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Vol.2, Ch.2, P.3

 

Now that the breaches brought upon Balasthea had been stilled, and the fort spared of its fate withal, I’d been finding myself freed from my daily duties rather regularly. Well, “regularly” being the word here, for on this particular day, work had piled up, and my hours at the fort alongside it. Thus was I home not a minute sooner than midnight.

At the porch, I unlocked the door and began my way in, but took not more than a step further before my body jolted, startled. For there, standing in the sombre gloom, illumined only by the light of my lantern, was Mia.

“…welcome home…” came her quiet greeting.

“Mia,” I returned, somewhat breathless. To her I went, kneeling down and setting the light upon the floor. “I’m glad to be home. Gladder still had you not waited for me, not on nights like this. But then again, I’ve not told you so before, have I? I’m sorry.”

Despite my words, Mia did all but stand there. The lantern-lit amber of her eyes were locked in their look upon me, amidst the orange murk of our otherwise unlit home.

“My work takes up my time however it pleases, for better or worse,” I went on. “I’ve been home rather early as of late, I know, but there’ll be days of the contrary, just like today. So don’t you worry about waiting for me. Whenever you’re done with your duties, you can retire to your room as you like. Can you do that for me, Mia?”

“…yes…”

With that, I picked myself up and set alight some oil lamps, filling the house with their humble glow.

‘Retire to your room as you like.’

‘Light the lamps as you need.’

That it had slipped my mind to tell her such meant that Mia knew to do little else but stand here in the dark, waiting, waiting, waiting for me through the many silent whiles.

‘Think for yourself and do as you will.’ This, I certainly could not say. Were it so simple, but alas. Mia was a child whose every privilege was plundered; not without consent could she even dare to do aught.

We have within all of us freedoms most fundamental—that goes for Mia, as well. Especially Mia, more like. Of this, she must be enlightened. But till that time comes, I must do my part and guide her with all due diligence.

How witless of me indeed to not realise this sooner.

“The lamps—I’ll show you how to light them later,” I said, coming back to Mia’s side. “And as for supper, well… I’d like nothing more than to sup with you whenever possible. But should my work keep me late, I’m afraid you’ll have to sup alone. Bear with me, all right Mia? I’ll be sure to leave bread and bacon out for you to eat as you wish.”

“…all right…” she answered softly.

“Very good. Right, time for supper then. Wait a while for me, will you Mia? I’ll cook something up right quick.”

With the matter settled, I immediately went about preparing our meals.

 

♰

 

Having set out the victuals, I joined Mia at the dining table. The freshly cooked food was deliciously asteam, yet my dinner-mate’s eyes were ever empty of emotion as they stared on at her dish.

Seeing her so still—surely she must’ve been just as quiet whilst awaiting my return through those many slow hours. Diligently so. And where else but in the dusked and unlit loneliness of our home?

The mere thought of it was enough to awaken an ache upon my heart.

And anger withal—anger, to be given to none else but myself.

I wished only to take good care of Mia, yet it seemed my fate to fail whenever and wherever it mattered most. Indeed, it well-explained why I was exiled in the first place: always was I one to falter in forming and nurturing meaningful bonds with those around me. No farmhand can reap aught from unsown fields, after all.

How I resented myself so at this moment, to find that I’d not grown one bit over these past few months.

…Nay.

I mustn’t be given to regret. No good ever comes from so corrosive an emotion.

Reflecting upon one’s past faults for the betterment of future deeds is a habit most fruitful, to be sure. But to regret? Naught but a seed for foul fruits, regret.

A coward—that was I.

A coward from the start, uncouth, hapless in giving help to a girl in dire need of it. For that reason, Mia’s heart remained yet unreached.

A carpenter, then.

This coward shall be as a carpenter, free from his shackles of shame. A bridge he’ll build, to cross the chasm at last and reach the girl so abandoned.

The same girl who now sat across from me at this very table.

“Sorry, Mia. Wasn’t as quick as I’d promised,” I spoke at last. “Right then, let’s eat.”

“…many thanks… for this meal…” she said, and I followed suit.

“Many thanks for this meal.”

Spoon in hand, I helped myself to the late-night meal of lentils—a warm and hearty stew bedight with the lovely legume.

Ah, yes. Legumes, and peas and beans besides, simple yet superb. Veritable bricks and mortar for the growing body, a meal sure to be of great avail to Mia’s health. Why, I’d even heard that the cuisine of her own kin makes a staple of lentils and the like.

Bolstered by the thought, I looked to Mia, ready to vouch for the virtues of our meal. Only, I found her frozen in her seat. Her dish of lentils remained undisturbed as she stared down upon it, unblinking.

“…le… lentils…” she murmured, almost in a whisper.

“…Mia?”

The moment remained unmoved.

But then came a change, for there upon Mia’s cheeks was the glimmer of tears…

“…uu… hic… auu…!”

…and the sound of her soft sob.

Emotion—the first I’ve seen of it from Mia.

What ailed her, I wonder?

What words might I comfort her with?

Such worthless thoughts never crossed my mind. No. A fool I was, but by this point, wise enough to not be halted by hesitation.

At once, I left my seat and rushed to Mia’s side. There, I took her into my arms and clasped her close to my bosom.

“…u… uu… auu…”

Into my chest, her heartwrenching hiccups and cries echoed. On and on, Mia wistfully wept, and after a while, she wound her own arms about me. In her little hands was a pained strength as they clenched dearly at my shirt.

“…uu… uaaah! aaaah…!”

What was once a whimpering weep now grew into a wail wild with tears.

Met with it, I summoned forth some strength of my own, to hold her closer still. Now, there was no thought, no fear that flickered in my mind that I might shatter her frail person from so strong an embrace.

No. I gave all of myself to Mia this one hug, whole in its hale, filled with but a simple wish. A wish that she would know in this moment that I was here for her.

“…uu… hic… auu…”

On and on, Mia snivelled and sobbed.

On and on, I held her close upon my bosom. A vigil for her lament, kept till her vaulting voice settled to a soft stir and her tears were tamed at last.

 

♰

 

Deeper now was the benighted hour.

Supper was had. I now found myself in my own room, sat at my own desk, skimming through some reports. The day’s work at the fort had overflowed; some of it, I had to bring home with me.

Yet try as I might, the words and letters were dammed at the very papers they were scrawled upon, for not even a trickle of their meanings made their way into my mind. Instead, in my heart was the memory of moments before, of Mia’s pitiable weeping.

“…Haa.”

I sighed, dropping the papers on the desk.

My eyes looked up to the ceiling, seeing there a vision of Mia once more.

My ears yet rang from her sobbing.

My heart was yet sore from the weight of her suffering.

 

…knock.

…knock.

 

A rap upon my door, soft of sound, one I might’ve missed were my wits any more occupied. To the door I went, and upon opening it, found Mia standing there in her sleepwear.

“Mia,” I said. “What’s the matter?”

“…um…” she wavered, looking up at me. “…I… um… s… sorry…”

Hesitant words. At their end, Mia seemed to give up, and so turned to leave.

“Mia,” I called. She halted.

“…”

“Couldn’t sleep, I take it?”

“…I…”

“Not many can, I’d think. Not after recalling so sad a memory. Not while alone, afraid of being swallowed up by something unseen. Am I wrong?”

“…”

To me, she turned. A silent surprise was writ on her face.

Having met foes mightier still than myself, whether deep in their bristling garrisons or the bloodied bowels of their lair—I knew something of fear. More so than most, at that.

“It’s all right, Mia. Come.”

Words said welcomely, only, they inspired all but stillness in Mia. Thus was I the one to venture forth. Not asudden, but with softness in my steps, as if threading through a narrow bridge, precarious in its span between us.

At its end were we met again. Her amber regard gazed up to me. As if peering for some purchase. As if to ask, ‘can I depend upon you?’

Not by words would I answer. Instead, I took her into my arms and picked her right up.

“…ah…”

Into my room we went, and then with all gentleness, I let her alight upon my bed.

“…oh…”

With no further care for the reports left on the desk, I snuffed out the lamp and laid myself beside Mia. The bed was humble and for but one, furnished along with the rest of this little residence. And so to share it with me, burly as I am, was surely a snug affair for Mia, but it would have to do.

Only, there was but a single pillow upon this bed. I certainly thought to let Mia have it all to herself, but then sensed she might have pitied me had I done so. Indeed I surmised as much, what with her emotions now making their steady return at last.

And so with a little lift of her head, I let my arm serve as her pillow.

“…um…?”

“Sorry, Mia. There’s just one pillow here. My arm’ll have to do.”

“…oh… all right…”

Timidly then, Mia leant herself upon me, and there I felt the gentle weight of her head.

“…stars…”

“Hm? Ah. That’s right. Nice view, isn’t it?”

In the ceiling just above us was the skylight. Through it was revealed the veil of night, unclouded and richly starred. A sight, brilliant to behold. From the cramped comfort of the bed, we quietly admired it together. Some celestial peculiarity then seemed to pique her sight, the wonder of which moved her lips.

“…Stöhr…”

“Good eye, Mia. Stöhr’s Sternbild, right?” I echoed, finding what she found. A sequence of stars, forming something of an image—“Sternbild,” as the Nafílim called it, and the one in question depicted a famed figure of many fables. “Stöhr—belle-maiden of bygone days. She’s well-recounted in Nafílim tales, isn’t she?”

“…oh…?”

I then sensed Mia’s gaze turning to me. What emotion filled them, I did not find, but fair enough to say, it was likely naught else but awe.

“Nafílim lore. I’ve read a thing or two on it in my spare time.”

“…books… you like books… you said…”

“Remembered, I see. That’s right. I’m a bit of a bookworm.”

“…Stöhr… what’s she called here…?”

“Nothing at all, in fact. The Men of this land aren’t given to naming stars, you see.”

“…oh…”

“‘Oh’ indeed. It’s a shame, really. Gazing far up… giving your thoughts and dreams to the night sky… A wonderful thing, I’d say. And poetic, too, to name stars after things most dear.”

“…I like Stöhr…”

 

 

At last. This would be the first favourite I’ve known of Mia’s. To yearn to know more of another, and then to hear of it from her own lips…

What an honour.

What a blessing.

“Fairest Stöhr. Belle-Maiden of the Hinternorth,” I recounted aloud. “And a saviour, at that—one who led thousands of Nafílim folk on an exodus to lands more fertile. A myth to move the heart. And no less moving are her tales with Knight Aurél.”

“…yes… I admire her… very much…” said Mia, with a tinge of mirth in her timbre.

Taken with it, I pointed up. “Look. The Sternbild next to Stöhr’s. There’s Gweil’ǫrr, my own favourite. The great gamalldrekinn… They say his fiery breath turns even steel to ash.”

“…dragons… boys like them… a lot…”

“We do, at that. Dragons… welcome figures in our fancies, they are.”

In uttering those words, I myself turned to look upon the side of Mia’s mien. There, I found the familiar amber of her eyes, once utterly empty of aught, but now beautifully brilliant, for reflected in them was the sea of stars soaring above.

A precious moment. A precious time. One filled further on with wondrous conversation between us, till at last the lids of Mia’s eyes hung heavily, and the songs of sleep began to breeze from her lips.

 

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