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‘And you’ll just up and leave Renarr all alone?’
‘She’s known it was coming. My girl’s got protection now. Legion protection. I’m going to my wife.’
‘Town needs a smith-’
‘I’m going to my wife.’
Snarling something Gurren couldn’t make out, Witch Hale went back into the house.
Gurren found he was wiping his hands over and over again, but all he managed was to smear them evenly with sweaty coal dust. With his mind he felt inside his body for the places of sickness. They sat like empty absences in his chest, things that felt nothing even as they sickened everything around them. He saw them as lumps of coal, and the blood he coughed up showed the black from those lumps. Those numb gifts were carrying him to Shellas. He loved them dearly.
Renarr would grieve. That had been the worst part in all of this. Grieving and alone, their little girl. He looked over at all the soldiers, wondering why they had all come down just to deliver a pair of healers. He saw how they had ranged out, watchful — but not watching Gurren or the house; instead, they faced outwards, and something about them made him shiver.
They would take care of their little girl, and might be Shellas would be happy with that, with them being Legion and all. She could rest easy and look kindly on him, and might be she’d step forward after watching him crawling towards her for so long, long enough to confirm that his love for her had never died — she’d step forward and lift him up, and reach into his chest, and pull out those black lumps of grief. He’d watch her throw them away, so that he could breathe again, without coughing, without feeling the horrible tightness.
Heal me, my love, as only you can.
Another two riders were coming down from the keep. Gurren squinted. The Lord himself, and at his side that woman from the morning. They cantered through the Tithe Gate, pausing there for the Lord to issue some orders, and then rode on to draw up within the rough semicircle made by the soldiers.
Urusander’s grey-blue eyes were fixed on Gurren, and the old man saw in them raw pain which was what he always saw in them, which was why he could never meet them for long. And he remembered how sick that weakness had made him feel. Urusander could not have loved Shellas the way Gurren did. Urusander had no right to weep for her death; he had no right to take from Gurren his own pain.
The Lord dismounted and walked straight to him. ‘Gurren-’
But Gurren pointed at Serap. ‘She made a Legion vow.’
‘I know,’ Urusander replied.
‘I bless your son,’ Gurren said, feeling his face set stubbornly — and all at once he could meet Urusander’s eyes, and feel nothing. ‘I bless him, sir, and nothing you ever say will change that.’
If there was anguish in the commander’s eyes before, it was as nothing to what Gurren saw in them now. But still he felt nothing, and was astonished when it was Urusander who broke the gaze.
‘She will be taken care of,’ the Lord said then.
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‘And you’ll just up and leave Renarr all alone?’
‘She’s known it was coming. My girl’s got protection now. Legion protection. I’m going to my wife.’
‘Town needs a smith-’
‘I’m going to my wife.’
Snarling something Gurren couldn’t make out, Witch Hale went back into the house.
Gurren found he was wiping his hands over and over again, but all he managed was to smear them evenly with sweaty coal dust. With his mind he felt inside his body for the places of sickness. They sat like empty absences in his chest, things that felt nothing even as they sickened everything around them. He saw them as lumps of coal, and the blood he coughed up showed the black from those lumps. Those numb gifts were carrying him to Shellas. He loved them dearly.
Renarr would grieve. That had been the worst part in all of this. Grieving and alone, their little girl. He looked over at all the soldiers, wondering why they had all come down just to deliver a pair of healers. He saw how they had ranged out, watchful — but not watching Gurren or the house; instead, they faced outwards, and something about them made him shiver.
They would take care of their little girl, and might be Shellas would be happy with that, with them being Legion and all. She could rest easy and look kindly on him, and might be she’d step forward after watching him crawling towards her for so long, long enough to confirm that his love for her had never died — she’d step forward and lift him up, and reach into his chest, and pull out those black lumps of grief. He’d watch her throw them away, so that he could breathe again, without coughing, without feeling the horrible tightness.
Heal me, my love, as only you can.
Another two riders were coming down from the keep. Gurren squinted. The Lord himself, and at his side that woman from the morning. They cantered through the Tithe Gate, pausing there for the Lord to issue some orders, and then rode on to draw up within the rough semicircle made by the soldiers.
Urusander’s grey-blue eyes were fixed on Gurren, and the old man saw in them raw pain which was what he always saw in them, which was why he could never meet them for long. And he remembered how sick that weakness had made him feel. Urusander could not have loved Shellas the way Gurren did. Urusander had no right to weep for her death; he had no right to take from Gurren his own pain.
The Lord dismounted and walked straight to him. ‘Gurren-’
But Gurren pointed at Serap. ‘She made a Legion vow.’
‘I know,’ Urusander replied.
‘I bless your son,’ Gurren said, feeling his face set stubbornly — and all at once he could meet Urusander’s eyes, and feel nothing. ‘I bless him, sir, and nothing you ever say will change that.’
If there was anguish in the commander’s eyes before, it was as nothing to what Gurren saw in them now. But still he felt nothing, and was astonished when it was Urusander who broke the gaze.
‘She will be taken care of,’ the Lord said then.
‘I know. It was promised.’
‘Will you come to the keep, Gurren?’
‘What? What for?’
‘I want you both under my roof. I want your daughter to find you there, with her, when she mends.’
‘I got work to do here.’
‘I will release one of the smiths to stand in your stead.’
‘For how long?’
‘For as long as needed.’
‘Until I die? Has to be until I die, sir, and afterwards, too. Town needs a smith, more than you do.’
‘If you would keep an eye on the work going on at the keep, Gurren, then we have a deal.’
‘I can do that. Until I get too sick. And don’t say nothing about your healers working on me.’
‘I wouldn’t do that,’ was Urusander’s soft reply.
Gurren jerked a nod.
‘We will send a wagon down for you and your daughter.’
‘Want some of my tools, too. The best ones.’
‘Of course. As many trips as needed.’
‘When I’m gone then, sir, what of my girl? Back to this empty house?’
‘If you would permit it, Gurren, I would formally adopt her.’
‘You would, would you?’ Gurren glanced away, studied the small crowd of townsfolk who’d been drawn to the commotion. ‘She’s not a girl any more, though. She’s a woman and that’s how she needs to be treated. You don’t call her “daughter” or nothing either. She’s our daughter — me and Shellas made her.’
‘I know,’ replied Urusander.
