After Times of Tender Agony: Ch. 24

Joining Forces

Notes:

Progress is made in this chapter, but nothing actually happens, lol. We're taking baby steps 😅

I make several references to the denouement of Through Ages of Weary Fulfillment in this chapter, but they're not vital to understanding^^

*****

Jebsun knew the best way to quiet panic was to put the mental energy from it elsewhere. Generally, when he did that, though, he eventually succeeded in quieting the panic in the sense that he resolved whatever issue caused said panic in the first place. 

That was not happening in this case. 

He woke up a little after dawn as he always did and made sure Daire was fed and watered before making breakfast for himself and the boy. He should have been suspicious when he found the back door unlocked, but the key was still in the honey jar, so he didn't think much of it. He could have sworn he'd locked it the night before, but he supposed that could have been a mistake.

Daire looked after, the bowl of porridge for the boy heating, and his eggs cooking on the stovetop, he broke away from them for a brief moment to check on his patient. 

The panic on realizing the boy had left sometime in the middle of the night with the aid of the crutch was something Jebsun preferred not to think about, but suffice to say, his eggs burned, and the porridge overcooked quite a lot. 

He remembered to have the sense to put out the fire in the oven before he left the house to continue the search outside, which he was incredibly thankful for later. Having a burned-down home would not quell the panic in his heart. 

He checked both the front and back entrance for any trace of the boy and found strange, partially blown smudged away tracks leading away from the back. As soon as Jebsun saw them he mentally smacked himself; of course, the boy had gone out the back—that was why the door had been unlocked. It was smart, honestly, considering if he had left via the front, the jingling of the bell would have woken and alerted him.

The thoughts that followed were somewhat unsettling, though. If the boy chose the back over the front, it meant he had wanted to sneak out without being seen or heard or stopped—why? What had happened? What had he done wrong? Perhaps he had pushed too hard in some respect or—

“Oh,” Jebsun whispered, pausing in his crude pursuit of the tracks. “Addie.” Addie had been the only anomaly in the past slightly-over-a-week the boy had been there.

It must have been Addie that unsettled his patient, though why, he had no idea. Was it simply that Jebsun had left him alone, or that he was afraid to be with anyone else? Did the boy think everyone was out to hurt him?

Does he think I want to hurt him now, and that’s why he run? Jebsun wondered, horrified at the thought. He wanted nothing more than to find the boy, explain whatever had been misunderstood, and bring him back to keep taking care of him—the leg wound wasn’t healed, it would get infected and very easily cause blood sickness—but none of that could actually be accomplished unless he could follow the trail!

The trail circled around his house and unfortunately ended as soon as it got to Main Street, where it had been trampled and scattered beyond recognition. 

Jebsun muttered something unsavory, only to hear the teasing exclamation of, “Jebsun! There are ladies around, you know.”

Gritting his teeth in frustration, Jebsun forced himself to smile at Addie, who had appeared out of nowhere. “My apologies,” he said tersely. “But my patient ran away. I think I’m entitled to an expression of frustration.”

The warm smile on Addie’s face dissolved in a moment, replaced with worry and a knotted brow. “Oh, dear,” she said, concern evident. “Do you want help searching for him?”

Jebsun bit his lip. “If you could find out if anyone on Vibbly saw him, that would be an incredible help. I’ll stick to door-knocking on Main.”

Addie nodded. “Though, a description would be helpful,” she added. “So, I can tell people what they’re lookin’ for. I didn't exactly get to meet him the other day.”

Jebsun let out a nervous laugh. “He’s about five-feet-six-inches tall, sandy-blond, wavy hair, green eyes, gaunt, and he'll be limping with the aid of a crutch.”

Clucking her tongue, Addie placed a reassuring hand on his arm. “I’m sure we’ll find him, Jebsun. He can’t have gotten far in his condition.”

Jebsun nodded, but as he watched Addie walk away, he couldn’t help but think that someone with the tenacity to run away from his abusers and survive such horrible torture could do anything he put his mind to.

No one on Main Street had seen anything, anything at all. Jebsun trudged back to his home, defeated and angry. Did no one have sleepless nights? Seriously? How was it that none of the town’s inhabitants were awake in the middle of the night every once in a while?

Shaking his head, Jebsun opened the jingling door, only to smell the now-cold burned eggs and frigid mess of porridge he had left from earlier. He sighed but didn’t bother doing the dishes—he needed to prepare a pack with whatever medical supplies the boy might need and ride out with Daire. Even if he didn’t know which way his patient had gone, he could cover more ground on horse than by foot. 

He had just finished packing healing herbs, salve, bandages, and other similar items into a satchel when a knock sounded at the door. It was likely Addie also admitting defeat, but why would she knock? She knew his practice was always open. Brow furrowed, Jebsun walked over and opened it, only to see a fairly short brunette girl and…he blinked. Someone he had treated once. In fact, it was the someone who had indirectedly convinced him to leave Dwid and come back to Glipwood. 

“Artham Wingfeather,” he said after staring at the man and blinking for a few seconds. “What are you and…your daughter doing here?” Artham's recently-found daughter had been with him four years earlier, and though Jebsun couldn't really remember her, he could only assume this young lady was she.

The corners of Artham’s mouth turned up a bit, but when he spoke, it didn’t sound as though he felt like smiling. “This isn’t my daughter. Her name is Sara, but I’ve half a mind to ask what you’re doing in Glipwood.”

“I practice here now,” Jebsun replied vaguely, really wanting to work on searching for his patient. “Technically, I used to practice here but left about a year before the Wingfeather War began. I came back, though, since your stunt made me squeamish about staying in Fort Dwid.”

That did cause Artham to laugh, though Jebsun didn’t really find it funny. Neither did Sara, apparently. “We’re here because we’re looking for someone,” Artham replied, seriousness returning. “Have you seen a boy, pretty short, gaunt, wounded?”

Jebsun’s mouth went dry, and chills filled him. “Um,” he said hesitantly. “Does he have blond hair, green eyes?”

“Wavy blond, and grey-green,” Sara corrected fiercely, her eyes brimming with tears and hope. “Have you seen him?” It was the sort of question that culminated from desperation and hopelessness renewed into a blazing fire with a simple spark.

Jebsun nodded. “Yes,” he said simply, noticing the blue jewel adorning her left ring finger. “What’s his name? And are you…are you and he engaged?” 

Sara dipped her head slightly, fingering the ring on her hand. “His name is Janner,” she said softly. “And, yes.”

Janner…meaning…Janner WINGFEATHER?! Horror shot through Jebsun, a horror he had never felt or experienced. The patient he had found in the forest was the KING of Anniera?! Someone had dared torture the King of Anniera in such a way? And he had sucessfully lost the very King of Anniera?! What was wrong with him?!

Artham grasped his shoulder firmly, tightly. Perhaps a bit painfully, but it yanked him from his thoughts. “Where did you last see him?” he asked eagerly, relief filling his voice and face and posture.

Shaking his head, Jebsun couldn’t help but hate himself for what he was about to say. “He left,” he floundered, the way Sara’s face crumpled breaking his heart. “I found him in the forest about a week ago, and I’ve been taking care of him, but he left in the middle of the night. He can’t have gotten far—he’s using a crutch and the wounds’re bound to get infected soon if they aren’t taken care of and—”

Artham shook him, the next words spoken in fierce anger. “You mean to tell me you haven’t looked?” he growled, quite honestly terrifying.

A lesser man might have been deterred, but Jebsun stood his ground. “Of course I looked for him,” he snapped. "I’ve been searching all morning and asked one of my neighbors, Addie, to help too. I only came back after a search of the town yielded no results and was planning on riding out and scouring the landscape and forest. You smell that horrific smell? That’s the smell of my burned eggs and his burned porridge because I went straight to looking for him and preparing to search more thoroughly without bothering to clean up the mess!”

“Janner doesn’t like porridge,” Sara said suddenly, her eyes locked on his. “And it's the worst possible idea to give it to him now.”*

As Sara spoke, Artham had settled, the anger from the fire swept from his eyes, leaving fiery determination behind, and he nodded. “If he had the sense to escape in a manner that wouldn't wake you" —Jebsun easily detected the undisguised, irked accusation, but he chose not to react— "He likely had the sense to go somewhere sensible. If that is the case, Janner went to one of two places. Either the Igiby cottage or my treehouse. Sara, please go with Jebsun and check the cottage. I’ll head to my treehouse. I can get there faster than either of you can.”

Jebsun furrowed his brow. He knew how far away the still-ruined cottage was, and said “treehouse” was obviously in the woods, up a tree. “I don’t think Janner could get into a tree,” he said slowly, the name sounding a bit odd on his tongue. “And I doubt he would actually make it to either of those locations.”

Sara shook her head. “If he’s trying to make it, he will,” she said affirmatively. “He won’t give up when he really has his mind set on something, even if it's liable to kill him." There was a note of bitterness in her voice, and Jebsun's heart went out to her. "Can we go, please? Even if he did give up, we might find him along the way.”

Artham nodded. “Yes, let’s. Sara, will you be alright if I leave you with…Jebsun? Right?”

“That’s right.” Honestly, he was surprised Artham remembered his name.

Sara didn’t object. “Just…find him, please,” she said desperately. “We’re too close. I can’t lose him now.”

Artham nodded and started toward one of the two horses—Jebsun hadn’t noticed them originally—tethered at the post outside his practice. He untethered the darker, larger one, mounted quickly, and had almost darted off when Jebsun remembered something. 

“Wait,” he said quickly. “Artham, if you find him, be careful with his head and right leg. I think…I think he was knocked unconscious and concussed more times than anyone should be, and the wound on his leg is nowhere near healed. Oh, and he can’t hear from his left ear.”

Both Artham and Sara blinked at him in confusion, the latter managing words first. “I’m sorry?” she said incredulously. “What do you mean, he can’t hear from his left ear? He heard fine from it before!”

Jebsun shook his head. “I don’t know, but whoever had him did something to his ear. There was a healing cut kind of behind and below it when I first found him, and he acted like he could only hear out of his right.”

Sara's eyes swam with terror, and she only stared at him, her mouth parted as if in horror.

Artham’s entire countenance burned with anger now. “Thanks for the information,” he said tersely, muttered something under his breath that sounded a little like, I'm gonna kill him, then took off.

“He’s not mad at you,” Sara offered finally, apparently feeling the need to reassure him (or perhaps herself), even as her voice trembled. “But he’s a Throne Warden, and…and the fact that his King who he's supposed to protect and not lose is missing and was kidnapped weeks ago is something he's grappling with…um…can we please start looking?”

Jebsun surveyed her, torn, dirty dark blue cloak, dirty dress underneath it, hair pulled back in a messy braid, smudged face, and desperate eyes. “Yes.” He nodded. “Let’s go find him. Is that your horse?” 

A nod. 

“Excellent.”

*****

Notes:

OKAY HUSTON, WE HAVE MADE CONTACT!!! 🥳 (Artham and Sara and Jebsun have made contact, I mean)