Need (Sister Lashan) (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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lukeoutbelow2022-06-10 02:56 pm
hasapoint) wrote in lukeoutbelow2022-06-10 02:56 pm
Do not be afraid of light
They smelled the battlefield long before they saw it. The apprentices and little Sisters who hadn't been on this kind of excursion before covered their noses and exclaimed. Vena didn't. As the child of a camp follower she would know to expect this, but her tread slowed and she looked repeatedly at Sister Lashan, especially as the sound of incredible numbers of crows cawing grew louder.
"Nasty, isn't it? Decay is part of death which is part of life," Lashan said firmly, if not totally without sympathy. How young had she been, the last time she was upset by the aftermath of battle? "There's armies that immediately turn around and sort the living from the dying from the dead and take care of that then and there. Not here, they're leaving it for the locals to handle or not and we're local enough. If you fight, you may well fight for people who'll leave you if you fall and move on. Make sure you at least have friends who'll look for you." They pressed on with their wagon. The donkey put its ears back but did not balk.
It wasn't as bad as it would get over the next few days. The bodies - it was now academic who had belonged to which side of whichever meaningless conflict this was - were not much bloated and decayed yet. Flies were not yet overwhelming. Right now the field of bodies was mostly attended by carrion birds, and various other birds that were willing to take advantage of the bounty before them. Finches among them, tiny beaks dipped red. A few other people could be seen picking their way across what had been a perfectly useable pasture. They kept clear. Lashan tasked girls to keep watch for them anyway, pretended not to see the ones who were being sick, and oversaw as dead men were loaded onto the donkeycart. They'd take them away a distance, say the rites, strip them of useful things, get them buried, and come back.
She paused. Something... like a sound. Not a sound. Lashan was hearing something with her mind, closer than the pickers. A threat? She stood like a sentinel and paid attention.
"Nasty, isn't it? Decay is part of death which is part of life," Lashan said firmly, if not totally without sympathy. How young had she been, the last time she was upset by the aftermath of battle? "There's armies that immediately turn around and sort the living from the dying from the dead and take care of that then and there. Not here, they're leaving it for the locals to handle or not and we're local enough. If you fight, you may well fight for people who'll leave you if you fall and move on. Make sure you at least have friends who'll look for you." They pressed on with their wagon. The donkey put its ears back but did not balk.
It wasn't as bad as it would get over the next few days. The bodies - it was now academic who had belonged to which side of whichever meaningless conflict this was - were not much bloated and decayed yet. Flies were not yet overwhelming. Right now the field of bodies was mostly attended by carrion birds, and various other birds that were willing to take advantage of the bounty before them. Finches among them, tiny beaks dipped red. A few other people could be seen picking their way across what had been a perfectly useable pasture. They kept clear. Lashan tasked girls to keep watch for them anyway, pretended not to see the ones who were being sick, and oversaw as dead men were loaded onto the donkeycart. They'd take them away a distance, say the rites, strip them of useful things, get them buried, and come back.
She paused. Something... like a sound. Not a sound. Lashan was hearing something with her mind, closer than the pickers. A threat? She stood like a sentinel and paid attention.
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Eventually, he finds a comfortable place for the kid in the crook of his arm. He was big enough that he only really needed one to keep the bundle secure. Hopefully, a warm corner and a weird-looking boy person would be enough to occupy this baby for a bit.
"Sort of? Am I going to end up doing more of your chores?" he asks cheekily.
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Vena risks a glance around. Just as planned. People like seeing Guts being semicompetent with a baby. It’s not enough to sway everyone but there are a lot more smiles and the speculative looks have a different cast. They’re also not worried-glancing at Vena as much, to either see if she’s safe or take their cue from how she’s acting. I am a genius, she thinks.
“Maybe! I don’t know yet!” While she’s shepherding him around she can’t do a lot of them, unless he’s watching or doing them too, after all. “Stick out your tongue at him. Or smile if that doesn’t hurt. Just make a face, anyway.”
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The suggestion went against everything that was ironed into him since his own formative years. Although being around Vena made it easier to do so, playfulness wasn't a thing that came naturally to him. But looking at Kai, a truly tiny and helpless thing, makes him feel a little urge to at least try.
His smile is more of an awkward grimace, and he reaches in to wiggle a few fingers at Kai's flailing hand in a poor imitation of what he's seen before. Women liked to tickle their babies, right?? Kind of. The movement seemed to be briefly capturing the kid's attention. It was cute, the way he was being grasped at, but he feels his face get a little warm once he notices grins out of the corner of his eye.
Why does getting breakfast have to be such a mortifying ordeal? Guts felt like he was making a fool of himself.
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And now Guts is the one getting fidgety. People are so hard to try and manage! Vena surreptitiously works her shoulder and sees Aren on their way back start to hesitate. She is the facilitator here, apparently!
"You can give him back to me now," she says nobly.
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He insists stubbornly back at her. He's not going to let some baby get the better of him! He can handle fighting men twice his size! He can wield a sword that can split open steel! Kai trying to stick his fingers in his mouth isn't nearly as mortal a challenge.
Even if it's a little awkward, he'll muscle through it. Metaphorically speaking.
Guts gingerly wipes his hand on his shirt, though. The spit was a little gross.
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"I don't know," Aren says, rewrapping the checkered shawl over their shoulders and glancing over Guts' shirt. "She looks pretty cute with him."
"No, he's a boy?" Sudden doubt, but then Vena remembers Lashan talking about Guts and puts more certainty into her voice. The panels of embroidery were removed from his hand-me-downs but they do still have a patterning and weave that suggest things to the Sisters of the Twins that outsiders wouldn't pick up on. "He's a boy, there were just only these and some heavy winter stuff that looked like they'd fit. Anyway, you can only win at babies by trying to make them happy, and then not having to deal with it when they start crying or make a mess," she says, and Aren stifles a laugh.
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“You sure your eyes are workin’ right?” he was feeling cheeky as he hands Kai over without a fuss, ”Maybe you ought to get the food first.”
He figures Aren must be a bit delirious from exhaustion and hunger. That must be the answer, clearly.
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It's loud in the dining hall, the sound of chatter trapped by the walls. Vena casts a look over her shoulder at Guts; she'll propose going outside if she has to. When she's not eating with her friends and there aren't too many flies, outside is better in her eyes anyway, but they need to actually pick up breakfast first.
Mostly people seat themselves at the long, low tables and take food from communal platters brought out by girls on kitchen duty. The waiting is mostly for space to be cleared, and messes to be handled if they're made. The table Aren goes to has milk-boiled grain porridge in tureens, whole peaches, day-old bread, soft white cheese, pickled eggs, and heaps of leafy greens cooked in butter. There are pitchers of warm milk, weak beer, and more of that watered vinegar. Also, some flowers.
"I miss salt," Aren says, looking up and down the table forlornly.
"We gotta buy it, or send people to the sea with pans, an' it takes a while to get there," says Vena, local exposition fairy, leaning half across the table to get a pot of jam. "The eggs are salty."
Aren sighs in a what-would-children-know way and adjusts Kai's sling. "It's not the same."
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He gets a good share of eggs as those were filling even on his most active days, nestled with a heap of greens. Bread was a given, having its place on the plate. He tilts his head at the milk, more accustomed to drinking beer than milk, but decides to switch up this time around. A peach ends up stowed away in his clothes, with the plate having a rather full mound with the portions of the other foods.
Unless Vena or Aren ask him something directly, he is content to be a silent bystander and listen to them banter. Once they find their spot outside, he occupies himself by picking at the food. His expression at mealtime is solemn - it is uncertain whether or not he's actually enjoying what he was eating - but the fact that he kept methodically cleaning the plate of its food was indicator of something. He liked it enough to finish, and he tolerated their company enough not to slip away to the infirmary.
The warm milk was comforting, and Guts pauses after each sip to enjoy the novel flavor. The ever-present suspicious look in his eyes soften. He seemed to be getting something out of the whole meal aside from fulfilling the simple requirement to eat and regain his strength. It was nice.
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When they sit down Vena remembers to tell Guts "You can just start, 's fine" before she and Aren pray. All Vena says is a completely perfunctory "Thank you to the four Twins of the world for the food and the chance to eat it" before she digs in. Aren looks intently skyward and thanks the Healer and the Hunter for creating and sharing things that are nourishing out from the wilderness, the Craftsman for preparing the food in ways that are delicious and well balanced, and the Fighter for giving them the space in which to eat it. Other Sisters say similar things when they sit down, though the hungrier ones are as quick as Vena.
The jam is tart with just an elusive hint of sweetness, but that's enough. Vena puts jam on her porridge. Lots of jam. Enough jam that when she stirs it it becomes purple. She puts jam on her bread and in her milk and mixes it with her cheese. She'd picked up some greens too but as Lashan isn't present to tell her to suck it up and eat them, she mostly pokes at them now and then. She also talks a lot, mainly about food. When she notices that Guts likes the milk she says "I helped with the milking! Anything not drunk at breakfast goes to be buttermilk or cheese. It goes bad fast."
The color and texture of the pickled eggs isn't the same as normal hard-boiled egg. Some are pink from being pickled with beetroot, and they are all salty. Aren cuts some up to put on their greens. They didn't get a heaped plate. Leafy greens, egg, a small amount of porridge and cheese. Handling a baby means constant distraction, though Kai isn't fed anything more than a taste of the soft white cheese. "My friend is his wet nurse. Or should I say his wet nurse is my friend," they say at one point as they respond here and there to Vena's chatter, though the mousy, timid woman from the line is reluctant to approach.
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The bread and the buttery greens help even out the salty flavor, and he mixes the two together. It was easier to avoid getting his hands too messy when he could carry them on the bread, anyway. Even though he didn't participate the prayer, his pace and the amount of food gave them ample time to catch up.
Listening to them talk about their lives felt like looking into the window of an entirely different world. Guts felt unsure how he should react, ignorant as he was on how to take care of children or prepare milk. His first thought is that it was rather boring, and how didn't fit him at all. He dwelled on how much he missed his sword, and particularly how much less he had to think about things when he only had to worry about swinging it.
But one question does linger on his mind as Aren begins to dig into the food.
"Why'd you trust me with your kid?" he asks rather suddenly. "The rest of them wouldn't even get close to me. Vena only did because Lashan made her."
He finds it hard to believe that this one would be so accepting when the rest of them had been so vividly fearful. Were they looking for something? An ulterior motive? And why the show of kindness before? He has a hard time believing it was simply altruistic or a moment of confusion.
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“Point of fact, I gave Kai to Vena and Vena gave him to you.” Even now their voice is kept quiet. It’s easy to miss a word or phrase if he isn’t paying attention. Vena grins sheepishly. “But I wasn’t surprised. Sister Lashan is… she is a good judge of character. When she chooses an apprentice she always picks someone discerning and intelligent.”
Seeing Vena puff up, they add, “As well as difficult and contrary.”
“I’m not contrary,” Vena protests instantly.
Aren hasn’t quite answered the question as it was meant.
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He sets his latest bite of bread back on the plate, watching and waiting for her to properly answer, ignoring Vena’s protests.
It appears when he’s not being quiet, he’s straightforward to a fault. Guts wants to know what this person’s deal is! It annoys him to be given the runaround, if his expression is any indicator.
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"On the contrary, I answered the one you asked. You'll have to overlook my Sisters' fear. Men have hurt many of them and faced no consequences, or allowed them to be hurt, and said that it was right for them to suffer. And then coming here has isolated them from men, so that all men seem to be colored that same way. Also," and they cough into their fist while Vena looks on solemnly, "-you did try to kill the fiercest of us and nearly succeeded. Sister Lashan's not what she was twenty years ago, but- anyway."
Aren leans back, looks away for a moment, and repeats the one-finger gesture to give themself a moment to take another swallow of beer. "Anyway. I have... let's say I have sympathy for people who look like men and feel out of place here."
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Guts understood the fear. Fear made sense to him in an intrinsic way. They'd been enemies not even two days ago, and he didn't half-ass his attempts to kill his enemy. What he didn't understand was the kindness. Why was this one acting so different to all the rest? Why not be more cautious, as they ought to be? Vena may have been ordered to chaperone him, but the rest were under no such obligations.
The answer doesn't satisfy him. He catches the familiar resemblance, a trick of the light, but doesn't think to ask. He doesn't make a habit of poking into people's pasts. Instead, he sits there, frustrated with how out-of-place he felt in his bizarre town.
"You're wasting your sympathy," he decides to say.
He didn't want it, and he didn't need Aren's nor Lashan's pity. He decides the option that will give him the least headache is to just keep eating, so the next piece of bread disappears in his mouth. The faster he heals up, that faster he can get back to the solitude he craved more and more with each passing day.
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Just about then, a freckled girl with yellow plaits races up and skids to a halt near Vena. She pants, "There... you... are! She wants... she wants you, right now. Infirm'ry. And, bring The Boy." An uncertain glance at Guts, in case there was somehow doubt about who 'the boy' with special emphasis could be.
Vena does not ask who 'she' is and is instantly nervous. "But we're not done with breakfast! An' what about the washing up? Was she..."
The messenger shrugs. Another girl, eavesdropping without shame, sings "Vena's in trou-ble, Vena's in trou-ble," giggling when Vena whips around to glare at her.
"I'll do it for you," messenger girl says with clear reluctance, getting her breath back. "Just 'cause you did it for me, and so she doesn't have to wait."
"If you are in trouble, trying to wait it out won't help. Not with that one," Aren tells her, swallowing another hasty mouthful.
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Said boy chucks the last Entire Egg in his mouth. Some bread and milk remain, but he supposes this was good enough. Hopefully there won't be too much physical activity expected of him, though it wouldn't be the first time his stomach had been upended by an inopportune ambush.
He swallows.
"Better get it over with. See what's ruffling the old lady's skirts."
Guts expects it to be Lashan, because who else would want the both of them? He'd already mulled over the possibility of this happening the night before, tossing around on his bed. He was hoping this to at least take a couple of more days, though. She must have an incredibly sharp eye - or more paranoia than he initially thought.
He gets up, undaunted by the thought of conflict, and waits for Vena to abandon her dish and follow.
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She starts off at a wooden shuffle and doesn't look at Guts once, whether he's leading or following. Vena doesn't cry - she'd taught herself not to unless it would help, back when it mattered more, and still remembers how - but it's certainly clear that she's dwelling on some private hell.
The eavesdropper comes after her, prudently keeping Vena between herself and Guts, babbling half concerned, half gloating questions. "What did you do? Ooooooh, is she gonna repudiate you? Is she gonna - you know - the first two fingers thing? Is she gonna kick you out? What are you gonna do? Vena!"
"She's not gonna," Vena mouths without really saying. "She's not gonna..."
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He stops to glower fiercely at that annoying little girl from his place up front. Vena had visibly start to sulk, and something about that bothered him. Maybe it was the way she so desperately wanted Lashan's approval that felt familiar to him. It irritated him to see her so worked up over nothing, over what some soft-hearted old smith might do.
If anyone was going to be banished, it was the outsider everyone hated anyway. It'll be back to where he started, out on the trail where he preferred to be.
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There's a lot of clear space around the infirmary building, the better to keep things relatively quiet for patients; the eavesdropper will be very obvious if she hangs around the windows or doors. She keeps glancing at that door in anticipation.
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"Come on."
He grabs the cloth at her shoulder, practically dragging her inside with him. He uses his own body to block off the gnat following them, making space with his legs, and slams the door shut.
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Inside it's busier than before, with multiple women who've started out the other door looking over their shoulders at Guts as he enters so abruptly. Most people in the enclave just look like villagers of some sort. These have the look of priests, with cleaner, less weathered robes in clearer colors and a lot more embroidery and repetitions of a particular symbol, and tend towards being older. The youngest and slowest to leave are a pair of identical twins that look about twenty. Plainsfolk, they're tall and brown with straight black hair and black eyes, who walk very close together and each with an arm around the other's waist or shoulders. They have to walk like that, they seem to be bound together at a point on their midsections, though fabric obscures just what's going on.
"If you're going to undo all that work," one says while looking at Guts, and the other picks up, looking rather more pointedly at Lashan, with "Then at least do it outside."
"Don't teach me how to curry a horse," Lashan retorts, getting to her feet. "And the divine twins act doesn't work on me, I changed your diapers. Get out of here, I want to have a private conversation."
"All right. Aww, Vena," one says with a concerned frown, noticing the girl wearing an utter non-expression. The other says, "I'm sure it will be fine. See you, Vena," and steers them out.
Lashan looks... actually, quite a lot better than yesterday. Her nose isn't so swollen, her bruises have faded as if they'd had longer to heal then the ones she left on Guts' wrist and forearm, the stitched up cut is more pink than red, and she just seems to have more energy. When she gets up and goes to the door The Boy and her apprentice - who draws back a little - had come in through, to open it and tell off the eavesdropper for loitering, she doesn't use her cane, though she does still favor one leg.
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The first thing Guts notices is that the infirmary is crowded. He sees the finery of religious clothing, with all its delicately woven thread. This lot didn't seem as severe as the clergy he knew, with lectures about their lord's judgment and their self-flagellation. But he couldn't be sure.
Some stare at him, as he expected. Dark eyes looking back, much like his own. His upbringing left him wondering where he came from, sometimes. He never did match the fair color of his adopted father, and mercenaries came from all sorts of places. Such thoughts are quickly quashed by more immediate necessities of food and money. He tilts his head to try and get a glimpse under the layers of fabric, expecting a rope or chain to jingle between the two women to explain their weird positioning. Being forcefully tied together to enact penance sounds right for a religious ritual.
His quest to find that answer is dropped when he sees Lashan herself, and his brows furrow. He recognizes the change in her almost immediately. The wounds looked like they had over a week to heal, at least. Magic isn't the immediate solution that comes to mind, as that simply didn't exist in his world of grime, sweat and meat. Such things were only for dreams and fairy tales.
"What the hell? What kind of medicine did they stuff into you?"
He blurts out the question, breaking the silence in the room after they had been given some privacy. No wounded soldier recovered from a knife wound that fast.
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Lashan herself is dressed a bit more formally than before. Not on the level of the priests, the cut of her clothing isn't so different from yesterday and she hasn't donned any jewelry more elaborate than black iron earrings, but her tunic is a deep red and supports panels stiff with embroidery. Some of the same symbols recur as on the priests. The faded, angry eyes and the up-pointed tusks of the tattoo on her chest peek above her low collar.
"That's something for the Sisterhood to know," she says coolly. "And trusted allies. Here's a question for you, boy." Lashan returns to the bed where she had been sitting, where she's bundled up her near-white cloak. That is a status symbol; in this world, where bleaching is mainly possible through laborious effort with lye and acid baths or through leaving fabric out in the sun, it's hard to get white cloth and harder to keep it white. This... isn't quite there but it's quite pale.
She unrolls it and lays a hand over the sheathed sword that it had been wrapped around. "Care to tell me how you got this?"
Vena, still near the door, makes a tiny noise and has gone as rigid as a board. Her face is an admission of guilt, not that Lashan looks at her.
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"You ought to do a better job of locking up your swords, if you don't want 'em wandering around."
He picks the dirt out of a nail, thumb to the finger of the same hand, holding himself with a very teenaged aloofness as he delivers his words of advice. Guts is happy to take the brunt of her anger and attention, undaunted by the formal clothing with its lavish patterning and heavenly whites. Not quite like a bishop's rich silks or velvet, more revealing, more mystical with the furious ink peering out of her low collar. He'd tell a bishop where to stuff it if he had to, he decides.
Lashan had already shown that she was keeping secrets from him, so he can't see why he can't have some of his own. It's obvious to him that if he'd wanted to hurt someone, he'd very well done so by now. And he wasn't wearing the sword publicly, frightening people. He'd mulled it over the night before, and this was the conclusion he'd come to. If they banish him for it, then so be it. He'll go.
It never occurs to him to toss blame to the girl.
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