Jarvit

Ch 8 p2

‘My lady would you care to eat? Food has been set for you in the refectory.’ A Devotee stood at her elbow. Tiatra smiled and turned to go with the girl. They walked side by side down the hall. Tiatra felt the Devotee wished to say something.

         ‘Speak,’ she said. ‘I am listening.’

         ‘Well my lady, I know I should not ask,’ the girl was clearly nervous at her own audacity. ‘But I was wondering if – well if you were the mother of the Hearer. You being the oldest of your group.’

         Tiatra laughed, ‘No, I am sorry to disappoint you all but none of us is she. Especially not I. Do you have an Interpreter here?’

         ‘Oh yes, she has asked to see you and your companion in the morning when you have both rested and assured yourselves that the sick lady is well cared for. She and the Executioner have the duties of the evening service to perform and feel you would want to be resting before that was concluded. You look so worn.’

         Tiatra felt worn, the effects of the long journey and the cold damp were beginning to set in. She felt secure and the nervous tension that had kept her going was giving way to a tendency to cry. She appreciated the Interpreter’s thoughtfulness.

         Ciara joined her in the refectory as she slowly ate the soft fresh bread and ham that had been put before her.

         ‘Try it,’ she offered the basket of bread to Ciara as she sat down opposite her. ‘It must be from that bakery across the road. It certainly tastes as good as it smelt. How is Silvinatra?’

         ‘She is well cared for I will say that. Her cough has subsided, but she is very ill and weak. The Healer is a good woman and knows what to do. I was more in the way than anything but they made me as welcome as possible,’ she leant toward Tiatra and whispered. ‘Do we tell them who we are?’

         ‘Not yet, we are to meet their Interpreter tomorrow. Let us see how that meeting progresses before we give any details about ourselves. The Interpreter should not ask about us. But I have no doubt she will want to know at least where we have come from and why we are travelling in such weather. I would,’ Tiatra acknowledged.

         Tiatra slept a heavy, dead sleep. She had abandoned the caution that had kept her half awake each night during their travel. The longing for sleep had not left her when she awoke and her body felt unforgiving and heavy as she moved around.

         Tiatra sat in an ornate armed chair, its arms a tactile smooth wood. She rubbed them with her hands. It was better than any chair she had had in her Hall of Listening and as good as the Interpreter had had in Simmon. A lump came to her throat as she thought of Ariena.

         ‘A good wood, we have them as a donation from the chair makers and bodgers who work in the hills around us,’ the Interpreter smiled at her, Tiatra stopped and glanced at Ciara who was watching her.

         ‘I trust you have slept well and are rested?’ the Interpreter continued.

         ‘Thank you, yes, we are very grateful for your hospitality.’ The office smelt of polish and the desk in front of the Interpreter had a reflection that sank deep into its warm grain.

         ‘I understand that you have been travelling for some time. I would like to know my guests. Especially as it seems you will be staying for some time as your friend recovers.’ The woman smoothed her robe as if to say that she did not care much about them. But Tiatra felt that this was an act and that who they were mattered very much.