A spot behind my left wrist itches. I reach a finger between the two wooden splints and scratch. Everything on my left arm aches, from fingertip to shoulder. I know it's supposedly healing, but I just wish it would heal faster. I feel naked with the sling. While I have trained with one hand tied behind my back, I always had the comfort of knowing that I could break the bindings and have the use of both. Now, if I move too quickly too soon, my bones might not set properly.
I let out a frustrated sigh and lean back on the mattress. I'm still wearing Alani's cloak. It's hard with dried sweat and smells worse than the dungeons. Maybe after today's stint with the sentry I can ask for another outfit. No one will want to speak with if they can smell me a span away.
James snores softly in his sleep. His teeth are still around the half-chewed bone in his paws. He's curled up on the bed mat in the corner, a pool of drool near his snout.
Sailor came to bed shortly after I fell asleep, but I never heard Rogue come back. Nor do I see any evidence that he's been here. Sailor also left. I heard him walk through the tent flaps earlier this morning.
Mid-morning light creeps through the seams of the tent. Footsteps come closer to the tent. It sounds like Sailor's gait. I've begin to recognize his shuffle-step and can pick it out of the crowd. James wakes and looks up at the sound.
The tent flap snaps as Sailor pushes it open. He stands breathless just inside, as if he doesn't want to intrude any further than he needs to.
"Goo' mornin'," Sailor says. He rubs his hand between James's ears. James's tail thumps against the tent's canvas wall, shaking the entire structure.
"I though' yae migh' want a new set o' clothes for sentry duty. Th' robe can get kind o' hot durin' th' day," Sailor says.
I finger the hem of the robe's sleeve. "Thank you, but...I'm afraid I can't afford it." The words hurt more when saying them to Sailor. I know he won't bite back or say something snarky, but he'll try to help, and I have the feeling he's already done so much. He's a kind with fancy clothes in the middle of the desert, he's definitely lived a life far harder than his good mood would suggest.
Sailor waves his hand. "Don' worry, i's a gift."
"Sailor, I don't need you to—"
But he's already opening the tent flap and ushering James outside, effectively cutting off any sort of response I can make.
I sigh and bring myself to my feet. My arm throbs a bit as I hold it gently against my chest, but it's nothing I can't handle. I've had worse pain with far less medicine before.
"Where are we going?" I ask Sailor once I've stepped outside.
Sailor's face turns pink. "Well, I was thinkin' maybe the...maybe the...showers?" he says, digging a toe deep into the sand.
I smile at him. "I stink, don't I?"
"No, no, no' at all. Yae don' have tae shower if yae don' wan' to!" Sailor says quickly.
I want to laugh, but he looks so earnestly upset at the thought he might've offended me, so I swallow it down and give him a serious expression. "I do want to shower. I know I smell awful and I feel gross, too. Lead on." I swing my hand wide over the path, indicating to Sailor that he should keep going.
Sailor looks at me, chewing his lip, before seemingly deciding not to apologize again. He turns and I follow, my stomach rumbling louder and louder with each step.
James trots behind. He hasn't let go of the bone, and I can hear his hot breath against it.
"Can we get breakfast?" I ask, unable to wait a moment longer.
"Oh! I almos' forgot!" Sailor reaches into the pocket of his loose linen pants and pulls out a roll of Traigh bread. It's crumbly, but delicious. I eat it in three bites.
A trail of kids walks ahead of us on the path. They carry notebooks and pieces of papyri, pencils clutched in their small hands. Class must start soon.
"Where do they get their supplies?" I ask Sailor, nodding toward the kids.
"Th' Scouts go out an' ge' supplies. Maybe once a month for study supplies," Sailor answers.
Sailor can't be much older than Myles and it's unsettling. I can't help but see Myles's easy smile in Sailor's open expression.
"Did Rogue tell yae how th' showers work?" Sailor asks as we draw near.
I watch the kids settle onto their stumps. The Educator is back, wearing a navy tunic this time, the sleeves still rolled just above his elbows. He has a blackboard behind him, but nothing's yet been written down.
"A little bit," I say. "Pour the water into the top of basins, and then there's a mechanism that lets it rain down."
Sailor nods, his chin wobbling. "Tha's abou' it! There's wa'er here in the pot. Jus' give it another jot or so on th' clock an' then i' should bae warm enough." Sailor stands beside a massive pot of water steaming over an open fire. I have the distinct feeling he set the water to boil just for me.
"Thank you, so much, for your kindness," I say.
Sailor beams. "I's no' a problem," he says. He leads me inside the wooden shower structure. There are two stalls. Three walls and the floor are wooden slats, with a curtain serving as the fourth wall. The whole structure itself seems very well-made, and I wonder if it's leftover from when the Fire Worshippers used this place.
The thought makes me shiver.
"Don' worry, th' wa'er will be hot enough to make yae no' as cold," Sailor says, misinterpreting my shiver.
I nod thanks. Peering out of the shower structure, I look for Rogue, but don't see him anywhere. Not many people are milling about in the coming heat of day, though. The kids all sit and listen intently to the Educator, while a few adults move about carrying dishes and raw foods.
James has found the shade of a tree, but his curled body is too big to be fully covered by the shade, so I watch him shift from side to side, trying to get both his snout and hindquarters in the shade at the same time.
Sailor pulls a raggedy towel down from a shelf full of the similar rolls of terrycloth, and he hands me cleansing oil for my hair, and a bar of jasmine-smelling soap. The washing materials are all clustered together on a shelf just below the towels. It seems to be a communal selection, rather than an individualized one.
"Thank you," I say, taking the supplies from him.
"Yae can set those down in th' stall an' hang th' towel on th' hook. Th' wa'er should bae ready now."
I follow Sailor's instructions, and head back outside. The water is bubbling. It takes the two of us to carry it over to the pulley system and hook it up to the ropes. We take turns heaving on the rope until the pot is hoisted up and above the metal basin. With a second pull of the rope, the pot turns on its side, spilling its contents into the basin. I watch the steam curl toward the sky.
"Yae should bae ready now. I'll come back wi' another set o' clothes," Sailor says.
I thank him for a third time, and he totters off across the central clearing.
The Educator's begun writing things on the blackboard, but from this distance I can't quite see what he's written. I hear the kids laugh, though, and it makes me smile.
The shower structure itself has no roof, so the interior is just as bright as the exterior. I slip into my stall and pull the curtain closed across its wooden rod.
Sand falls from the sling where it's blown into the crook of my left arm. The entire limb is swollen and still somewhat purple, but at least the pain has deadened to a manageable thud, rather than a constant sharp prick.
With the sling gone, I carefully push and pull my arm through the sleeve of Alani's robe. I stick a hand outside the curtain and hang the robe on a free hook. I feel a bit strange taking it off, as if it's my last remaining connection to my time at the prison.
The bandages around my chest are no longer there, but the stitches still feel raw and red. I peel the aloe socks from my feet. The soles are swollen, but don't hurt as I press them to the floor.
Keeping my still-bandaged left arm out of the way, I pull on the rope and hot, steamy water trickles down through the holes in the bottom of the basin. I close my eyes at the sensation. It's the most amazing thing I've felt in a very long time. I haven't had a proper shower since my mother was alive and we were invited to the Wettnain estate for Moon Day and they had a real porcelain tub. I had wanted to lie in that tub for the rest of my life.
I quickly massage the cleansing oil into my scalp and use the bar of soap to scrub away at the grit and dirt of the past three years. My skin turns pink and raw against the soap, but I can't stop scrubbing. I want to scrub it all away; the filth, the blood, the memories.
When I've used the entire bar of soap I stop, my hand suddenly empty. I twist off the spigot and wrap myself in the towel, leaning my head against the wooden slats separating each shower stall from the next. My body feels clean and warm, and let myself relax, feeling my shoulders sag against the wall.
"Mira?" Sailor's soft voice asks from the other side of the curtain.
"Yes?"
"I brough' yae clothes. They're no' much, bu' i's wha' I could find."
"They'll be great, thank you," I say. I still feel guilty for being unable to repay him. Yet. But I don't want to seem like I'm taking things from them. I don't want them to see me as nothing more than the Thief.
"I'll leave them jus' ou'side th' curtain then," Sailor says. He drops something next to the curtain partition, making it flutter, and then he leaves, his feet swishing against the sand.
I pull the clothes under the curtain. Sailor's brought me a pair of loose pants made of a sheer yellowy cotton, a green sleeveless tunic, and what looks like twelve pairs of underwear. They're made from all different materials and colors. I smile, thinking of how Sailor must have reached a hand into the underwear drawer and pulled out a fistful, too embarrassed to look and see what he'd grabbed. I select a simple, conservative pair, and slip them on before the pants. I'm tempted to take one of the racier pairs to sneak into Rogue's bag for anyone to find, but I decide against it. I'll return them all once I figure out where Sailor obtained these clothes.
As I struggle with the tunic, I notice that Sailor has also included a knife belt. It's remarkably crafted, with gossamer thread sewn seamlessly into the leather. Two sturdy hilts hang on either side of the silver buckle, and a secret pocket for a thin blade is stitched onto the back. It's breath-taking and must have cost the owner a fortune. I pick it up and tuck it safely into my sling. I don't dare to try it on, or I may never give it back.
Sailor is waiting for me outside the showers. He gives me a once-over, his expressive face telling me he's hopeful he's provided clothes that work.
"What do you think?" I ask, giving him a spin. The pants flow around my legs, cooling them against the hot sun. I'm feeling much more like myself, now that I've washed away traces of the past.
Sailor claps. "They're great!" he says.
I smile. "Where can I return the extras? And who can I thank for this?" I ask. I pick up the bundle of extra clothes I've tied into a dry towel. It forms a small bundle that I hold against my hip with my free hand.
"Tanymede," Sailor says.
The name rings a bell. Rogue mentioned her and said she makes pottery. "Tanymede" sounds like an actual name, and not a Fate. I wonder what brought her to Haven.
"Can we meet her? I'd like to thank her for these and promise to pay her back."
Sailor's shaking his head before I've even finished speaking. "No, no, Tanymede doesn' accept paymen'. She says bein' able tae live here is paymen' enough."
I nod, knowing full well that that's not the entire story, but I decide not to press Sailor. I don't want to put him in the position of being my gossip monger. It doesn't seem like a position his sweet face is particularly suited for.
"Can we still go to meet her?" I check the angle of the sun. "I think we still have some time before my shift as sentry."
"O' course!" Sailor nods happily and totters away outside the communal showers and down a path between tents. I follow behind, the bundle of clothes packed tightly beneath the crook of my arm, along with Alani's gritty robe. It smells worse now that I've showered and can tell the difference between it and me, and I'm worried the scent will sink into the soft suede of the tunic I'm wearing, but I still hold onto it tightly. I'm not yet ready to let it go. I don't know the first thing about washing clothes, but I'm hoping it I rinse it with a bar of soap in the shower water, I might be able to salvage it. I should've learned when I was a child, but when it was laundry time the other kids in the Laplands would invite me to play Thieves and Sheriffs while our parents washed our clothes. Even though I was always picked for the Thief, I would still go and hope every time that they'd let me play Sheriff. Once or twice I told my parents that I had been picked for Sheriff. I'll never forget my mother's hopeful smile. It broke my heart.
I clear my throat and focus back on the path. As we weave our way through the tents, I can see people puttering about, sipping coffee, hanging clothes to dry on lines strung from tentpole to tentpole, watching young children. They all seem happy, and comfortable. Those with scripted Fates on their arms don't twist their heads every few minutes to see who might be coming up behind them. They're trusting, and they look as though they feel safe.
I can feel the tickle of wonder—what would it be like to stay here?—but I tamp it down. I have to get home. I can't lose sight of that. It's everything I've been fighting for.
Tanymede's tent sits on the outskirts of Haven. It seems to serve as a pseudo-mercantile, with one half of the tent open to the walking path, various wares hanging from ropes strung between the poles and tables covered with pottery and assorted knick knacks. A standing clothing rack is set up in the far corner. A Skiapode and a human confer over a pair of pants, and an Elf stares at her reflection in the base of a silver pot.
"She's been like that for twelve full jots on the clock," a voice murmurs behind me.
I jump and spin about. A smiling woman with glistening coconut skin and eyes wiser than an Elder's stands with her arms loosely folded over a billowing red gown. It's stamped with patterns of yellow and white that seem to move and shift of their own accord. A matching head scarf is wrapped tightly around her temple, obscuring the thin scar that begins at her left ear and disappears beneath the fabric. I saw her at the dinner, she was standing with the two women who waved to me.
"Twelve jots?" I ask.
"Mhmm." Tanymede's eyes flick to the Elf then back to me. "Should I tap the pot like a drum and see if she moves?"
A wicked smile crossed Tanymede's lips. I like her instantly.
"Are you from Anglia?" I ask, hearing the quiet lilt of her voice at the end of each word. Anglia was the kingdom bordering Choravasi. It used to be ruled by an elected communal board rather than a monarch, but when the last queen of Anglia passed without an heir, the Choravasi king quietly took control of Anglia until it was no longer truly known where the borders of Anglia began and the borders of Choravasi ended.
"You have an ear for languages, do you?" Tanymede asks.
"I'm observant," I respond, suddenly wary. Tanymede's sizing me up in a way I'm used to, and I feel like I have to defend myself. "I pick up on things most people choose to ignore."
"Is that why you're friends with our Sailor here?" Tanymede asks, nodding to Sailor. It sounds like an insult, but Sailor takes it in stride, beaming brightly while he throws his arms around Tanymede for a hug.
I wait until Sailor steps away before speaking again. "I want to thank you for the clothes," I say. "Here are the extras. I don't have a way of repaying you for these now, but I promise you I will soon." I hold out the bundle of clothing, feeling awkward and embarrassed. I don't want Tanymede to think I'm stealing, nor do I want to be in the position where I need to accept her charity.
Tanymede clucks her tongue and pushes the bundle back into my chest.
"No, no. That robe of yours stinks. I can smell it from here. Please, keep these. You'll do us all a favor," she says, holding her nose for emphasis.
I laugh at the unexpected honesty. So many people in this world lie, and I appreciate Tanymede telling the truth.
"Thank you," I say, "but this was also included, and I think it's a mistake. I can't keep something this nice. Clearly it has an owner who cares after it." I pull the knife belt from where I'd tucked it into my sling and hold it out to Tanymede.
Tanymede takes a long look at the knife belt. She makes no move to touch it, she simply stares at it, her expression unreadable.
Finally, she brings her gaze back to me.
"I watched as Rogue brought you broken and bruised to this camp. Your arm was hanging on by a thread, your chest looked as if it would crumple in on itself, and you were so pale Sailor worried you'd shatter into a thousand tiny pieces of dust. But you held on. And from the way your eyes dart around like you're waiting for someone to hunt you down makes me think that you've had to be a fighter far earlier than many of us."
Tanymede pauses. She nods at the knife belt. "That's a fighter's belt. It should be with a fighter. Me? I'm a potter. My hands were made for clay, not knives. What use do I have for something that special? No, it should stay with you. An 'owner who cares after it.'"
I feel seen in a way I haven't before. It's a peculiar kind of vulnerability and I don't know if I like it.
I take in Tanymede's strong arms and the scar that's hidden by her turban. She's at least thirty years than I am, and from the way she's holding herself, I doubt she's used those forty-odd years solely as a potter.
Tanymede speaks again. "You're a fighter, and while you're well-muscled, I wonder if you've been properly trained, or if you've needed to learn on the way."
Tanymede walks in a slow circle around me.
I think back to all the times I sparred with other Ill-Fated in the training ring. None of us had any proper teaching in the ring, it was all trial and error.
Tanymede stops before me. She gives me a wry smile. "You're not the only one who's observant. I'm guessing you're used to fighting with two knives. I see the way your hand keeps straying to your side. It's a practiced motion: the reach for a knife. But you have one arm in a sling and that must be unsettling for you. You don't feel comfortable unless you have the use of all your strengths, and now you're without one. Well..." Tanymede picks up a rusted but usable scythe from the table.
I tense instinctively.
She shifts the scythe from hand to hand, testing the weight, before whirling it over her head with such speed and accuracy it stops a hair's breadth from the tip of my nose.
My heart beats wildly in my chest. I go cross-eyed staring at the blade that could have easily cleaved me in two.
"Will you show me how to do that?" I ask breathlessly before I can stop myself.
Tanymede laughs. She drops the scythe back onto the table. It accidentally—or purposefully—clatters against the silver pot the Elf was staring into. She flinches so violently she stumbles backward into the clothing rack.
"No," Tanymede says, turning serious. Though she's facing me, I know she's watching the Elf scramble to regain her decorum out of the corner of her eye.
"You need two hands for a scythe," Tanymede says. "But I will teach you how to fight just as well with one blade as with two, until your arm heals." She turns to help the Elf reset the clothing rack.
"If you stay, that is," Tanymede says casually over her shoulder.
I'm speechless. I've never seen a move so precise. The other Ill-Fated I've dueled have fought more with desperation than skill. But Tanymede swung that scythe as if it was a mere extension of her hand.
"Yae should get tae th' sentry. They'll be lookin' for relief. I have tae talk tae Tanymede," Sailor says.
I nod and walk past the tent to the barren sand outside of Haven, thinking of that scythe stopping so close to my nose.
It's not until I'vewalked halfway around Haven, that I realize I still have the knife beltclutched tightly in my hand.