Havoc's Daughters

Chapter 10 - Day 2 (midday): Blade -- poison

‘Dyath’, thought Blade. I’m sure that’s what he said. What does it mean? I suppose I could ask him. Right. ‘So, Havoc. Why do you speak Mydicean in your sleep? Who were you arguing with, about your daughters? What does ‘dyath’ mean, and why were you so upset about it?

His eyes were closed, listening as a trio of voices near the center of the great hall sang of harvest, of golden days, hard work, and peace. 

Havoc had started it, shortly after he’d spoken with Diannah, with a story from far Samilan. That had been a creation myth, telling of how a grass that grew out of the floodwaters of creation produced a white grain, curds from the milk of the earth goddess, to nurish humans, her children.

Then he’d asked Blade to share a tale. 

With Havoc’s first words in mind, only a little of which Blade had understand, haltingly he told a tale from his childhood in Mydicea. It was an old story, of how, when the warrior maid Ury had been dismembered and placed in the sky to become the moon, her lover, Jasmine, had pined away until nothing was left of her but a sweet-scented night-blooming flower. 

Havoc had thanked him, at the end, and then asked the room at large for a song. Though Havoc was asleep again before it ended, the room had not been silent since. The healthy cleaned slop buckets and brought food. The wakeful injured sang songs and shared stories to pass the time. 

Drifting in and out of sleep on the wings of song, Blade mostly kept his eyes closed to prevent the occasional odd swoop of the walls. He was far from comfortable. His chest ached under the bandage, his head felt like a giant tooth-ache, and even periodic shifting couldn’t prevent the weave of the straw mat from imprinting its pattern in his flesh. He was, in a word, miserable, and couldn’t imagine how those worse off than he were feeling.  

When he heard the murmur of Diannah Setigera’s voice, he first thought it part of his dream. Even as he realized it was not, before he could think to pretend sleep and eavesdrop, he’d turned his head and was gazing at her. 

She helped her father to sit up, then propped his back with a bundled sheaf of grasses. She even offered to feed him by hand, but her father declined. 

“No, thank you, love. There are others who will need your help to eat.” 

Blade thought the man sounded amused. 

Havoc accepted the mug in his right hand and commenced to eat with his left.

“Here.” Diannah set an earthenware mug down within reach on Blade’s right, and unceremoniously dropped in a spoon. She moved on to the next mat, to an elderly peasant to whom she displayed a much greater show of courtesy and care.

Blade glanced down at his meal. The gruel and broth mixture looked pre-digested, and not in the least appetizing. But healing left him ravenous, and considering the hospice’s stores he was fortunate to get a midday meal at all.

How to get at it is the problem. The mug was on his right. He’d have to reach across his body with his left hand; not his preferred hand and currently unsteady. He rolled to his left and levered that arm against the chill stone floor to lift himself to a sitting position. 

The world swam, and he hung his head 'til it steadied. 

One of the refugee women made a tentative offer of assistance. What little kindness he’d known in his life had come from people of her class. Blade managed to smile, and graciously declined. He picked up the mug in his left hand, swirled it to keep it mixed, and swallowed a mouthful.

Poison. 

He could read it in angry spice colored eyes when he lowered the mug, saw it on the lips of a generous mouth. The gruel formed a plaster knot in his throat, and he couldn’t breathe.

Poison. 

If thoughts could shape reality….

Blade felt his guts writhe.

 “Diannah.” 

She blinked, breaking the spell. Diannah Setigera had finished delivering the last of the mugs on her tray and returned as he was eating. Now she turned toward her father, looking mildly chastened at his gentle reproof.

“There are no enemies in this hospice.” The margrave’s tone was still gentle, but no less stern.

“This man tried to carry me away from your side when you were injured,” Diannah growled.

“Tried.” Blade caught the hint of a smile as the margrave glanced at Blade’s bandages and strapped arm. 

Diannah huffed, her hair lifting as she tossed her head, glaring one last time. 

“I will return later, Da,” Diannah finished, sounding almost contrite. “Rest now.” She tucked the empty tray under her arm, left-handed like her father, and exited the ward. The mass of her sorrel hair bounced in time with her stride, like the mane of a horse.

Blade could hardly watch the woman’s departing derriere with her father’s eyes on him. By now he’d almost memorized the curve of her body; the way her curls fluffed like a cat’s whenever she was angry…which was every time she encountered him. 

“What would you have done if I’d succeeded?” Blade dared to ask.

“Nothing, most likely.” He gazed with chagrine at is immobilized leg. “But you’d have paid the price, one way or another. And that would have been a waste.” Havoc set his mug and spoon aside and closed his eyes. 

The woman who’d offered to help Blade collected the mug and spoon. Blade hurriedly finished off his own breakfast and handed over his as well. He lowered himself with his left arm, and rolled to lie flat on his back on his straw mat. It was with surprise he noted how weak he felt, how that little effort had dampened his brow with exertion. He gazed up at the high, smoke-blackened beams and let his stomach settle.

Waste. 

As a bastard prince, Blade was not sure anyone considered the loss of his life a waste, even himself. 

But other ears had followed their dialogue:  the taciturn stableboy who’d caught a blow that broke his shoulder, an orderly standing quietly in the doorway, peasants from both sides of the conflict. Did they look on him differently, now? Could he look differently upon himself?

And what of Caidrin? Clearly she’s found an alternative to wedding me, so I’m expendable. Will she kill me, like she did her father? Or might Havoc convince her that would be ‘a waste’?

_____________________________________

I hate to leave it there, but this is going to have to be on hiatus until after July 20 as I'm taking a very intensive class and have extremely limited time or for that matter internet access.

Sorry!

=A