir's plate. "Eat up, Tir. Have you ever had Calerian fruit?"
Tir bit into it. It was sweet, but tough and chewy and sour at the middle. "Mmm," he said dutifully.
"I love Karayan sauce!" Yvain poured more of on his meat. It was the color of his skin, dark like coffee beans. "Mom is always saying she'll take me to Karaya, but she never does."
"It's a wonderful little village," said Gremio. "And they make wonderful stew."
Tir smiled into his napkin.
"How was fishing, Tir? I know you didn't catch anything, but did you have a good time?" Jenna asked.
"Oh, of course." Tir reached across the table for the salt, earning himself a disapproving look from Gremio, who'd taught him table etiquette. "I love to fish. And that river is so lovely. I don't think I'll ever get tired of it." The river was too cold and its bottom was full of mud, not silt like the one at Banner.
On his hand, the Rune stirred.
Tir felt his smile freeze. "Excuse me." He pushed back his chair and hurried out of the house. Outside, he gulped in the hot hair and yanked off his glove, letting the Rune breathe. The Soul Eater hated the heat. "I can't help it!" he whispered to it fiercely. "We have to stay...."
"Young Master?"
Tir turned to see Gremio framed in the doorway. His guardian's expression was knowing, in that awful way people have when it's something they don't want to know. Like his father's face. Like Ted's face. Tir drudged up a smile and said, "What's wrong, Gremio? I just needed some fresh air." He tilted his head. "What, can't you eat anything but stew?" he teased.
Gremio's face relaxed into a relieved smile. "I was just checking to make sure you weren't sick."
Tir shrugged, turning away from him. "Not sick. I guess that Karayan sauce did get to me, though."
"It's hot, isn't it? But it's very good. I should get the recipe from Jenna." Gremio came to stand beside him. Tir turned his head to look at him, feeling, as he always did, that stir of the uncomfortable; Gremio's face in the moonlight was like a painting done in monochrome, skin porcelain white, shadows under cheekbones and lines black as ink.
Gremio's eyes met his, bright blue gaze washed out by the moonlight. It was like, Tir thought, a Toran painting--that light blue covered by a sweeping fringe of inky-black eyelash, like a river covered in leaves. "Young Master?" Gremio murmured. "What are you thinking?"
The skin at the back of Tir's neck twinged as Gremio's hand brushed across it. Tir rolled his shoulders, brushing him off, and Gremio's hand fell back to his side. "Nothing," he said, smiling into Gremio's eyes. "It's a nice night, don't you think?"
Something indefinable moved in Gremio's expression. "Yes. A beautiful night." His lips curved, slowly, into a frown.
Tir reached for his arm, concerned. "Gremio? Is something wrong? Did I say something...."
"Oh, no." Gremio shook his head. "Nothing's wrong, Young Master... as a matter of fact, I feel... very strange... very, very strange, indeed...."
Recognizing the words, Tir backed away in slow horror. "Gremio--Gremio, don't you even think about it!"
Gremio raised his waterskin and squirted Tir full in the face. Spluttering, Tir wiped the droplets away from his eyes, splattering them onto the ground near his feet, but Gremio just gleefully squirted him again.
Tir ran out of range, wiping his face and glaring at Gremio. "How dare you!" he said accusingly. "You haven't used that trick on me in years!"
Gremio shook his head and laughed. "Oh, Young Master, the look on your face!"
"This--" Tir pointed his finger. "This is *war,* Gremio! You'll not escape tonight without being thoroughly soaked!" He turned and darted off into the woods, grinning as he heard Gremio behind him, calling out his name in a muffled voice. Gremio had no idea where he was going--but Gremio would follow. Gremio always followed.
Tir ran to the riverbank, nimbly avoiding the patches of mud, and crouched down near some trees, listening to the sounds of Gremio crashing through the woods, cursing and calling out his name. Finally Gremio emerged into a patch of moonlight, right near where the river merged into the beach, and stood with a dubious expression on his face, looking around for Tir. Grinning, Tir crept to the river, cupped some water in his hands, and flicked them out at Gremio. The water caught him in the chest and Gremio yelped and turned around. "*Young Master!*" he said, folding his arms over his dripping shirt. "How terrible of you to scare me like that, truly--"
Tir splashed him again, and Gremio's eyes narrowed. "Oh, Young Master," he breathed. "You're right, this is *war.*"
He kicked some water at Tir and Tir rolled out of the way, nearly breathless with laughter. Gremio wet was a priceless sight, as Gremio prized nothing more than being warm and dry. He saw Gremio coming towards him out of the corner of his eye and swept up another handful of water, waiting until Gremio was over him to throw it into his face. Gremio fell onto the ground, spitting out dirty sea water, and Tir rolled on the ground and laughed and laughed.
"Young Master!" He heard the sigh in Gremio's voice, and it only made him laugh harder. "*Don't* think you've *won,* Young Master--"
"Haven't I?" Tir gasped out. "I don't see you going near the river any more, at any rate! Oh, Gremio, you're so funny."
"Funny!" Tir's breath left him in a surprised whoosh as Gremio grabbed him under his arms and hoisted him to his feet, letting him see Gremio's satisfied smile. Then Gremio had tilted him up and over on his shoulder, and Tir started struggling fiercely as he realized where they were heading.
"No!" he shouted, starting to laugh again. "Gremio, you can't go in the river, you'll get soaked--"
"Yes, but I'll win, won't I?"
They waded out to the middle of the river, until the water was up to Gremio's legs and was just beginning to rise up to Tir's nose. Then Gremio dropped him, and Tir fell into the water with a mighty splash. He surfaced, gasping and wiping water off his face and spitting it out of his mouth. Gremio was grinning at him. "Bastard!" Tir said, splashing him in the face.
"Do you yield?" Gremio asked haughtily, holding out his hand.
Rolling his eyes, Tir took it. "All right, I yield, Master of the River. You won." He smiled, and hooked a leg around Gremio's ankle, and twisted. Gremio toppled underwater.
He was already halfway up to the bank and nearly crying with laughter when Gremio surfaced.
"Young Master!" he called, splashing water futilely. "That was cheating, Young Master."
Tir dropped onto the bank, getting sand all over his clothes, and laid his head down on his arms, watching Gremio wade out of the river. Gremio looked like a waterlogged cat, dripping, his hair plastered to his head and looking completely displeased about it. He stood on the riverbank and wrung out his clothes, then sat down beside Tir.
"What was that?" Tir asked, nudging his knee playfully. "You'll dry off in this heat soon, anyhow."
"I know," Gremio sighed, wringing the water out of his mussed ponytail, "but I feel better about it. Oh, Young Master--your clothes--we'll have to wash them."
"And yours. You started it, Gremio."
Gremio smiled and ducked his head down. "I haven't heard you laugh in so long, Young Master."
Tir frowned. "What do you mean? I'm not--unhappy, Gremio, there's just not much to laugh about...."
A hand dropped onto his gloved one, fingers interlacing with his. Gremio tilted his head to the moon, its light turning his face again into that painting--that cold, remote, untouchable painting. Tir shivered. "The Soul Eater pains you," his servant said. "I know it does. And I'm... oh, Young Master, I'm sorry I'm so selfish. If you want to move on... I'm ready."
In the back of his eyes, something burned. Tir squinted, and took in a deep breath. "I don't want to move on. I want you to be the selfish one for once, Gremio. I don't mind... to think... for me to think that I'm always acting over your desires, your interests, Gremio--"
"You're not!"
"We'll stay," Tir said over his protests, and pressed Gremio's fingers through his glove. "For just a little longer. Okay?"
Gremio turned to look at him, and his face was back to normal, pale and lined and beautiful. "Young Master--" he said doubtfully.
"I'd like to teach Yvain how to use a staff," he continued, "and how to do the vegetables. Or maybe he could learn the bokken? Or the axe, you could teach us both how to use an axe. I would like that. Gremio." He reached around Gremio and touched his back where his axe hung, ever-present. He found the rough words carved into the handle, that even without touching he could read. *I will protect my master.*
Gremio's eyes darkened with his smile. "If it's your desire, Young Master."
"It is," Tir said, returning the smile. *I only want to make you happy.*
****