|
| Chapter 5. Human Affairs | |
| << back | next >> |
 |
he first snow arrived on the heels of Master Bei’s delegation. No sooner were their guests safely ensconced in the longhouse than did a storm roar down from the north. The wind howled and rattled shutter and door. No one slept well that night. In the morning the snow was knee deep and there was a hectic scramble to find stray animals and account for all the villagers. Their preparations had paid off and everyone was safe and snug. By afternoon there were celebrations and introductions. The supplies and gifts Zhou’s people had brought with them became the cause of much revelry. There were new weapons of fine Canthan steel and the armorer from Zhou’s guild had come to repair their battered armor. There was even an open invitation to come stay at the Order of the Crystal Palm’s guild hall to share Wintersday celebrations. Not to be outdone by the show of generosity, the villagers decided that they would indeed attend the celebration and bear with them gifts of their prized spiced ale and the talents their finest musicians. They would make a show of their arrival and drink their hosts under the table. Brigit was very much looking forward to a week or two in a warm climate and perhaps even an opportunity to sneak away with Armand into the woods. There was no privacy in the village. Once she stepped outside the door and drew within kissing distance of Armand, there was inevitably someone watching. She could do without the constant pressure to marry him and at the same time she was annoyed that he would not simply get it over with and ask her. Not that there had been an opportunity to discuss it. Not that either of them had free time to do much of anything but cast the occasional longing glance. In the longhouse she greeted members of Master Bei’s guild, only a few of whom she knew. Ming was there as his representing officer, a figure seldom seen and at times as menacing as she was graceful. Today her daggers were either put away or well concealed beneath her heavy leathers and furs. Kazuma and Mashiro, inseparable friends, stood at the periphery of the hall. Kazuma, an able necromancer, had one eye perpetually opened by a long gash over his face. Mashiro was an elementalist who favored earth and water and was often mistaken for a monk since his black hair was cropped so short he appeared bald from a distance. His muscular figure seemed ill at ease in the midst of the chattering mountain folk with their booming laughter and unwelcome bear hugs. Brigit feared Kazuma would demonstrate his skill with hexes if anyone else clapped him on the back. Sister Lemony, Zhou, and Pendaran were absent. Brigit knew they would not come and yet she was saddened by their absence. She went on to meet the others who would be staying through the winter. There was Gong Wei, a young monk and a recent addition to the Order of the Crystal Palm’s roster. The lean tattooed figure looked petrified as Brigit greeted him and mirrored his steeple-palmed bow. Until now Maeve had acted as the village healer since she alone had any knowledge of healing spells. Gong Wei and Liu Xue were the first true healers and protectors her village had hosted and everyone was excited by the prospect. Unlike Gong Wei, Liu Xue appeared calm in the midst of the burly mountain folk coming forth to welcome him. He was another of the Crystal Palm’s recent orphans turned adventurer and his note of introduction from Zhou indicated that he would summon spirits to heal and protect the settlement in the event of an attack. A pair of young rangers had come from Dunvael, Matilde and Enfys, sisters who were distant cousins of Morisedd and Teleri. Brigit’s stomach knotted at the sight of Matilde for the resemblance to her dead friend was striking. The young woman was slightly built and petite, the golden braids on her scalp barely reaching Brigit’s shoulder when the two of them met and clasped hands. Enfys shared her younger sister’s blue eyes but her hair was nut brown with faint coppery highlights. Both of them were in high spirits and laughed freely causing Brigit to relax and put aside her grief for her dead friend. The tragic events of the summer still stalked her memory as if awaiting a moment of weakness. The busy season of work was done and the dark time of melancholy would soon be upon them. She wondered if that was why Mog had been so out of sorts. Without Lemony around to cheer him up, maybe he was grieving for his brother. It was a pity he was not there. He kept missing opportunities to enjoy music or company. Now that he had moved into Vern’s old place with Armand, she rarely saw him, and when she did, he was uncharacteristically quiet. Once she was done with introductions, Brigit resolved to go find Mog. Being alone at this time of the year was unthinkable. He deserved better and it would do him good to get out and prepare for a nice warm break on the island. She slipped away quietly, glad that Armand was preoccupied with her parents. She imagined they were pressuring him to name their wedding date, but the harder they pressed the more stubborn he became. Sometimes it was like being in love with an ill-tempered cat. Vern’s old place looked beautiful under a pristine layer of snow. There was a path cut through the yard to the door and to the outhouse. The tiny windows of the parlor gleamed amber with firelight and she heard the faint sound of a tin whistle. Mog’s possessions had arrived with Zhou’s people and she could imagine him diving into his chest to find his prized musical instruments. She knocked on the door with a mittened hand until the music stopped and a gloomy silence descended. She stood there in the cold on the door stoop waiting for what seemed like ages. “Mog? Are you going to let me in or not?” No answer. “Mog, it’s really rude to leave a guest standing outside. Now open this door or I’ll have a go at it.” “Go away.” “I will after I come inside and warm up for a few minutes.” Finally the latch slipped loose and the door cracked open suspiciously but he did not greet her there. Instead he returned to an old rocking chair beside the fire and wrapped a thick green woolen blanket around his shoulders. Brigit closed the door behind her while he stared into the fire, the tin whistle clutched in his hands. “Mog?” “’m alright,” he croaked. He looked gaunt and ruffled like a storm-battered sparrow. She was about to ask him if he was well when he rattled out a series of unhealthy-sounding coughs. “I’ll make some tea,” she said, “Are you ill?” “Maybe.” “Blast it, Mog, you should have said something. You look horrible.” “Thanks fer that.” Brigit sighed and went into the kitchen, annoyed that the pantry was so empty. There was barely enough to eat for one man let alone two. Of course, Armand took dinner in the longhouse or with her family. She wondered how long he had been here alone and uncared for. How could Armand ignore this? “You need food, Mog. You can’t play games when it’s this cold.” He shrugged and set aside his whistle. Brigit was glad that he had at least put snow into the kettle and placed it over the fire. She wrapped her hand in a rag and fetched it, moving quickly to make him something hot and fortifying. As it turned out, there was a little whiskey left in a bottle so she added some to the bottom of a clean mug and made do, forcing him to take it before sitting down beside him. “A bunch of us are going to take the portal back to Lion’s Arch and celebrate Wintersday at the Crystal Palm’s guild hall. Maybe it would do you some good to get some sunshine and warmth.” It was obvious the very thought horrified him. His lean jaws tightened and he shook his head. Now Brigit was completely confused. What in the name of the gods was he so upset about? “Mog?” He stared into the fire as if the answer were lurking there. His lips twitched, but then he thought better of it and said nothing. “Please, Mog, I hate seeing you like this. I want to help. Tell me what’s wrong.” “I can’t,” he rasped. “Yes you can. Why don’t you want to go to Zhou’s guild? You know people love to hear your songs and Lemony would be trilled to see you again.” “Stop,” he croaked miserably, “Jus’ leave me be.” He looked away, hiding his shame and his tears. Now she felt stupid and horrible. All she had wanted to do was cheer him up but she had made him even more upset. Some friend she was. “I’m sorry, I won’t say anything else. I’ll get you some stew, alright? “I love her, but it’s stupid. I’m stupid. What was I thinking?” he sputtered, his voice staggering through a storm of emotion. Brigit nearly fell out of her chair. Oh no, it was far worse than she could have imagined. But so obvious. To outward appearances it had seemed Mog and Sister Lemony were simply very close friends. The pair of them were a source of good cheer and amusement – giant mesmer and tiny monk. She had never imagined it was deeper than that. The mechanics of it were mind boggling and she felt crass and horrible for even thinking that. “I’m sorry, Mog… were the two of you… err…” “Nae, it weren’t like tha’, was it? Tha’s why it’s bloody stupid. Ne’er kissed or nothin’ o th’ sort. Lemmy’s not like that, is she?” Mog subsided into a sobbing wreck, his secret released at last along with all the accumulated grief and shame that had lodged behind it. She rose instinctively and wrapped her arms around his chest so that his head came to rest on her shoulder. He protested her attention and yet he clung to her, weeping uncontrollably. “If I had known,” Brigit murmured, wondering what she would have done differently. It was an awkward situation and she understood why he had tried to keep it bottled up. But now Armand’s joking attempts to cheer him up seemed cruel and letting him spend so much time alone was wrong. He must have felt so alone coming here unwanted in both places. “Oh Mog,” she whispered, “You shouldn’t have made yourself sick.” She grabbed the woolly blanket off the back of her chair and draped it over him, retrieving the unwanted drink from his hand. “I’ll be alrigh’,” Mog croaked, “I’ll jes go t’ bed.” “I’ll get a monk to see to you. All this time alone is not good for you, not when you’re feeling down.” “I don’ wan’ t’ go t’ supper an’ I’m not goin’ t’ th’ island neither.” Brigit sighed. She was in no position to make Mog do anything against his will. One did not tell very large depressed mesmers what to do. “I’ll go fetch you something to eat, then. Then bed before that cough gets worse.” “No one knows n’ I prefer it stays tha’ way.” “I’m telling Armand,” Brigit replied. “No!” Mog cried, “He’ll ne’er let me live it down.” “You like the practical jokes?” “No…” “…Then he needs to understand there’s a reason you’ve been moping around and treat you more gently.” “He won’ understand!” Mog pleaded, coughing miserably. “He will or I’ll knock his block off. And if he starts on you, just call him a coward for not having the courage to marry me already. I’m about a hair’s breadth from forcing the issue,” Brigit grumbled. Mog chuckled, then lowered his face miserably. “If it helps, I don’t think you’re pathetic. Lem is very lovable and I know the two of you are close. The hardships you have known forged a very special bond. Don’t be hard on yourself.” “’m sorry,” Mog whimpered, “I din’t want t’ cause trouble. I thought if I were away I’d stop feelin’ so sad n’ lonely. Din’t mean t’ burden yeh.” Brigit smiled and drew up her chair to sit beside him and hold his hands on her lap until the storm passed. She gave him a clean handkerchief and he blew his nose loudly. He looked exhausted and she fancied he had not slept well for days. Poor thing. She rose and grasped the bed warming pan and tossed some embers from the fire into it, then repaired to his sparse little bedroom and used it to heat up his bedding. He obediently stripped down to his long johns and crawled under the blankets. She had no sooner reached the front door than did she hear his rumbling snores. Back out into the cold mountain air she trudged through the snow and rejoined the revelry in the longhouse. Armand rushed up to her and they enjoyed a chaste embrace under the watchful eyes of his future in-laws. “Where have you been?” he asked suspiciously. “We need to talk about Mog.” “Ah, how is the old misery?” “The old misery is sick and there’s hardly a crumb of food in your house,” Brigit said accusatorily. “Not my fault he won’t bring anything back to the larder,” Armand grumbled, “I’ve asked him to join us for dinner and he won’t.” Brigit suddenly felt very angry with Armand. As much as she loved him, at times he was about as sensitive and caring as a Charr. “He’s your friend,” Brigit reminded him, “You told me he was like a brother to you.” “He doesn’t act like it.” “Neither do you,” she snapped. Then, to her surprise, Armand became furious. “Look, I’ve tried to cheer him up. I invited him to live with me and just for once I’d like him to be happy for me… because I’m happy for the first time since we were kids,” Armand roared, his frustration palpable, “If he wants to mope, more power to him, he just shouldn’t expect me to enjoy it. I deserve this, damn it, and he had better not ruin it.” Brigit was at a loss for words, blindsided by Armand’s inchoate rage. Just when she thought she understood him he made her feel like an ignorant fool. People were staring at them, no doubt alarmed by the sudden change in him. She reached out to touch his shoulder but he shrugged her angrily away. “Hear me out,” Brigit said quietly as Armand fumed. His pale complexion had turned an ugly shade of scarlet and his blue eyes blazed with anger and grief. “I don’t feel like it right now,” Armand murmured. “Mog isn’t doing this to spite you,” she continued, hoping to reach past the hurt and self-righteous indignation, “I imagine he believes you deserve to be happy, too.” “Why doesn’t he act like it, then?” “Because he’s hurt, Army, and right now he could use a little gentleness and understanding.” Armand exhaled sharply and shook his head. “I only played a few harmless tricks on him. Tell him to get over it.” “Army, he is in love with Sister Lemony,” she whispered. He stared at her, his jaw dropping. “He loves her?” he gasped and she could tell his mind had gone to entirely the wrong place and they both blushed, “Did they…” “No.” “So she doesn’t know?” “I doubt it. We are talking about Lemony here.” As suddenly as he had lapsed into rage he began to laugh. Brigit sighed as Armand held his sides, unable to control himself. “Lyssa’s a b****,” Armand swore, still chuckling, “Poor Mog.” “So you’ll be nicer to him?” “Aye,” Armand laughed, “Poor Mog.” “So you’ll help me make sure he’ll be alright while we’re gone?” “Yeah, now I feel like a heel. I should have realized there was something going on. It’s not like him to be so morose.” “He’s sick and there’s nothing in the house for him to eat and probably not enough firewood. I’ll find out who’s staying behind and make sure they keep an eye on him.” “Guess I’ll restock the woodpile and the larder,” Armand sighed, “and apologize.” Brigit smiled at Armand, relieved that she had no further reason to be angry at him. He squeezed her hand before rushing away to prepare for their departure. It was only then she noticed Glomir had been standing behind Armand eavesdropping the entire time. What she could see of the dwarf’s face flushed bright red behind the bushy expanse of his brows and beard. Before she could tell him off for being nosey he scurried away into the crowd. “Dwarves,” she sighed. Her people owed a debt of gratitude to the Ironfasts and the Graythanes but she dreaded it when they decided to meddle in human affairs. It never ended well.
|
