The Book of Terrus: The Wise and Powerful

Chapter 15 - Wanderers

            It was hardly good news, but still better than anything Lhara had heard in the past night and day. Trying to accept fate with grace, she nodded.

            "There may yet be time for you to slip away to visit your aunt and uncle today," said Magda. "They're very concerned for you as well."

            For some reason, Lhara didn't really feel like being fussed over, especially with Torl as badly injured as he was. Being the object of sympathy reminded her too sharply of the days following her ma and da's deaths. Besides, she wasn't the only one who had lost family yesterday. She could only imagine how Gerdiom's family was suffering, to lose their husband and father. Or Magda herself, with Halna still missing after the battle.

If the Wise Woman was afraid for her only daughter though, she made no display of it. Instead Magda left Lhara with a pile of clean cloths, a kettle of boiled garlic water, and a horn pitcher of drinking water. The scent of lingering smoke poured in through the open door as Magda left, and Lhara was quick to shut it tightly behind her.

It was surprisingly quiet in Magda's cottage, despite the presence of the wounded. Some of the less severely hurt had been taken home by their families for the night, leaving only a handful of men by the hearth or in the bedroom. Lhara tended the villagers quickly and easily, making pointless small talk with those who were awake if only to ease the silence. They seemed glad to see her, and were tactful enough not to ask after her brothers, for which Lhara was very grateful.

When Lhara elbowed open the door into the bedroom, expecting to find the Factionist with the belly wound on the bed, she was surprised. Rather than the alert, screaming clansman, it was the pale man that she found lying there. Even more to her surprise, he was coming around. He flinched at the sudden scraping of the door against the ground, white brows flying together in a pained expression.

"Sorry," Lhara offered, coming around to his side of the small bed. Next to him, Owen the carpenter groaned fitfully in his sleep.

The pale Factionist did not answer. His eyes moved beneath closed lids though, and one hand hovered a few inches above where it had been resting at his side. Lhara wondered if his wits were still in one piece. Deciding that noise was probably too painful for him regardless, she leant over and gently turned his head to one side. The stitches she had sewn into his scalp the day before seemed to be holding just fine; no blood spotted the whiteness of the cloth bandage.

"...Wen...nis..."

It was little more than an incoherent moan, but Lhara heard it anyways. Carefully she turned his head back to rest on the pillow. When she did, a startled gasp nearly escaped her.

The stranger's eyes were half-open, trying to focus on her with only limited success. And small wonder too, for the man was blind. Irises as white as the clouds which ringed The Teeth wavered beneath downy lashes. Then, all of the sudden, they settled on Lhara with an eerie precision.

Licking her dry lips, Lhara cautiously tested to see if he could understand her. "You...you're in the village of Trosk. Do you remember what happened?"

At first there was no answer. Those colorless eyes wandered from her face to the walls and back, and oddly enough Lhara got the feeling that he could actually see the room, and her. Someone coughed in the next room, and again he winced. Then he tried again to speak.

"...Tro...sk?"

He sounded parched, reminding Lhara of the pitcher on the bedside table. Sliding an arm beneath his lean shoulders, she helped the Factionist rise up in bed just enough to drink. He spluttered and nearly choked, but managed to swallow a mouthful of water down. His hand even came up as if to try to hold the pitcher himself. That was when Lhara saw them.